Mixed Messages

Hello dear readers!

Today, you join a blogger on tenterhooks.

Sunday, is, was, and usually will be blog day. It is one of the cornerstones of my week, something I plan around, in fact I'd go so far as to say it's one of the weeks highlights.

This week however there is another event which is taking some of my attention away from this fixture, an event which is due in just over half an hour from time of typing. Boris Johnson's message to the country!

It's something which I have decidedly mixed feelings about, and here's why.

Some Sunny Days
In these unprecedented times just about the only subject in town is the Covid-19 pandemic and the effects is has had on each and every one of our lives. It has led to a slight drop in variety when it comes to writing a weekly blog. There's literally nothing else happening right now for a self-isolating disabled person with a chronic illness,Some Sunny  and a compromised immune system. I mean, I suppose there's an outside chance Kylie will knock on the front door and stay a sexy yet respectful two metres away. It's a long shot though.

Having said all that, there has been one event of note in the week's sunshine, an outbreak of headscarves, vintage frocks, tank-tops, and Victoria Sponges sitting alongside actual teapots which actual tea-cosies. I am of course talking about the seventy-fifth anniversary of VE Day.

As I'm sure I don't need to tell anyone, this momentous occasion marks the day that the second world war came to an end for those living in Europe. Hitler was dead. The war had (almost) been won. The plan was to mark the anniversary with street parties and much nostalgia. Vera Lynn records would play, bunting would be raised, and we would all get to know our neighbours in new old-fashioned ways.

Read All About It
It was a celebration many were looking forward to, even if social-distancing meant that street parties became family affairs in the front garden, and the conga line resembled more a short line of Morse Code. Sadly it was, in my mind at least, slightly hijacked.

It was Wednesday that Boris Johnson, our alleged leader, facing Keir Starmer across the dispatch box and stated that today's announcement would be for an "unlockdown". This vague statement was then picked up by pretty much each an every newspaper. Their morning editions heralding clarion calls of lockdown's end and freedom returning to people's lives.

Well, you can probably imagine the response.

It wasn't everyone, and it wasn't as many people as it might have been, but in the days that followed the up tick in both foot traffic and vehicles has been notable. We're not, by any means, back to 'normality' but we're busier than we were. To lend a little context, this all happened in the week when Britain became the country with the second highest reported death toll in the world.

Work-A-Day

I've taken a little break, in the midst of blogging, to listen to the PM's message and it basically seems to breakdown to the outdoors being a free-for-all (two metre distancing to be maintained, and fines for not doing so increased, but no talk of extra policing to help with this enforcement), and everyone who cannot work from home being sent back to their offices, factories, and call centres.

I maybe being gloomy. I may be projecting my own somewhat vulnerable state onto the population. It feels too much, too soon though. With the PPE situation still unclear' (to be charitable), deaths in care homes still being a massive issue, testing and tracing still at its infant stage and not yet rolled out to the general populace, and the very real risk of a second peak in infections which, if it were to follow previous epidemics could well kill more people than the initial spike I for one will continue to self-isolate. I guess I'm lucky that my own health issues mean I can't, and therefore don't, go to work. My worry is for those that don't have that option.

Until next time....