Corona Diaries

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Bob

“The phone call from my dermatology consultant confirmed that my immuno-suppressant medication for both

eczema and Crohn’s Disease propelled me into the ‘high risk’ category, the Premier League for vulnerability

to the virus”.

Background Information

Male, Aged 55-64, Retired, Wales, White British, Married

April 2020

Monday 13th April

It’s been three weeks since the so-called lockdown was officially announced by Boris Johnson. Three weeks

since Sharon’s memorable birthday: the car’s hastily-arranged MoT and a big supermarket shop in Lidl in the

near certain knowledge that the flagged-up PM statement that evening would ramp up the restrictions on

social interaction, travel, life as we‘ve always known it.

Three weeks. It feels more like three years.

It seems like forever since we took the difficult decision to drive up to North Wales to see Michelle, Andrew

and he house they’re buying while it was still possible. We followed the distancing and hygiene rules which

already applied and don’t regret the trip, even it was truncated following the order that Friday evening to close

all pubs and restaurants forthwith. We were probably the last people to be served a meal in the Hotel. To us,

missing out on a cooked breakfast was a nuisance, an abbreviated break, an early return journey, but to staff

at the hotel it was a sudden loss of employment, of an income, or at least until the furlough process delivers

on its promise.

It wasn’t as if the announcement was a surprise. We’d watched the news with increasing horror as the

Coronavirus wreaked havoc first in Wuhan, then the rest of China before unleashing its force on an

unsuspecting Lombardy region of Italy. Yet it was probably when football began its piecemeal postponements

as a handful of players, managers and owners tested positive that it began to really hit home. When would

the season finish? What would happen to the Fantasy Football League and Sky’s Super 6 competitions?

Of course, within days the sporting world shut down, with the rest of perceived normal social and economic

life following hard on its coat tails. The daily Downing Street press conferences offered a gruesome

entertainment. For all the false ‘We’re all in this together’ pronouncements from the politicians it was the

senior scientists who held our attention. New terms such as ‘herd immunity’, ‘community transmission’ and

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‘social distancing’ entered the vocabulary, although it probably took a little longer to fully fathom what they

meant and how they would impact on our daily lives in a way we could not have imagined even a week

before.

Our two-person household was ahead of the game, although not so far ahead that we could buy an additional

freezer before the usual providers had sold out. We were lucky that a fortuitous inquiry to AO led to the

delivery of extra food storage space on the 27th. I was concerned that the closure of international borders

would lead to food shortages, so we endeavoured to stock up on meat in particular. Sharon quite enjoyed

embarking on a two-day bakeathon with cottage and other assorted pies destined to stave off starvation

through the summer. We’d also had the foresight to buy seeds and pots with which to grow our own salad

and vegetables. If nothing else, monitoring their daily progress would provide us with entertainment.

The phone call on the 26th from my dermatology consultant confirmed my expectant that my immuno-

suppressant medication for both eczema and Crohn’s Disease propelled me into the ‘high risk’ category, the

Premier League for vulnerability to the virus. The letter from the Chief Medical Officer for Wales, Frank

Atherton took another week to arrive, but our troublesome coughs had already prompted a period of self-

isolation. What’s another 12 weeks?

Of course this was serious. Sharon joked that in our retirement we were already self-isolating most of the

time. However, being such an outgoing social creature, Sharon did not completely comprehend the effect of

the lockdown and my effective house arrest. To her credit, despite being my ‘carer’ as such, she declined to

risk contamination by going to the shops, placing herself in the same boat as me. On the downside, that

meant we were placing ourselves in the hands of neighbours when it came to shopping and replenishing the

fridge and freezers. This has been particularly hard for Sharon as dependence on others as an alien concept.

But the whole Covid19 issue was an alien concept and it is now the new normal. Fortunately, our coughs

have dissipated but every sneeze, every headache prompts a splurge of paranoia. For all my fortnight of

daytime coughing, lack of appetite and feeling a bit shit, I don’t believe neither I, nor Sharon, actually had the

virus, does it matter if we did? Probably not. Given my high-risk status, I fear the worst if my lungs do succumb

to its grip and so all we can do is stick to the rules and ride it out for as long as it takes.

We aren’t in the desperate world of World War 2. We’re not being threatened by bombs, our supply chain

has proved surprisingly resilient and the public has, apart from some well-publicised idiots, stuck to the ‘stay

at home’ mantra. I’m under no illusion that we’re in it for the long haul. Just a month ago, June looked a likely

date to signal a return to normality. Now it’s apparent that in the UK and many other parts of the world the

dire death toll will remain unacceptably high for any realistic thoughts of widespread relaxation of restrictions.

It may be that everything is reliant on an effective vaccine being found, tested, manufactured and rolled out

to eight billion people. It could be years, but we have to be ready.

Three weeks is but a drop in the ocean, but we’ll get through it purely because there is no alternative.

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Wednesday 15th April

It’s been another pleasant sunny day here, the weather providing some distraction from the ongoing

depressing news of life under lockdown. We have reached a strange point in British human existence when

a daily death toll of 778 is hailed as a symbol of success. I fear a post-Easter step increase tomorrow and

eventually the Office for National Statistics will be in a position to combine these figures with the thousands

of victims who perished in care homes, hospices and in their residences.

The obsession with numbers shows no sign of fading. As someone who analysed data for a living, I tend to

lap them up, also recognising the liberties taken by the government and broadcasters depending on the

message they want to convey. The number of cases is known to be a gross underestimate, thanks to the

government’s negligence regarding virus testing, so comparing data with those in other countries is

meaningless. I prefer those trend graphs for Covid-19 deaths which indicate offer some solace to the UK

when considering when the pandemic might peak, and the health service finds itself under the greatest

pressure.

It is kinda reassuring to observe falls in fatalities in countries such as Italy and Spain, demonstrating the

benefit of lockdowns. The UK will follow suit but I’m under no illusions about how restrictions could be

extended well into next year. Last night we had been due to attend a Simple Minds concert at the Motorpoint

Arena, which has been rescheduled for February 2021. I suspect a postponement of ten months may not be

enough to ensure it goes ahead as planned. Our Pet Shop Boys tickets will apparently be valid next May.

Sharon thinks I should seek a refund, but I’d like to have something to look forward to next year.

The government is at least starting to appreciate the importance of the care home sector. It’s not just about

the death toll being omitted from the official figures, albeit for understandable technical reasons, but it’s

obvious the focus on putting the NHS on a pedestal has overshadowed the rest, just as the self-employed

were initially forgotten in the Job Retention Scheme. You can’t blame the government for being caught

unawares by this unique situation, but there have been some regrettable misjudgements.

At last we don’t have a leader like President Trump, for whom the Covid-19 disaster is merely a means to

maintain his bizarre assertions that it’s all someone else’s fault, When he puts his presidential election

campaign ahead of the lives of thousands of his citizens, it makes my blood boil but it’s nothing less than

what we expect from him, and now he is removing funding for the World Health Organisation just as this

esteemed body of scientific experts most needs our respect and support. Of course, in Trump’s bubble if

someone challenges your opinion the first response is ridicule followed by financial obliteration. It stinks.

Meanwhile, the world has gone ga-ga over a spry 99 year-old from Bedfordshire called Tom Moore. I get a

bit concerned when people say they are raising money ‘for the NHS’; that is the role of our government.

However, when funds are directed to the likes of NHS Charities Together these efforts can only be applauded.

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I have come around to supporting Captain Moore, whose plodding up and down his patio on his walking

frame has so far raked in £8 million. With celebrities also doing their bit, and millions of us wondering what

to do with our enforced extended leisure time, hopefully many charities currently facing oblivion thanks to

shop closures and event cancellations will emerge intact from the economic meltdown.

Ministers have muttered about ‘green shoots’ of recovery but, on the domestic front, I’m more encouraged

by the green shoots appearing in the garden and conservatory pots. The onions, peppers and radishes are

showing signs of growth but no sign of yet of any carrot leaves. I’ve planted a few indoors to see if this

alternative strategy is more successful at bearing fruit, literally.

Sharon’s latest bout of baking resulted in what I’m told was a very tasty tray of flapjacks. If nothing else, this

dreadful situation should result in greater self-sufficiency and a proficient nation of home bakers beyond the

wildest dreams of Bake Off.

Saturday, 18th April

This week marked the fifth anniversary of Mum’s death. She was one of more than half a million who died in

2015; it’s the way of the world. We are born, do stuff and we die. As the coronavirus death toll in the UK

careers towards 15,000, it’s important to remember that those 15,000 who have succumbed to Covid-19 are

all someone’s mother, father, son or daughter, friend and sibling.

There’s been plenty of speculation around the economic impact of the pandemic. Short-term, official forecasts

suggest a massive 15% hit to the UK GDP. One model offers an eventual 35% plunge. That seems totally

unimaginable, and yet so has the current reality of near-global lockdown, with five billion people around the

world already experiencing restrictions of movement and employment. If the prospect of no-deal Brexit

seemed scary, this is off the scale.

As I’ve said before, it’s different from the horrors of World War 2. Mum and Dad would often regale Amy and

me with personal tales of ac-ac guns down the street in Southampton, ‘doodlebugs’ dropping on East London,

air raid shelters, evacuations to the safer countryside and food rationing. They were lucky in that their

respective fathers were too old to be called up for frontline duty. However, millions of men flew, sailed or

drove to risk their lives in mainland Europe, North Africa or Asia, leaving their families wondering whether

they would live or die. For SIX YEARS! There was no internet, of course, but somehow for many a

rudimentary postal system managed to maintain a form of communication between troops and loved ones.

