To
absolutely no one’s surprise our lockdown has been extended to the 26th
of this month: only another three weeks to go.
To what? Do we seriously think
that this whole disaster will have run its course in a few weeks? Locked inside, we have little to think about
than when this is going to end. Or
rather ‘if’ this is going to end. Let’s
face it, the end of this crisis will either be the final playing out of
whatever the virus wants to do in its own sweet time, or the truncated reign of
the virus brought about by the intelligent care and management of the
politicians who are directing our fight against it. Seriously, which would you think the more
likely scenario?
Admittedly we are not cursed with an a
nepotistic buffoon like some (Republican voters have to ‘own’ their elected
idiot) unfortunate Americans who goes out of his way to reject the advice of
his own scientific advisors, for example over the wearing of face masks. But our own political leaders do not inspire
confidence: politics always seem to trump (ha!) national need.
My
inner Ben Gunn (cf. Treasure Island)
has surfaced with the last piece of cheese consumed being a fading memory. I have therefore ordered 2kg via the Internet
(at premium price) and it is something to look forward to when it is finally
delivered in a week or so’s time. I have
also ordered a collection of goodies from The Pound Shop, mainly because it is
one place that makes no bones about delivering, even if it takes a couple of
weeks. If nothing else, it will make a
pleasant surprise when it finally arrives, as I have already forgotten what I
ordered!
I have comprehensively failed to get a
slot from any of the major supermarkets for a home delivery, so for the foreseeable
future (forget about the 26th being a cut off date!) Toni will have
to venture out and brave the inconsideration of people who fail to cough into
their elbows!
On
the other hand the sun is shining and, although my early morning walk was a
trifle chilly, the warms must now have heated up the tiles on the floor of the
terrace on the third floor and I am prepared to grace the place with my
presence.
From my eyrie on the third floor it is
possible to look around at a whole selection of houses and flats swimming pools
and tennis courts.
My assessment of the strictness of the
lockdown, based on the microcosm I can see, is that the rigour of the isolation
is fraying at the edges. The kids in the
flats are playing together; over the other side of the main road, people are
grouping together; four guys were playing tennis; kids were playing in the car
park under the building of another set of flats.
OK this is a Saturday (if anyone is keeping
track) and a certain relaxation goes with the day, but the figures of infection
and deaths are still frighteningly high in this country and any slackening of
the procedures would be counterproductive (what a euphemism!) at this stage of
the measures that we are taking to cope with the virus – if our figures
indicate that we really are dealing with it.
If we take the government’s time line, we
are half way through the period of lockdown.
The next three weeks are going to be
telling ones.
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