The thin gruel provided from living a COVID lifestyle wears particularly heavy today. A mood that’s diminished further from just witnessing England cricketer Jonny Bairstow losing his wicket in India. My fellow Yorkshireman holing out in the deep while six runs short of what would’ve been an accomplished century.

Although, on a positive note, as I. write England are up with the run rate required to win this first 50 over a side international against India, so all isn’t lost….. Oh, balls, the team’s captain Eoin Morgan is out now!….. Me and my bloody big mouth!….. Oh, bloody bollocks now batting talisman Jos Buttler has just been dismissed only a few deliveries later……. For gods sake, hurry up and finish this paragraph, Gary!!!

The previous paragraph must’ve been the unluckiest five minute literary passage I’ve ever written, well for my nation’s cricket team, anyhow. That being said, I refuse to believe England’s diminishing serendipity was consequential of me chronicling they maintained a favourable position after Bairstow’s dismissal.

Due to other higher priority chores, its been a couple of hours since penning the previous paragraph. A trip to my former marital home and cooking of a splendid sausage casserole, accompanied by sides of mashed sweet potato, broccoli, cabbage and leek requiring more urgent attention.

With this segments commencement taking place on Wednesday morning, for the second day on the bounce I’ve failed to reach a self-imposed deadline of 500 words (minimum) per day. Higher priorities inherited as my mum’s carer, alluded to above, rendering me with insufficient time to complete this potboiler on Tuesday.

This morning’s been fairly fruitful thus far. Firstly, I managed to complete an article I’d promised for a magazine editor who’s offered me the opportunity of having my literary work printed in his monthly publication…… Well, as long as the narrative ticks all the right boxes, anyhow.

My prose, which I’ve been writing in vignettes over past few weeks, covering circumstances surrounding me gaining a love of cricket during my fledgling years. A chronicle of which I’m proud, and will be even prouder if included within the monthly publication.

My morning itinerary’s also incorporated undertaking two washing machine loads of laundry; one of which was my mum’s brand new quilt cover which’d been bloodied after she’d grazed her arm. In her fleeting cognitive confusion, she’s unaware of this arm injuries source, but suspects it whatever it was must’ve been sharp….. There’s no flies on my mother, although there’s plenty of blood.

Footnote – In retrospect, I guess putting barbed wire on her wheelchair to deter thieves was a pretty reckless act.….. Seriously, though, the community carer (who was onsite when this occurred) and I have absolutely no idea what caused this incident.

To close, I’ve just read people have been falsely claiming they are health or social care workers in order to get the COVID vaccine before people in higher risk groups. A story manifesting notions of those men who dressed as women in a bid to sneak a place upon a stricken SS Titanic lifeboat…. I really wish this bulletin surprised me, but sadly it seems par for the course in prevailing society.

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