Yes, people had to write letters, not just a smiley emoji alongside a picture of a cat in a gasmask, or share a

link to Gracie Fields duetting with Gary Barlow.

Newspapers and radio were vital media, especially for a boy like Dad, whose inquiring mind even led him to

tune in to Lord Haw-Haw. Mum was five years younger, only four when it all kicked off in 1939. Her memories

were relatively domestic in focus, including Grandad’s fire-watching duties and the family’s attempts to ‘dig

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for victory’ to supplement their meagre Government rations. I know for a fact that in 2020 our handful of pots

containing onions, radishes, peppers and so on wouldn’t sustain the two of us for a month let alone six years.

Hopefully it won’t matter too much. I’m amazed at the resilience of the twenty-first century grocery supply

chain. Despite the disruption to international shipping, air, road and rail links, our supermarkets seem, apart

from a few well-documented groceries (pasta, flour and so on) to be remarkably well stocked, at least here

in Cardiff. Not that I’ve seen it for myself; my isolation period is now four weeks and counting.

Our infrastructure may be holding up well and, while hospital and care home staff are reeling from a desperate

shortage of PPE, the Government is seeking to boost morale not only by re-recording the songs of Dame

Vera Lynn (still alive!) but by belatedly discussing the lockdown exit strategy. Nobody can realistically expect

dates and times, but it is interesting to read about the options.

One benefit of being hopelessly behind the rest of Europe is that we can watch what the likes of Germany,

Spain and Italy are doing after reaching their peaks in coronavirus hospital admissions and deaths, then

judge what does and doesn’t work. However, we don’t have the luxury of sitting and waiting months to see

whether our overseas neighbours experience a resurgence of virus transmission after re -opening schools,

shops and factories.

I hope it’s not long. Otherwise the next generation will be telling their children about how we had to acquire

hens for eggs and carry face masks in a little box around our necks. Mum would be looking down on

proceedings with a rueful smile tinged with tears.

Monday, 20th April

At the weekend, one of our helpful neighbours did a top-up shop for us, supplemented by a copy of my fave

newspaper The Guardian. It was the first one I’d seen for five weeks so I leapt upon it like a semi-isolating

shopper descending on a pack of Lidl tinned tomatoes.

It was a sadly anorexic weekend edition. No travel or sports section, and even the Arts booklet was devoid

of anything associated with theatre, cinema or forthcoming summer festivals. TV and books it is, then. Since

the lockdown, it’s music that has gained most currency when it comes to keeping us entertained.

Sharon has continued sharing Gary Barlow’s virtual duets with all and sundry, from the hyperactive Olly Murs

to the ever-lively Lulu in her kitchen, and other Facebook friends and ‘liked’ bands have showered me with

YouTube video links of varying degrees of appeal. I haven’t been averse to doing the same. The best have

been quite unexpected. Seeing a grandmotherly Hazel O’Connor singing her masterful Eighties ballad ‘Will

You’, accompanied presumably by ‘Mr O’Connor’ on ukulele and the barking of a dog, in her suburban garden

was a delight. The uncertainty of how to end it – no saxophone solo possible! – was genuine, as was the

panning of the camera towards applauding neighbours.

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Yesterday we also witnessed Elton John hammering out ‘I’m Still Standing’ on his grand piano on what I

presumed to be one tiny corner of one garden on one of his estates. Lady Gaga’s charity Together At Home

multi-artist concert had some merit (127 million dollars’ worth) and in the BBC’s edited broadcast there were

heart-breaking scenes from the global lockdown: who could have imagined Charlie Watts of the Rolling

Stones being unable to afford a drum set?

With no professional sport or live shows, celebrities have been doing their bit for NHS ‘charidees’ for weeks

now. It must be a bit galling when a 99-year-old we’d never previously heard of blows them all out of the

water, but they are not to be outdone. The Beeb’s hosting a special ‘Big Night In’ this week and I’ve read that

Radio 1 is recording an at-home Live Lounge single to take its place alongside the various ex-soldiers and

worthy music stars.

My musical ability is next to nil, so the world breathes a sigh of relief. However, my street isn’t yet out of the

woods. Last Thursday evening, immediately following the Clap for Carers, Sharon fashioned a reggae outfit

from bits and bobs in the wardrobe and entertained a few neighbours to a Bob Marley soundtrack. It’s all

within the rules of social distancing and I resolutely remained within the confines of the stubby front fence. I

feared the launch of a regular show and, barring threats of violence or police, that is exactly what Sharon has

in mind. I’m the world’s most reluctant fancy-dresser but, with precious little else to do, even I have already

cut out a crude toy guitar from the remains of an Amazon box with a view to miming along to something

rockier. The other night my crazy brain even fuelled insomnia by thinking who I could impersonate with

minimal effort or few available resources. I even went so far as to research costumes for Slash of Guns ‘n’

Roses, but that was too much a flight of fancy. In any case, half the local residents wouldn’t know who he

was.

However, it proves how insidious the influence of music has become in these entertainment-starved times.

We have to make our own fun, and the old adage holds truer than ever before: if you can’t beat ‘em, join

‘em….

Thursday, 23rd April

Patience. Community spirit, national resilience and optimism are all very well but what I’m going to need most

of all is a humungous reserve of patience. We’re barely a month into the so-called lockdown, albeit a lot more

lenient than we’re seeing in much of France, Spain and Italy and already there’s a clamour for knowing when

we’re going to return to normal. Of course, the answer is we can’t possibly know.

The reopening of a handful of B&Q stores, albeit with strict social distancing rules in place, doesn’t mean that

next week we’ll all be down the Dog & Duck watching Norwich v Bournemouth. It ain’t gonna happen. No

Cabinet minister dares tell the public that we’ll still be 2 metres apart and isolating from the wider family come

Christmas. Instead it’s left to the redoubtable Chris Whitty and other experts to dish out the bad news.

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Today came a report of the first human guinea pigs taking part in a UK vaccine trial. Great! But it’ll be ages

before the scientists can say whether or not it’s successful. I daresay there are similar trials being undertaken

in labs around the world, all hoping that theirs will be the Big One which will rake in the cash once the USA

buys every millilitre as soon as it comes off the production line. I may be exaggerating slightly but there have

been admissions that even a successful trial in the UK won’t necessarily result in its citizens being vaccinated

first.

Which brings me back to patience. As one of those being ‘shielded’, the initial grounding period was set at

twelve weeks. Sharon is somewhat fixated on the end of June seeing us being released back into the

community, just in time for my July 1st birthday. However, I am resolutely avoiding thinking about that date.

As each day passes, the likelihood increases of that shielding period being extended.

I remember some years ago being in hospital after surgery, and informed I’d probably need two weeks on

the ward before I’d be fit to return home. When you’re low and vulnerable, it’s easy to grasp that end date

like the last bottle of water in the Sahara. When the medical staff said I’d need a few more days, the

disappointment was more than I could bear. I knew I was being irrationally emotional yet couldn’t help

shedding tears.

In 2020, I feel confident that I won’t endure a repeat of that experience. I’m enough of a realist to know that

30th June is just an interim date, and will surely be just a staging post for another three months at least. This

virus ain’t going away. I sincerely hope I’m allowed out by Christmas, just as I hope businesses are allowed

to begin functioning once more, albeit nowhere near where they were in the old days Before Covid19.

However, until then it’s all about keeping going, day by day, week by week, watching the seeds grow and

coming up with new ideas for musical themes on Clap for Carers night. It could be a long summer! Patience,

Bob, patience!

Monday, 27th April

Prime Minister Boris Johnson returned to Downing Street and gave one of his barnstorming speeches to the

nation from that little lectern. His amazingly swift recovery from a stint in St Thomas’ Covid-19 ICU suggests

that he was not as seriously ill as we’d been led to believe. However, he made his temporary stand-in Dominic

Raab look as useful as an April–June 2020 cinema voucher.

Of course, the PM is only really a front man, notoriously reluctant to get his hands dirty in real decision -

making, as was apparent in his dodging several key COBRA meetings last month. And yet, while each day’s

No.10 press conference delivered a new initiative or promise, the Government seemed to be wading through

treacle when challenged on its proposed exit strategy. Scotland and Wales did respond but for some time

Westminster (i.e. England) appeared resistant to the idea of being realistic and insisting there would be no

imminent partial lifting of the lockdown. With more people brazenly flouting the rules, Johnson, to his credit,

didn’t pull his punches.

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And yet the internet is awash with reports of top-level discussions with commercial and sporting bodies about

how to start the re-opening of shops, schools and Premier League football. They aren’t only in the name of

stimulating the struggling economy but also to make us all feel better. I think that glancing at actions taken in

Europe could be key. Just as the film of an empty St Mark’s Square or Place de la Concorde in early March

brought home the chilling view of the future in Britain so the news of Spanish children being released from a

five-week domestic grounding and shops re-opening in Germany and the Czech Republic should be

encouraging.

But foreign governments are being sensible in the small steps being implemented. Even in New Zealand, as

ever a beacon of forward-thinking under Jacinda Ardern, the almost elimination of virus cases is being

greeted by extremely limited relaxation of social distancing regulations. It could be years before we

experience figures like that, but our own multi-billion pound Premier League is signalling a resumption of

footballing hostilities in early June.

Professor Whitty has already intimated a continuation of ‘vulnerable’ people shielding until the end of the

year. I for one would not be happy if my liberty is sacrificed just so that Sky can screen football matches

played on empty training grounds to a soundtrack of recorded crowd roars, presumably without the moronic

racist gestures. I love football as much as the next man or woman but making exceptions for the football

circus at the expense of people like me. I’m all for careful progress in the construction and retail sector, even

if it involves compulsory mask wearing but, for all its potential morale-boosting benefits, I think sport should

wait a bit longer to cash in.

