With the advent of a new week, the UK populace’s anticipatory notions of upcoming liberty from lockdown have been tempered with bulletins a number of European countries maybe in the grasp a third coronavirus wave.
How that’ll affect the UK government’s blueprint for easing of lockdown protocols is anyone’s guess. However, recent history indicates, when Europe sneezes ordinarily there’s a chance we’ll end up with a cough, or maybe the loss of taste and smell….. Or, indeed, both
God, and Bernie Clifton’s ostrich, only knows how this news will eventually affect us Brits. I’d suspect, though, that my plans for a forthcoming visit to Germany’s ‘Shove COVID Bis Zum Arsch’ festival are in jeopardy.
Footnote – Incidentally, ‘Shove COVID Bis Zum Arsch’ translates into English as ‘Shove COVID Up Your Arse.’ A festival name that’s clearly a figment of my imagination, however, I’d venture would make a fitting title for a celebratory knees up when we’re finally afforded freedom.
News of the potential delay in re-instatement of liberties and a challenging day as my mum’s carer have fired a broadside across my esprit bows. Subsequently, the metaphorical good ship Strachan feels as though it’s listing starboard. The joylessness of the prevailing existence relighting a self-destructiveness which isn’t healthy and requires addressing with asap.
In fact, yours truly been so fed up today, momentarily I almost responded in the affirmative when a cold caller ‘inviting’ me to answer a few consumer questions. Admittedly, this potential break from the norm would’ve been to amuse myself by responding absurdly to what are ordinarily unwelcome inquisitions…. However, in the end, thankfully I decided against such an ignoble and facetious strategy.
After a day of washing laundry, ironing and culinary chores, I’m now sat with a glass of wine, taking the opportunity of my first free time of the day to wax lyrical. Or, at the very least, use Veet hair removal cream lyrical.
Tiredness has been my companion for the last two days. Despite it not socially distancing, I’m assured by an erudite acquaintance that tiredness can form part of my ‘bubble’ conditional of it wearing a face mask and sanitising its hands.
Like many people in lockdown, my hair is in desperate need of cutting. My prevailing ‘style’ bearing a look of the whispy unconvincing comb over sported by Neil Diamond in the mid-1970s; around the time he appeared in ‘The Jazz Singer’. I don’t know about love on the rocks, but with this hairstyle any aspirations of street cred I previously bore is now definitely on the rocks.
It’s now Tuesday morning, as I edge sloth-like towards the conclusion of this piece. Mental fatigue yesterday evening scuppering my self-imposed deadline of finishing this chronicle on Monday.
After a robust slumber, incorporating night visions of yours truly receiving an MBE for services to back hair cultivation, I awoke refreshed and in a chirpier disposition than yesterday evening. It’s amazing how much achieving a Member of the British Empire title raises vigour levels….. Oh, hold on, that was a dream…… Damn, I’m starting to feel morose again!
