Wednesday 6th January 2021 – The United Kingdom is back in COVID lockdown for the third time since the global pandemic breached our shores last March. Today’s blog, like numerous other of my narratives in the past nine months, written with one of its objectives that of informing future generations of life on Planet COVID in 2020/21.
In years to come, like a poor man’s Samuel Pepys, if anyone ventures upon this prose who weren’t born when these government protocols were introduced, my aim’s to impart an idea of our quarantined existence during unprecedented times.
My initial simile is to liken lockdown’s liberty sapping edicts with how I’d imagine open prison incarceration plays out….. Although unlike those behind bars, the populace hasn’t a pool table and free food at their disposal….. Well, apart from those members of the public who do own a pool table, and/or who get their comestibles gratis.
If that particular descriptive fails to adequately paint a historic picture of the UK’s current lifestyle, I’d compare prevailing daily episodes to partaking in David Blaine’s act where the illusionist becomes locked in a box. Our only boon, compared to Blainey, that we’re afforded the benefit of trips for essential food, services and exercise.
What do you mean you’ve never heard of David Blain, my 2040 readership?….. Blimey, you twentyial’s aren’t making this easy for me are you!! ……. Ok then, third time lucky…….. British life is currently like being encased in TV show Big Brother’s house. A deprivation of liberty leading to society praying government legislation will evict them post haste.
Although, thinking about it, I’d rather be stuck in my house alone than cohabit with the chumps ordinarily residing in the Big Brother’s abode; so that simile does ring 100% true either.
I’m clutching at straws with the Big Brother analogy, but I’m guessing tabloid TV of that ilk will still be churned out on an annual basis in the year 2040. Consequently, if you were born after 2021 and reading this literary malarky, hopefully I painted notions of the suffering your forebears went through for your liberty.
And did we moan about obstructions to our civil liberties and the sacrifices we made; like you spoiled twentyials would do now in 2040?!….. Oh my god, yes. That’s all we bloody did. In fact, whingeing and caterwauling when inconvenienced were habitual flaws of many, many individuals when your parents were your age….. In fact, well before suffering from coronavirus’s wrath.
Consequently, if born in the 2020’s and you’re viewing this prose twenty years hence of it’s original draft, if any of your family or friends bang on about how stoic and pragmatic they behaved when COVID hit, tell them to blow it out their ass.
To clarify, that accusation doesn’t apply to everyone. For instance, if your forebear/friend was a key worker during the pandemic, they were absolute heroes. Many making huge sacrifices to ensure the country had health care, comestibles, emergency services, power and water utilities, refuse collections et al.
Who am I kidding? When it comes to the year 2040 no one’ll read my prose. If I’m no longer here, which sounds morbid but, hey, I’ve had a heart attack so am at higher risk than some, my kids will’ve no doubt utilised my words and drawings as BBQ fuel.
My in excess of a million words and pencil drawings will’ve possibly contributed towards the alfresco grilling of a steak. Or perhaps keeping my progeny’s hands warm by a fire pit, while enjoying a glass of their choice following consumption of the aforementioned steak. If so, you’ll not get to read my corona chronicles anyhow.
These scenes of my art being defiled on bbq or fire pit playing out like the Nazi book burnings in 1930’s Germany. Any tome with ideologies not in line with Hitler, errr I mean my son Jonny or daughter Rachel and their henchmen, scorched on a huge pyre.
The legacy to my children the gift of heat and BBQ fuel.