Thursday, 30th April

So April creaks to a showery end, the first full month under lockdown. One to cross off with relief. Of course

there’ll be plenty more, and not even the scientific community can predict what further damage to public

health this virus will inflict. I guess it’s just a matter of watching researching and learning.

Tom Moore’s 100th birthday today provided a welcome distraction from all the doom and gloom. I can’t help

wondering what would have happened had it rained when he and his family came up with the fundraising

idea. We probably would never have hear of him! But there would have been others to get behind, and good

on them all. However, I really want to support local charities who without urgent support stand to go bust.

This afternoon I received a phone call from Cardiff Council. They were working through their list of ‘shielding’

residents, checking on their welfare and whether I needed any additional support with food and medical

supplies or domestic activities. I’m lucky that I didn’t, but was heartened by the Council taking time to ring

me.

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On the downside, I had an email from TUI confirming what for a few months had looked inevitable: our holiday

to Corfu next month had been cancelled. Very dispiriting, nonetheless, especially as heaven knows when we

might be able to travel abroad again. We don’t tend to travel beyond the Mediterranean, but such exploration

has always been important to me. Just one more casualty of this blasted pandemic.

I’d be amazed if most airports and airlines survive. With BA closing its Gatwick operation and both Thomas

Cook and FlyBe having folded recently, our local airport at Cardiff looks doomed, and many other regional

hubs will surly struggle to attract customers in the new era of social distancing and mistrust of crowds. I feel

saddened by the consequent pulling up the national drawbridge and returning to Dark Ages insularity. It was

one of the reasons I so vehemently despise Brexit. However, Covid-19 has got in first, delivering a future far

worse than even Nigel Farage had dreamed about. At least the skies are quieter, the environment benefiting

from the vast reduction in polluting gases and we are all becoming more health-conscious and hygienic. It’s

the people with small businesses or sole traders I really feel sorry for.

As for tonight, it’s Thursday, and time for the weekly Clap. The sun is shining on our street so Sharon has

created a look vaguely resembling Amy Winehouse, so our Facebook friends demanding another mini-show

of miming and dancing will get their wish. I don’t think my cardboard guitar will be required this week . ‘Back

to Black’ is hardly the message of hope and optimism but at least ‘Valerie’ is a more reliable toe-tapper!

MAY Wednesday, 6th May

WATIO. When All This Is Over. It’s a phrase I’m constantly reading and hearing, but what on earth do ‘this’

and ‘over’ actually mean in practice? ‘This’ will presumably morph into ‘something a bit better than this’ but

‘over’ is a different matter entirely.

Media and the public are like back seat kids on a long car journey to the seaside: are we nearly there yet?

Are we nearly there yet? Whether it’s about the availability of an effective Covid19 vaccine or the end of our

lockdown, it’s a constant refrain. For a few days now we’ve been promised an announcement by the PM on

Sunday. Given that he has apparently promised an easing of some restrictions, I am guessing it will be good

news.

By that I mean that more shops and garden centres will open, more trains will run, more interaction between

families may be allowed and maybe some children may return to school by June. It must be good for the

nation’s mental wellbeing and the economy. However, given that the virus death toll has just surged past

30,000, the word ‘good’ should surely be qualified. Figures in Wales suggest, while most areas seem to be

over the peak in terms of community transmission, deaths are still rising in parts of the north, and this isn’t

just the dreadful care home issue.

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In Germany, Angela Merkel has announced that shops can reopen and top-flight football resume, albeit

behind closed doors. Brits rejoice: that’ll be us soon! But Germany’s smart strategy of testing has limited their

deaths to below 10,000, which gives them a healthier foundation. Over here, the headline 30th April target of

100,000 was indeed ‘achieved’, but on no days since. Can Boris’ promise of 200,000 a day within three weeks

or so be hit, not merely on 31st May but consistently?

The Isle of Wight trial for the NHS app designed to track individuals’ proximity to suspected Covid sufferers

is interesting. Will enough residents bother to take part? If not, a national rollout will surely be doomed. Even

technophobes like me will have to sign up and I’d be happy to do so, even if I am still shielding anyway. All

the Tesco, Amazon and Royal Mail deliverers would need to have the app for it to work for us.

On a more parochial matter, our house’s version of “Are we nearly yet?” has been answered: we have eaten

the first few radishes grown from seed – and very tasty they were, too! I only hope that the frost and even

sleet showers forecast for Saturday night doesn’t destroy the rest of the seedlings and infant onions/potatoes

still outdoors - we don’t have room to bring them inside. That would be a setback even more shattering than

an extension to my personal shielding period. Those plants are my babies, to be cared for and loved

throughout this wretched pandemic.

Sunday, 10th May

A week or so ago I wrote that I felt confident of my ability to stay calm in this crisis. Well, that didn’t last long!

On Thursday, I experienced for the first time what my wife called a ‘wobble’. Ostensibly it was triggered by a

practice run of our planned piece of post-Clap entertainment, this time a duet based on Gavin and Stacey’s

Bryn and Nessa. Forgetting the words, I lost my nerve then lost my rag. Yes, there were extenuating

circumstances, but it was a gross over-reaction and it scared me. I hadn’t realised how much the whole

pandemic shielding was affecting me mentally.

Apparently, I’m not the only person who’s had a wobble recently and there must be a danger of the whole

nation morphing into a giant jelly. I suppose that’s why Mark Drakeford in Wales and, this evening, Boris

Johnson announcing a very cautious relaxing of the lockdown. However, with all the deliberate leaks from

Downing Street, the messages seem to be disturbingly mixed.

In England, at least, the mantra is changing to ‘Stay Alert’. What on earth does that mean?! With the UK and

devolved governments desperate to restart the economy and lift spirits, we are clearly being urged to get out

more, even drive long distances for exercise, and no longer stay at home to protect the NHS. By ‘we’, I can’t

include myself since I’m willing to bet current shielders don’t form part of these new-found freedoms. And nor

should we. The politicians need to heed their cautionary words from just a few days ago and take things one

small step at a time. Even in South Korea, where proper testing and tracing led to a rapid end to the virus’

spread, reopened bars have led to a new outbreak. The PM’s decision to allow the English to flock to the

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coasts for watersports will also undermine UK-wide consensus and drive a wedge between England and, say

Wales. It’s also crazy from a social distancing point of view.

It’s great that garden centres can be reopened. They’re relatively easy to operate with social distancing and

we all hate the idea of binning millions of plants. As for telling workers to walk and cycle to work because

buses and trains can only run safely at 10% capacity, I have my doubts. Sounds great in theory , but in

practice? The same goes for instructing employers to stagger their working hours. Who referees the slots?

It’ll be like a signalling centre for the UK’s economy.

Best not to think too hard about such Big Things. Keep it micro, like the little old fledgling veg seedlings facing

frost in the garden. I don’t want any more wobbles, thank you very much.

Wednesday, 13th May

My favourite quotation from a TV advert in recent years must be the one used in Aviva’s campaign. When

interrogated by someone else’s insurer about whether the applicant’s door locks comply with safety standard

BS 3621, the poor man quivers with frustration: “I don’t know. NOBODY knows!”

I feel the same about the Government’s new relaxed rules and regulations for social interaction. If Cabinet

ministers are contradicting each other every five minutes, and they have to compile a document the size of

the Brexit trade deal merely to clarify what Boris Johnson actually meant, how are the rest of us supposed to

understand?

And who, exactly, are us? The PM seems no longer to represent the UK, and speaks only for England. The

devolved nations are, quite rightly, exercising great caution in the timing and extent of releasing lockdown. I

expected Johnson to do the same the other night. But for all his bluster about thanking the public for the

diligence and bulldog spirit and not risking another spike, subsequent announcements seem to be allowing

English residents to do what the hell they like.

Advice on who you can or can’t talk to, and in what numbers, out in a public space seems baffling. If people

are confused and don’t know with what they’re expected to comply, it’s a natural step to abandon all attempts

to do so. Even Johnson and Hancock have shirked responsibility by leaving it to people’s good old “British

common sense”. Given that so many of them voted Brexit, that doesn’t fill me with optimism.

Travel where you like, providing it’s not overnight. And now the next day they’re urging everyone to take

staycations! Quarantine for all visitors (apart from those coming from Ireland and France, which has the fourth

worst death rate in the world) is too little too late, and yet Michael O’Leary of Ryanair is urging everyone to

fly abroad from July with little or no nods to social distancing and, given that the quarantining probably won’t

be assiduously policed, is pretty much telling us all to ignore it.

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TUI has today announced 8,000 job losses yet is preparing for some kind of summer season. Some

Mediterranean destinations, desperate for tourist money, are also talking of reopening for foreign business. I

notice that Portugal are being far more sensible about it, and remarkably claim to have suffered no Covid -19

deaths at all! I guess they want to keep things that way.

All the while, I’m stuck here within the bounds of my garden fence. All this apparently wonderful news about

people flocking back to London to work, families swarming to the beaches and businessmen dusting off their

golf clubs sticks in my throat. Of course I’d love the economy to revive, to get out and about again, take a

foreign holiday, even visit our own, but it can’t be at the reckless expense of lives.

I’d be amazed that the apparent England free-for-all, amidst continuing death tolls of around 3,000 a week,

doesn’t generate an upturn within a month, by which time it will surely prove very difficult to reverse the

easing, shut down schools, parks, even garden centres. A vaccine remains some way off, even impossible.

The track-and-trace app is now seen as the solution to all our ills, yet experts agree that such a policy is only

effective when infection and death rates are consistently low. At least that is a step in the right direction, and

gives us all something to look forward to. There are other positives. Infection rates are mercifully decreasing,

intensive care beds are emptying, but the all-important R number in parts of the country are perilously close

to 1. Any higher and we’re back in trouble.

Even at local level, confusion reigns supreme. My stepdaughter and boyfriend have seen their house

purchase in North Wales stall, and they’re understandably frustrated by this. Yet why, for example, are we

now told that in England people can visit strangers’ homes in relation to viewing and buying yet can’t go to

their own families if more than one person, or have I got that wrong? I don’t know. Nobody knows!

Sunday, 17th May

Another weekend, and we seem to have slipped into a consistent shielding routine. I’m not sure whether or

not that’s a good thing. There’s a danger of boredom setting in, with all the potential impact on our mental

health, while on the other hand it could be a comfort blanket as our shut-away period is inevitably extended

into the autumn and winter. Time will tell.

We have settled into a pattern of Saturday Tesco delivery for our groceries. It’s not perfect. With a ‘morning’

slot, our orders are apparently selected the night before, so fresh bread, newspapers and other items are off

the menu. With an evening slot, these same products have a tendency to run out. It’s frustrating but with such

unprecedented demand, perhaps inevitable, so I try not to complain. My life hardly depends on having access

to The Guardian and we’re extremely fortunate to have neighbours willingly offering to pick up items for us

themselves.

There’s not a lot we can do in return. While I tend to my growing family of young godetia and antirrhinum

seedlings (the seed packets cost 50p each), salad and veg plants, Sharon is spreading her wings on the

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bakery front. Cheesecake and shortbread are the latest triumphs, treats not only for us but those down the

street. Most also seem amused by another weekly tradition Sharon has started: the Thursday night music

show.

Sharon has been very resourceful turning existing wardrobe contents and a bit of creative make-up into

costumes. She makes an unlikely Bob Marley, Tina Turner or Amy Winehouse but she pulls it off with natural

spontaneous enthusiasm. Facebook friends suggested she’d make a splendid Nessa from Gavin and Stacey

which chimed with our own thoughts. So, in spite of my previous wobble, for ten minutes only, after last

week’s Clap for Carers I became Bryn to her Nessa for two unrehearsed semi-mimed front garden duets on

Islands in the Stream and Something Stupid. Even though I say so myself, they were actually quite good, just

the right side of cringeworthy. While to Sharon’s disappointment we haven’t gone viral – if I can use the word

in this pandemic – we were on a post-performance high for about 24 hours!

The trouble is, we’ve made rods for our own backs. Expectations are high. People time their dog -walking to

pass our house just after 8pm but how can we possibly top Thursday’s display? I don’t think we can, but

Sharon’s resigned to doing something. Maybe it’s an addiction but we should adhere to the gambling health

warning: when the fun stops, STOP!

While Trump persists in posturing over China and Democrats like a demented two year-old, and Boris

Johnson becoming more and more the Prime Minister, not of the UK, nor even England, but of London, it’s

comforting to know that at neighbourhood level, we are more united than ever. Differences over car parking

spaces have been set aside – well, we can’t drive anywhere, so such disputes are totally irrelevant to life

under lockdown – and we’re all a tighter, friendlier unit than ever before. Without face-to-face contact with

children and grandchildren, social interaction with neighbours has become increasingly important, albeit

compliant with social distancing rules.

Meanwhile, the UK’s original unity seems to be crumbling at an alarming rate. While Johnson blathers about

marching in step with each other, Downing Street seems to be operating without consulting the devolved

nations and regions about anything. Drive as far as you like to beauty spots, open up all the schools on 1st

June with near-normality promised by July, yet little consideration is given to the local authorities, teachers,

shopkeepers or even the long-suffering health workers who will have to pick up the pieces when Covid-19

resumes its insidious spread.

Like the economy vs lives conundrum, the issue of children’s return to education is a divisive one. I can only

imagine the hardship millions of parent’s face trying to keep their kids entertained, and finances in the black,

while schools remain shut to all bar younger offspring of key workers. Facebook threads and news reports

illustrate the range of views. At this stage it’s only Reception, Years 1 and 6 who are being urged to return to

their socially-distanced classrooms but the problems can’t be brushed under the carpet. Ministers and right-

wing journalists may brand “left-wing” teacher unions for being the enemy of children but they’re the ones in

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the firing line, with no PPE. In any case, how will parents get their children to and from school? Will they

continue to mill around at the school gate?

Of course nobody wants children to lose so much of their formal education period, but right now, I know many

people who are not willing to risk their children’s and, by viral transmission, their own and wider family’s lives

by sending them to school. Yet for others it’s a matter of personal freedom. Yesterday there was a video of

American-style libertarian nutters who in London gathered illegally to demand the right to go where they want

and meet who they want, and end the ‘illegal lockdown’. Fine, but what they are really saying is they have

the God-given right to spread a killer disease where they want and to whom they want. That’s the reality of

this horrible situation in which we find ourselves and they should accept it’s not just about their precious

freedoms. Try shielding for six months…

Maybe there are some amongst our FB friends, families and neighbours who also hold this selfish view but

this is going to be with us for months if not years so let’s all have a lot more home-grown salad, home baking

and even socially-distancing street entertainment. Next week we may even dress up as hippies for renditions

of I Got You Babe and Love is All Around. Maybe Alice Cooper’s School’s Out would be a provocative step

too far….

Wednesday, 20th May

It’s been a glorious warm, sunny day here and by all accounts there have been none of the ridiculous crowded

scenes on and around beaches that have typified the craziness in parts of England where it’s been even

hotter.

I’ve been coming round to the idea that it’s OK to spend as long as you like outdoors as long as social

distancing rules are adhered to. If scientific evidence shows that transmission of the virus is reduced outside

in the sun, then I’d have no problem should the Welsh Government relax that element of the lockdown. All

rather academic in my situation, of course. Amidst all the focus on care homes, schools, pubs and the airline

industry, the fate of the millions currently being ‘shielded’ remains a mystery. I’m still willing to bet that we will

be “advised” (forced?) to stay at home for a further three months while the English Government crosses its

fingers that the rushed relaxation doesn’t result in a resurgence of positive Covid cases and deaths.

Today it was announced that the number of people in hospital with Coronavirus fell below 10,000 for the first

time in yonks, and that the rolling average of mortality continues to fall. Great news! But more than 9,000

filling beds and 2,000 deaths in a week is hardly something to celebrate. Adopting an ostrich stance as

demonstrated by Putin and Bolsanaro has been proven by the worsening problems in Russia and Brazil,

while Trump’s ignorance knows no bounds.

None of us have really got a grip on what the New Normal will look like. We could be wearing masks and

keeping 2m apart for years. That will impact on just about every element of life. It’s not just shops, trains,

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pubs and football matches. It’s the mundanities like walking along the street or a car park, the paranoia if

someone is seen to sneeze or cough, being caught short when public toilets are shut (a subject close to my

heart!), seeing a doctor, and so on. The schools case covers almost all issues: transporting and meeting the

little darlings, arrangements for desks, play, refreshment, use of books, door handles, corridors,….. It’s mind -

boggling! It’s all very well ministers and the Daily Mail urging teachers to do their duty, but they don’t have to

resolve all these thorny problems – and inside two weeks!

Yet, as I began this entry, the weather has lifted the spirits. The roses, peonies and rhododendrons are

beginning to bloom in our garden. The hot tub has seen some use and all my plants are looking healthy. The

fridge has been cleaned, grand-kids’ unwanted toys, etc, sifted, given away or thrown out. The predicament

of finding pots or patches of soil for all of the seedlings and selecting music for tomorrow night’s show are

nice ones to have. It’s the school heads, small business owners and soon-to-be unemployed who I really feel

for, but I guess the list is endless. Thinking of everyone in the world affected by Covid19 will send me doolally.

Sunday, 24th May

Last week I bemoaned the cracking in the national unity around compliance with lockdown rules. The original

message around staying at home to protect the NHS (its infrastructure and staff) and save lives made sense

and we were prepared to make sacrifices for the common good. Then came the PM’s bungled message for

the English basically to get back to work and do what they want using “good old British common sense” to

avoid spreading the virus. The writing was on the wall.

Now we have the discovery that Dominic Cummings, who pulls Boris Johnson’s strings in Number 10,

flagrantly flouted several of his own rules, and more than once. Not only do his colleagues refuse to condemn

these actions but actually try to defend them as doing the right thing for his child. Do they really think that the

British public are that stupid? Just as Public Health departments are urging people not to flood beaches on

Bank Holiday weekend, making a mockery of essential social distancing, this Government has lost all

credibility. Many will be thinking: “If they don’t follow the rules, why should we?” The problem comes when

they act on it. I know for a fact that nursing staff consider it a massive slap in the face

Optimistic talk about track-and-trace and vaccine testing is all very well to boost morale is outweighing the

clauses of caution. You only have to look at the weekend tabloid headlines urging us to enjoy the great

outdoors and looking forward to further relaxation of the lockdown. I just hope that the unravelling doesn’t

result in all those sacrifices made since March being wasted. The genie is out of the bottle.

Speaking of which, I am bemused by the decision to introduce quarantine – two months too late – just as

Boris is encouraging us to take summer holidays. European destinations are opening up borders again from

June and July. They desperately need the income, but do they really want hordes of Brits from a nation

boasting a Covid-19 death toll of almost 50,000 to swarm into their airports and onto their beaches? Some

have specifically excluded the UK at least for now and who can blame them?

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I get it. Holidays lift morale. We spend loads of money. Brilliant. Overseas holidays are very important to me,

too, but not at any price. But, even if we can go abroad, why on earth would we want to stay in hotels where

the pool is out of bounds and buffet restaurants closed, beaches are policed for social distancing, crowded

bars a thing of the past and excursions likely to be twice as expensive because of passenger restrictions?

Even the most avid Covid-deniers might baulk at jetting off to Benidorm if the usual highlights are off the

menu – and they have to wear masks and spend two weeks in quarantine back at home for the privilege.

While I’m in rant mode, I’m unconvinced by the campaign to dole out medals for NHS ‘heroes’. Don’t make

me laugh. Making political capital out of the crisis leaves me fuming. What these workers would prefer are

proper pay and conditions, the tools to do their jobs and an end to fear of losing their lives or being deported

for looking too foreign.

Even the weekly Clap for Carers is starting to lose its lustre. Down our street it still brings people out to

applaud or bang saucepans, but it’s increasingly looking like a flimsy piece of protective equipment to deflect

attention from the Government’s failed strategies. Even the original organiser has suggested it is stood down

after next Thursday.

What does that mean for our own front garden entertainment? In some ways the Clap’s demise will excuse

us the headache over what theme to adopt each week to keep our Facebook friends amused. And yet it has

become part of our own ritual. We enjoy it, too. On top of that, we have just invested in a couple of wigs which

could serve a multitude of purposes, from Abba to Bon Jovi, and it seems a shame to waste them!

Perhaps it is our ‘fans’ who will decide. We don’t exactly have the followers of Little Mix, Justin Bieber or Dua

Lipa but if we can, if only for ten minutes on a Thursday evening, distract from the political shitstorms driving

us mad, then it’s worth the effort. With Wales still in lockdown and this household shielding, it’s not as if we’ve

much else to do. But if Dominic Cummings wants to drive down and watch, he can be sure of a unanimous

two-word welcome – and it won’t be “Stay alert”!

Thursday, 28th May

Last time I wrote about the disturbing news that Boris Johnson’s chief advisor, confidant and strategist

Dominic Cummings had, at the height of the UK Covid 19 infection rate and death toll, driven his wife and

child 260 miles to his parents’ estate while the rest of us were being urged to Stay Home, Protect the NHS,

Save Lives.

The PM predictably supported him and his actions wholeheartedly, even going so far as to praise his integrity.

Pardon? What a bunch of hypocrites! By saying it’s OK to follow your ‘instincts’ and sod the rules, Johnson

has made a difficult situation for the nation’s health even worse. When Cummings became the story, he

eventually agreed to a press Q&A in the No.10 garden on Monday. It was an assured performance but there

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were no apologies, no contrition, and admissions of fact were only yielded when the evidence was stark.

Then came the ludicrous fairy-tale of the 30-mile drive to Barnard Castle on his wife’s birthday, purely to test

his eyesight. WTF?!

Johnson obviously considers the case closed, his supporters insisting the media have only got it in for him

because of Brexit. Yet five days on from the revelation, it’s all we’re talking and reading about, the memes

flowing thick and fast on Facebook and Twitter. Yes, one man’s actions are trivial in relation to the 47,000

deaths and sacrifices made by millions. But by shamelessly endorsing a policy of one rule for Cummings,

another for the rest of us, the Government has for most of us lost our respect. Sharon and I certainly won’t

be heading out of shielding and off to the beach but there will be many, especially in England, who will take

their cues from Cummings and Boris and do whatever they like and to hell with the public health

consequences.

Further relaxation of lockdown in England has already been announced. For instance, all shops can open

next month. There are caveats about social distancing but now there has been a high -profile precedent for

ignoring official advice, will anyone take any notice. It only takes a few thousand to send the virus transmission

increasing exponentially once more.

Here in Wales, we have shown remarkable resilience in the face of the couldn’t-give-a-toss attitude across

the border, but that is definitely crumbling. I know several people who are angry at the Welsh leaders’

perceived slowness to get the Welsh economy moving again. However, while not everything they have done

has been perfect, those in the Senedd have recognised the differences – North Wales cases are still

alarmingly high – and that is to be applauded. I daresay Mark Drakeford and his Health minister Vaughan

Gethin will tomorrow follow the lead set by Scotland and permit wider travel and social interaction.

Hopefully that will be enough to keep Welsh spirits up without sending everyone into a frenzy as seems to

be happening in England, witness the crazy Bank Holiday scenes at Southend and elsewhere. I can’t help

thinking Johnson is deliberately pitching England against the rest in some weird economic recovery

competition. I just hope the Coronavirus doesn’t join the bandwagon and go berserk. That would be a slap in

the face of the law-abiding majority and care workers even harder than the reckless behaviour and bullshitting

nonsense of the most powerful man in Britain.

At least we have more record-breaking warm and sunny May weather to look forward to. Reading in the

garden with cordyline palm trees close by and a subdued soundtrack of next-door’s dance music, we could

almost be by the pool at the Corfu hotel we should have been at last week. I was merely waiting for a waiter

delivering our drinks or a member of the entertainment staff drumming up personnel for a game of water polo

or petanque. Sadly, that will have to wait for another year, but this afternoon we did pop into the hot tub, and

had it completely to ourselves. Not many hotels could guarantee that!

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Sunday, 31st May

The continuing heatwave has played into the Government’s hands by enticing half of England onto the

beaches and hills to enjoy the sunshine and imminent increase in our ‘freedoms’. Dominic who? Yesterday,

the culture minister announced the return of domestic competitive support from Monday as if World War 2

had just ended.

Yet the whole strategy of ‘following the science’ has been blatantly dropped. There may be a few token

gestures about maintaining social distancing and staying alert but when the Downing Street briefing experts

were clearly shackled from giving the specialist opinion about the likely impact on public health of the

Cummings family’s jolly jaunt to Durham, Johnson set out his stall. From now on it’s not about the NHS,

medicine or science, it’s money which talks loudest.

As I’ve written before, I do appreciate the need to rejuvenate the stagnant economy as soon as possible but

is it really sensible to pretty much return to normal by July when we still have 2000 dying every week, with

about 10,000 new cases every day? And we still don’t have a fully-functioning test-track-and-trace system

anywhere in the UK. This was once touted as the prerequisite of the lockdown relaxation, so that’s another

slap in the faces of medical experts. SAGE scientists have spoken out against the pace of the changes so

they’ll probably be sacked.

Scotland and Wales are still playing the cautious game, but some of the more selfish and impatient members

of our community are already ignoring the official guidelines regarding family get-togethers. I admit we haven’t

complied 100% either (not my choice) but I can honestly say I’ve barely left the garden gate in ten weeks.

But, as I write this, I’ve learnt that the shielding restrictions are suddenly to be relaxed, even in Wales!

In the past few days, questions on this issue had been raised, yet met with tentative answers, vague and

non-committal. Now, apparently Vaughan Gethin has pre-empted the official Public Health letter and toed the

England line so we can ‘go outdoors’ and meet one person from another household, subject to, etc, etc.

I should be shouting from the rooftops, straining at the leash just to walk around the block, yet I feel strangely

subdued. I suppose I have worn my shielding status like a badge of honour, a defence against anyone who

might suggest we have been unaffected by the pandemic. Not that anybody has said this to us but I feel the

enforced isolation has enabled us to hold our heads up high and in the future honestly declare we made our

sacrifice for the common good, staying at home, protecting the NHS and saving lives.

Ten weeks is a long time and, despite the aforementioned glorious weather, I’ve been going just a little stir

crazy. However, Sharon and I aren’t about to go berserk with our new-found freedoms; it probably won’t

change our behaviour at all. We still can’t go to shops or anywhere we may encounter groups of people. We

still can’t stray more than five miles from home. We still can’t hug the grandchildren. Our final front garden

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Thursday performance won’t spill out onto the public grass area, not that there will be anyone out there to

watch!

Our correspondence from Dr Frank Atherton will arrive through our letterbox in the next few weeks. I don’t

know if there will be further relaxations from the end of the twelve-week period, or whether my vulnerability

status has been changed. But I’ll miss being able to moan about everyone else being allowed out, wallowing

in a trough of self-pity as I sit in the hot tub or harvest my rocket leaves.

We long for the opportunity to visit the house in Saundersfoot so we can thank the neighbours for looking

after our garden so brilliantly and for no reward. I’ve told Sharon I’d be happy to do so, although not to go

wandering around the resort. I’m not stupid. This weekend’s images of London street parties and Dorset

seasiders still fill me with alarm. Plans to allow 20,000 fans into Wembley for the FA Cup Final are frankly

absurd. It has nothing to do with boosting the economy and certainly nothing to control the spread of the

virus, so why do it?

Of course, it’s the feelgood factor. Yes, today’s news for shielders has made me feel good, but it has also

heightened a sense of danger and worry. I’m sure we will in the coming days take advantage but I’m no

longer confident that I will do so with a sense of unbridled joy. Time will tell.

Mental illness….

The benefits, as shared on FB:

TRAFFIC has gone,

FUEL is affordable,

BILLS extended.

KIDS are at home with their FAMILIES.

PARENTS are home taking care of their CHILDREN.

FAST FOOD replaced by HOME COOKED MEALS.

Hectic SCHEDULES replaced by NAPS, REST, and RELAXATION.

The AIR seems CLEANER.

The WORLD quieter.

PEOPLE are conscious about HYGIENE and HEALTH.

MONEY doesn't seem to make the WORLD GO ROUND anymore.

DOCTORS AND NURSES are being praised and recognized instead of athletes and celebrities,

And WE now have TIME, finally,

to STOP and SMELL the ROSES.

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June Thursday, 4th June

Well, the deed is done. Taking advantage of our new-found ‘freedom’, Sharon and I have walked around the

block a few times and the world hasn’t caved in. After ten weeks’ shielding in the house and garden it felt a

bit weird but without any of the anxiety I’d been warned about.

Realisation quickly dawned that I hadn’t been near a car for months but, apart from the towering weeds and

wild grasses where the Council haven’t been able to send out the mowers, the Coronavirus hadn’t spoiled

the neighbourhood very much. In fact I’ve never seen front gardens look so tidy and well-kempt, and the

hand-made rainbows adorning windows added an extra splash of colour.

As for my health I displayed no signs of paranoia. After all, if I neither pass close to anybody nor touch

anything, the chances of contracting the virus are pretty much nil so, weather permitting, I’m sure we’ll be out

again most evenings. Shopping is a different kettle of fish. Even my sister, living in Essex, says a trip to the

supermarket makes her anxious. Not because she’s normally of a nervous disposition - she’s not – but

because most shoppers ignore the social distancing rules. Adhering to the 2m gap for queuing outside is only

the start, but apparently once people get inside, the staff seem powerless to prevent a free-for-all. It’s like the

news footage at the weekend from English seaside resorts. People may diligently maintain a gap when lining

up for ice cream only for the (mostly young) selfish sods to push past with their beer glasses and picnic

boxes. It makes a mockery of our attempts to control the virus and it’s people like me who will suffer most

from the repercussions.

Yesterday I was surprised that the Government resisted the demands from the travel industry and its own

MPs by sticking to the plan to quarantine most inbound air passengers. Like most of Johnson’s policies on

the pandemic, it’s too little too late, but I suppose it’s a pathetic attempt to distract from the fact th at

Mediterranean nations have far more to fear from UK tourists than vice versa. Yesterday I saw a graphic

showing that we had more reported deaths from Covid-19 than the whole of the EU combined. That’s a

deeply disturbing statistic. While critical hospital cases are thankfully falling, even our hopelessly inadequate

testing regime is throwing up nearly 2,000 new cases every day. The official ONS death toll is above 50,000

and our PM depicts it as a success!

While he and his newspapers celebrate the return towards normality for the sake of political ego and business,

I really fear the impact on our actual health. I’d like to keep on walking in the great outdoors, not returning to

a tedious exercise regime of watching Mr Motivator and walking up and down patio steps!

Sunday, 7th June

The Government giveth and the Government taketh away. A few days after Welsh CMO Frank Atherton

enable us shielders to leave the house at last, he announced that our extra-vulnerable status will last until

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mid-August at least. My first reaction was of disappointment, but it was hardly a shock. A few months ago, I

was anticipating total isolation until Christmas so a two-month extension won’t break me.

It’s not as if we’re going to miss shopping this summer. Everyone we speak to, be it locally, in Essex or my

uncle in Ontario, Canada, is telling us when entering a supermarket, you take your life into your hands. Nor

were we planning to join any mass protests in Cardiff, London, New York or anywhere else. Same reason.

In fact the Black Lives Matter gatherings have caused ructions between me and Facebook friends who

normally share similar liberal political leanings. I’m as passionate about racial equality as anyone but, setting

aside the violent actions of a criminal minority, saying the risk of spreading a killer virus is insignificant relative

to the plight faced by all black people is dubious at best. Lobby your MP, get a powerful unifying social media

campaign going, make those who oppose or ignore the issue look ridiculous; but please don’t put the global

fight against Covid-19 in jeopardy.

Since the lockdown began, we have grown accustomed to watching TV through remote split screens.

Whether it’s a political interview, the Match of the Day Top 10 podcast or the Welsh Assembly, the Zoom

video-conference has become part of our media consumption. Yesterday evening we took part in our first

Zoom activity. Luckily we did not together accidentally become the fifth member of Take That, but compete

in a family quiz.

Winning would be a double-edged sword, however. It was pleasing to come out on top of a cleverly-

constructed audio-visual competition but the prize was the task of organising next week’s event. Oh, God.

We have to host using online technology: what can possibly go wrong…?

Sunday, 14th June

Reading the headlines and the social media threads you could be forgiven for thinking that the coronavirus

crisis is pretty much over. It’s just the pesky scientists putting public health above the over-riding needs of

the economy, isn’t it?

Even the Black Lives Matters debate and some old-fashioned Far Right clashes with riot police have

dislodged Covid-19 from the top spot. It’s also a whole week since I’ve found inspiration to add to this journal.

Not that there’s anything obviously new. The lockdown easing gathers pace in England and this morning the

Chancellor pretty much signalled an imminent abandonment of the 2m social distancing rule. Not because

it’s failed but because it gets in the way of profitable re-opening of shops, schools, offices, theatres and

construction sites. I suspect it’ll be reduced to 1 metre. I don’t know what the impact has been of such changes

elsewhere in the world but, save for handshakes and hugs, 1 metre is no distance at all.

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There has been a lot of sensible scientific debate about the relative safety of sitting side-by-side or back-to-

back rather than face-to-face which obviously carries more risk of transmitting the virus. Guided by the health

experts I concede that in the great British summer outdoors, common sense and thoughtfulness, together

with hygiene precautions, will see us through. They have to.

Yet common sense seems in short supply recently on the beaches and on city streets. I still support the

cautious approach of the Welsh government and their reluctance to indulge in kneejerk reactions as we get

from Westminster. We are allowed out now, and yesterday we allowed the two grandchildren into the garden

together for the first time since March. Not sure whether it was strictly within the guidelines for shielders but

we – and they (aged 4 and 8) – were very aware of the need to keep apart, even when playing hide-and-

seek. It was almost like old times.

I don’t know what will happen regarding the reopening of Welsh schools later this month, one area where

Wales is ahead of England, where Boris has abandoned such plans. I know a few teachers with young

children who see no benefit for them or for kids’ education. They’d just be ‘babysitting’, as has been the case

for children of key workers throughout. I also know of nobody willing to send their youngsters back into the

classroom just yet. However, I’ll be amazed if, unless there is a major resurgence of the virus, all children

don’t go back in the autumn.

In the meantime all Sharon and I can do is maintain our fairly leisurely routine of baking, reading, monitoring

the growing veg and my watching re-runs of old Euros football classics and West Indies Test matches. I’ve

said it many times, but it holds true: we are the lucky ones in this pandemic, but we take nothing for granted.

Friday, 19th June

Well, it’s official! Welsh First Minister Mark Drakeford has just announced a phased relaxation of lockdown

restrictions here on successive Mondays, culminating in the intended ending of the five-mile travel radius.

This is a big deal for us, as it would in theory enable us from 5th July to make a guilt-free journey to our second

home in Saundersfoot.

Does this mean I’m now in optimistic mode? Yes, but…. The North Wales factory clusters, and those in parts

of England, are a wake-up call, not just for the Welsh government but also London, Belfast and Edinburgh.

The locations concerned had made concerted efforts to comply with the 2m so what does that signify for

Johnson’s desperation to cut the recommended physical distance? What about the use of face coverings?

So many questions! The more ‘freedoms’ we are granted, oddly the more worried I seem to get. Is it because

each nation is moving at a different pace, generating petty frustrations and jealousies? We are looking

forward to escaping the locality, getting into a car for the first time in more than three months and, shielding

or not, heading down the M4. I’ve no intention of mingling with crowds; my sense of risk is too acute. However,

I can’t help feeling peeved at those, including friends and family, who are hell-bent on ignoring the risks by

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holidaying abroad. I would LOVE to do that. For me a life without overseas travel is a life half -lived but I’m

prepared to wait until 2021. What bothers me is that the reckless brigade could create a situation where

sensible and/or shielded people like me lose the opportunity to take such holidays in the future. Such fears

may prove unfounded but nonetheless the mere prospect rankles. I can’t help it.

Closer to home, I’ve enjoyed being able to stretch my legs rediscovering the local streets. I haven’t

encountered many pedestrians but, despite the ongoing limit, traffic on the roads are surprisingly high, even

last Sunday afternoon. Where were they going? What were they doing? Surely not all to and from B&Q,

whose car park was fuller than I’d ever seen it. Anyway, not my problem.

More pertinent to this football-oriented household, the Premier League restarted on Wednesday evening. I

wasn’t sure I could rediscover enthusiasm for the day-to-day nonsense with the pandemic continuing after a

three-month hiatus. The absence of spectators and the optional novelty of a loop of generic fake crowd noise

weren’t very appealing but I feel almost guilty at once more becoming enslaved to the intoxicating rhythm of

competitive Fantasy squad transfers and tinkering. How the BBC must be relieved it can fill some of the gaps

left by the cancellation of Wimbledon and postponement of the Euros. I feel the same. It’s a start, but is it too

soon?

Thursday, 25th June

A couple of days ago, I received news that an old friend of mine had died, not yet 60. Collapsed suddenly

and never regained consciousness. What makes it harder to get my head around it is that his wife of nearly

thirty years has been having chemo for several years, while Steve was the fit one, raising money for cancer

charities with walks, runs and cycle rides while being the main carer whilst Rhian is shielding.

I’m not one for dramatic outpourings of grief, never have been. I tend to rationalise, compartmentalise, go a

bit moist around the eyes but no more. It’s Rhian I feel sorry for, not me. Of course, having someone to talk

to, and a laptop with which to express feelings are also important, and all these have served me well during

the Covid crisis. I know of nobody who has died from the virus but that doesn’t mean I can dip my head in

the sand and proclaim the whole lockdown as a gross over-reaction.

Boris Johnson’s government for England has signalled that the pandemic in the UK is more or less over.

Never mind there remain thousands of new cases and hundreds of deaths each week, it’s all about opening

up the economy and especially the pubs. Any pretence of ‘following the science’ was abandoned long ago

and now the daily Number 10 briefings have been halted. In his farewell performance, Chris Whitty pointedly

dodged a journalist’s question asking whether he supported the social distance guideline to 1 metre. How he

must have been itching to say what he must have felt inside about the rush to get the beer flowing once more

with only lip service paid to the public health risks. Ask customers to provide their contact details upon entry?!

Please could you converse back-to-back? Drink through a mask? Not sing or shout when pissed? Yeah,

right! The mass house and street parties have already begun in earnest and, after last week’s Reading

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stabbings, even the police joined with the pack of mourning teenagers standing not 2 metres but 2 centimetres

apart.

It can only be a few weeks before Wales is forced to follow suit. Labour will face electoral oblivion if it puts

the population’s health above the tourist pound, especially if this hot weather continues. I’m already steeling

myself for a return to the community fray. Walking around the neighbourhood has been a welcome diversion,

good for mind, body and soul. However, I’ve now had to make appointments for an overdue B12 injection

and blood test. The former will be at a drive-in kiosk in a leisure centre car park and the latter at the doctor’s.

Either way, it will involve a journey in the car. First time since 21st March! Sharon also ordered a set of three

fancy washable designer face masks which arrived yesterday. If we are permitted to visit our place in

Saundersfoot next month, we’d better get used not only to seeing them around the place but also wearing

them. On Facebook, half the unsolicited ads seem to be for face covering and we can no longer put off the

inevitable. We know they are largely ineffective at preventing transmission of the virus but once the politicians

have decreed it, we can only accept the minor reduction in risk. Not happy about it but I suppose every little

helps.

When the whole world has chosen to ignore coronavirus flare-ups and even, as in many parts of America -

North and South - soaring infection rates, all we can do is take precautions and not adopt the popular “if you

can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em” attitude which seems all-pervasive. Part of me – a large part, actually - wants to see

the rule-breakers suffer the symptoms; it would serve the sods right. But of course I, too, want a world where

we can all walk, drive, take a bus, go to school, shop in a supermarket, go on holiday without thinking about

whether somebody else is waiting to kill me. It comes back to sticking thoughts in mental boxes, and not

getting too angry. These past few months it hasn’t always worked but Steve’s death on Monday puts

everything into perspective.

Tuesday, 30th June

Welcome back to the world! This morning saw my first trip in the car for more than 100 days. The main

objective was to attend a drive-in B12 injection clinic, giving me the first opportunity to wear an essential face

covering, but we also filled up with petrol, another post-lockdown first.

Was it strange? Did I feel like an interloper in an alien environment? No, not at all. Apart from the masks worn

by the clinic staff, everything seemed to be unchanged since those far-off days before lockdown. At £1.06 a

litre, the petrol was notably cheaper, though!

Indeed, until late yesterday evening, everything emanating from Westminster seemed to indicate that the

virus was under control, things were almost back to normal and it was all about building for recovery. In

England, there are going to be mass drinking sessions from Saturday and people are already booking their

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flights to Spain. Wales will surely follow suit although common sense will dictate that we will be allowed to

spend a night in Tenby, before we’re allowed to jet off to Torremelinos.

I must admit that it is one issue turning me green with envy yet intense frustration. Clearly the crisis is far

from over and I feel - yes – anger that so many people are putting their own pleasure before the health of

thousands, just like those morons on Bournemouth beach and the block parties in Brixton last week. Thank

goodness the weather has taken a turn for the worse; rain is the most effective deterrent.

The meat processing factory flare-ups and now the Leicester spike should remind people that Covid 19 has

not gone away, although I wonder whether Matt Hancock would have shut down schools and shops had the

infection rates rocketed in Marlow or Market Drayton! Over in America the Republican-led southern states

which were the quickest to lift the lockdown are now experiencing a strong resurgence in the virus. Trump

can blame it on their fabulous testing programme all he likes but, as in Brazil, Mexico, India et al, the

responsibility lies with the attitude of and message from the leaders. Why should their citizens take the virus

seriously when their elected leaders don’t? I just hope that the UK’s determination to open up the airports

again doesn’t include flights to those countries. Quite frankly why should they be so ready to welcome Brits

given that we are still the worst in Europe?

Whereas in late March, everyone seemed to know the rules, advice and dangers around Covid, there now

seems to be so much confusion. The big stuff like shops and travel restrictions (or not) are fairly clear while

each of the nations have slight variations on who can meet outdoors and in, the so-called social bubbles and

how they apply or not to shielders. I confess I no longer understand the subtle differences or how they apply

particularly to Cardiff and to be honest I have given up. It’s all a matter of minimising the risks and for the

foreseeable we’ll continue being as careful as hell.

It’s my birthday tomorrow. Not being a party person, it has become the norm to have a short break or at least

a meal out to celebrate. Of course, in 2020 neither are appropriate nor physically possible. So a takeaway

fish and chips it is, then! While millions lick their lips at the prospect of socially-distanced, mask-wearing,

portion-controlled dinners in Marbella and Magaluf, we shall gorge ourselves on cod and chips with salt,

vinegar and lemon at our living room table. Hopefully Corfu will still be there next summer, with restaurants,

pools, coach trips and historical sites all accessible. If not, I’ll have to take it on the chin, wa it ‘til it’s safe to

travel and rely on the local chippy for the family culinary treat. I just hope I have the patience.

July Tuesday, 7th July

Yesterday saw a personal landmark in the gradual easing of the lockdown in Wales. As the Welsh

Government removed the 5-mile travel limit, we took the opportunity to visit our place in Saundersfoot for the

first time since 13h March.

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I may still be shielding but at least we can do so in a different environment. Of course, it was our first time out

of Cardiff, but it wasn’t a big deal mentally to follow the familiar route along the M4. Traffic volumes were not

much lower than I remembered and the only signs that we were still in a pandemic were the closed

pubs/restaurants at the roadside. Soon after arrival it was important to us to thank our neighbours opposite

who have during the past three months, without any prompting from us, done such a great job looking after

our garden. Never seen it looking so weed-free! The reunion was suitably socially distanced, of course.

Today we strolled own into the village itself. This was the move I’d been more apprehensive about. Were it

to be crowded with tourists I was prepared to turn around and walk back home. However, as expected, it had

the vibe of a typical weekday – in March. The pubs and restaurants remained closed, of course, as well as

my preferred haven in the library. Most other shops had recently reopened and I took my first steps inside a

shop since 18th March. Both shops were small but with no other customers to avoid. I think the owners were

happy to see us again, even if we didn’t necessarily buy anything.

It felt reassuring to get this step out of the way without any sense of dread or impending doom. I didn’t even

need to don my mask, and it was encouraging to spot anti-bac bottle stations dotted around the village. We

also noted the takeaway service being introduced at some restaurants, and we may take advantage one

evening this week before heading back to Cardiff.

Elsewhere the craziness of so-called Super Saturday in England annoyed me as much as the Dorset beach

invasions a few weeks ago and I confess to an inward cheer when some drinkers admitted testing positive

for Covid. It’s the ones who are infected and don’t let on that worry me. The local lockdown in Leicester

remind us that the virus has not miraculously vanished and the major spikes in Melbourne, parts of Spain

and of course the USA reinforce the message. The best news was today’s announcement that Brazil’s Covid-

denying president Bolsanaro has tested positive. Am I evil for wishing him a severe illness given that his

refusal to recognise the virus as a danger has played a part in his nation’s status as second-worst-affected

in the world? I won’t be sending him a Get Well card, that’s for sure.

Monday, 13th July

The hairdressers are open, the M4 traffic as busy as ever and the NHS rainbows in front windows looking

rather dog-eared and sun-bleached. The admirably cautious Welsh Government is opening up the economy

and, give or take the debate on face coverings, the impression in the media and amongst everyone I talk to

is that we are in the end-game of the Coronavirus epidemic. So why did I toss and turn last night worrying

about how I will fare once shielding is withdrawn next month?

I suspect it’s because the ‘new normal’ is, at least in England, looking remarkably like the old normal. And

that sends alarm bells ringing in my ears. Even my wife Sharon is talking about, come the end of shielding,

she’ll be staying with her daughter at her new house and welcoming our grandchildren to ours. I said,

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hesitantly, that might be OK but I’ll be keeping my social distance, only for her to say, no, because we’ll no

longer be shielding.

Having listened to Chris Whitty banging on incessantly at No.10 briefings about how the main reason we’ve

(finally) reduced the infection and death rates has been compliance with hygiene and 2-metre guidance, this

is worrying. She’s been brilliant supporting my shielding for almost four months but the virus clearly hasn’t

been listening to Boris Johnson, Donald Trump et al. Just look at what’s been happening in Texas and Florida,

two months after they caved in to ‘freedom’ protesters. All I can do is nod encouragingly and agree to assess

the situation nearer the time and keep my fingers crossed.

It was sobering last week to hear from shop owner friends in Saundersfoot about the difficulties they had

faced during lockdown and are continuing to face in the rest of the year. At least they were still in business.

Making the journeys to and from Pembrokeshire also banished fears about travelling, although I still don’t

much fancy undergoing coach trips or flights in the short-term.

This morning I had my first post-lockdown experience of the doctors’ surgery. Mandatory masks, front door

unlocked by the receptionist only when there were fewer than three people in the waiting area, extra PPE

worn by the phlebotomist and ushered out of the fire exit. This wasn’t the ‘old normal’ at all; clearly we have

a long way to go. Shielding is not a magic barrier to infection and coming out of shielding doesn’t mean the

danger of catching the virus is removed. Now all I have to do is give Sharon a subtle reminder of this! That

would hopefully cure my insomnia.

Tuesday, 21st July

Another week, another few personal post-lockdown landmarks. Today I spent several hours on Saundersfoot

beach without any health concerns. Mind you, it was at ebb tide and when the tide goes out there it goes out

miles so, with acres of sand on offer, social distancing wasn’t difficult. I was a little apprehensive about using

the public loos by the harbour but, armed with extra tissues and anti-bac handwash, it wasn’t such a big deal.

I’m still abiding by shielding guidelines, keeping away from busy shops, etc, and I’m determined to maintain

the moral high ground. If anything Covid-related happens to me, it won’t be the result of a Boris-like rush to

normality. It was quite distressing to hear the PM insist it’ll all be over “in time for Christmas” while the health

professionals shook their heads in horror.

True, I could become used to this gradual release of lockdown rules. It was great to be outdoors amongst

people again. However, in the short term I certainly won’t fancy fraternising with family members who are

happy to attend concerts or football matches, but why not dream of a foreign holiday next summer? Too early

to seriously consider booking anything, of course. Far too much could still go wrong.

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We still have conversations about the impact of Covid. Our vocabulary has widened, millions have lost their

jobs and almost everyone has undergone some sort of lifestyle appraisal, finding new occupations or new

ways of doing the old ones. And yet, when gazing into the night sky trying to identify Comet Neowise, it struck

me that those stars have been out there twinkling away for millions, maybe billions of years. Most of them we

are now seeing as they existed not just before the pandemic but before the human race had evolved on earth.

It’s all about perspective, something I do try to cling on to in these still-manic times.

Wednesday, 29th July

Last week I was still feeling slightly smug, albeit mixed with a liberal sprinkling of euphoria after a first trip to

the beach since March. However, that has been supplanted by a dash of guilt. I reluctantly went along with

the plan to invite our grand-daughter to our place in Saundersfoot so our shielding status is irreversibly

compromised.

Although hugs are off limits, social distancing has proved impossible and I’ve given up trying. Hence the guilt.

I’ve also caved in regarding the trip to Sharon’s daughter’s brand new house near Wrexham next week. Yes,

Wrexham: the very same town facing a spike in emergency Covid hospitalisations. Barring complete

lockdown of the entire Council area boundary, I fear nothing will cause the trip to be postponed.

However, I think I shall be adding a few stipulations, chiefly that I shan’t be going into Wrexham for any

reason, including the customary meal at a pub, restaurant or house. Sharon says she understands but I’m

not convinced that social niceties won’t outweigh health risks. Do I really want to spend several day s

surrounded by gorgeous countryside isolated with the family, a carpet cleaner and decking oiling kit which

we are carrying with us?

It’s akin to flying out to Mallorca knowing that restaurants, bars and coach trips are out of bounds, with masks

mandatory. It doesn’t exactly sound like a fun holiday.to me. When the UK Government performed another

screeching U-turn by restoring the quarantine on those returning from Spain, I felt little sympathy for most of

the holidaymakers affected. It’s tough on those with pre-Covid-booked holidays but, in my harsh opinion,

those who ignored the obvious risks and obeyed Johnson’s urging to rush abroad deserve the inconvenience.

They seem unlikely to be compensated by the new push to encourage staycations, which is surely the main

reason for punishing Spain. After all, the Canaries and Balearics have infection rates well below the UK

average so there’s definitely a political motive. There always is.

Catalonia is a different matter. Setting aside the worsening situation in the Americas, it’s worrying to read

about serious local outbreaks in Barcelona, Madrid, Germany, Antwerp and parts of the Balkans. I don’t

believe it’s the “second wave” - more an aftershock to the first – that our PM has declared. Mind you, based

on recent experience I wouldn’t accept anything that comes from that man’s mouth.

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With all this going on, I am torn between a super-smug “I told you so” attitude and one which requires

evidence of a successful squashing of the virus and a return to near-normal living, where even a vulnerable

old git like me can walk around Tesco or even Wrexham town centre without fearing for his life. Right now,

evidence points to the former and I don’t like it.

August Monday, 10th August

It may seem perverse in a period of warm weather to think about snow but I’m seriously wondering whether

I really am a ‘snowflake’. Whether it’s insisting on eating outside at a restaurant, wearing a mask in a

supermarket or maintaining social distancing in my stepdaughter’s new house, I’m pretty sure most would

consider me overcautious as life in the UK hurtles towards normality.

Yet I think I have been quite brave at agreeing to a meal out, dipping into Tesco (albeit on a quiet early

evening) and staying for several days – effectively illegally – in someone else’s home in North Wales. Nobody

has said anything to my face and, to her credit, Sharon has not pushed me way out of my comfort zone.

Although not far from Wrexham, the worst affected area in Wales for Covid, I never felt worried about walking

amongst tourists, along various canal towpaths or up in the hills. It was a very enjoyable week, a sort of

working holiday but I’d take any kind of holiday right now.

Where I put my foot down at the weekend is when my stepson – who has never in my experience

demonstrated any comprehension of risk or danger – chose to take his daughter, who was staying with us,

by crowded bus to a packed Barry island beach. I don’t suppose he would have felt such an action to be at

all problematic but there was no way I’d allow him into our house. At least he complied.

Looking around us in Cardiff there’s no way you’d think there had been any such thing as a coronavirus.

Some neighbours may still be furloughing or relying more on internet shopping than before, but there’s no

longer any atmosphere of apprehension, let alone fear. I know the incidence or prevalence of Covid is very

small, and the likelihood of catching it is remote. But if I DO get it, the outcome for me probably won’t be

pleasant.

The UK Government’s crackdown on Eid celebrations in Northern England, and quarantining visitors from

Spain, Portugal and Belgium, gives me some justification for my snowflake status. Every scientist agrees that

social distancing remains vital at reducing transmission and that we should prepare for a second wave, not

merely a few minor spikes as at present. That’s falling largely on deaf ears so, if my precautions mark me out

amongst head-in-sand ‘ostriches’ as a snowflake, then I guess that’s what I am. Just don’t say it to my face!

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Monday, 31st August

August Bank Holiday Mondays traditionally flagged for me the end of summer. As a child, it marked the

imminent return to school and the start of a long decline into winter. In 2020, this week’s reopening of schools

is even more significant. Of course, it’s great for children to reacquaint themselves with friends, teaches,

classrooms and the reality of structured learning but it comes with much bated breath and crossed fingers.

Will it spark a resumption of Covid transmission?

Hand-in-hand with the schools and universities is the Government’s urging a speedy return to offices. It’s

completely safe, we’re told. Apart from the lack of social distancing on public transport, in stations, streets

and buildings, it’ll be fine, don’t worry. If nothing else, we can’t lose our chains of Pret a Manger, Starbucks

and Delice de France. Then there’s the encroaching reality of the Budget: how the hell can we afford to pay

off all the debt incurred, quite understandably, in the past five months. Massive public spending have been

promised, so that means tax rises. Eek!

I’m very familiar with the arguments about the nation’s health v wealth but that’s the big picture. But what

about me? Well, as the sun shines on Saundersfoot, I feel I’m settled in the new normal. I’m also unlikely to

make any imminent steps back towards the old. Shopping in Tesco? Tick. Mask wearing? Tick. Grandchildren

staying over? Tick. Meal out in a socially-distanced restaurant? Reluctantly. Just forget pubs, concerts or

charter flights to the Med. This week’s revelations about Covidiots spreading the virus on a TUI flight from

Zante to Cardiff haven’t filled me with confidence.

Christmas – and its interminable build-up – always fills me with dread, but this year even more so. The

obligation to be nice to everyone under the sun is hard enough but when inviting them into your living room

might physically kill you.…?! And that’s before the existence or otherwise of The Second Wave.

I guess I have to revert to the same position I wrote about months ago: take each day as it comes. We may

no longer all be in it together but just get on with life regardless. Soaps, a version of ‘Strictly’ and live sport

may slowly refill our TV schedules but I want to see face coverings, Covidiots shamed and punished and

Zoom interviews continue to be a default option.

At home, the garden kind of symbolises the current position vis-à-vis the Covid era. My new-found

enthusiasm for growing things from scratch back in March has borne fruit, or more accurately vegetables!

There are still some carrots and onions left to eat but the squash and beetroot failed to deliver. The delightful

display of flowers (retail cost about £1) has faded, the blooms turning to seed heads and all those new pots

purchased for the summer will soon need emptying and storing. So the horticultural experiment appears to

have run its course. Let’s hope the same is true of Covid-19.

We seem to have survived potential food shortages (although there’s still the spectre of Brexit looming),

brain-sapping solitude and coffins lining the streets but so far 57,000 have died of the virus. Ravers will soon

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be driven indoors by the autumn weather, but there’ll be outbreaks here and there, in the UK as in the wider

world. We’ve finally learnt the importance of suppression via test and trace techniques, so I guess this is how

we continue, until an effective vaccine becomes available. It’s not ideal but it is what it is - the New Normal.