These are the plague days; the dark hours of self isolation (I heard it sends you blind); feckless television poorly constructed from stuttering SKYPEs and even more feckless I-phone-powered celebrities eager to jump on the NHS bandwagon. The Corona virus (the jokes about cheap brands of pop have long since dried up) spread its fingers around the globe like some dodgy g.p. ostensibly checking for hernias, and then tightened its grip.
A burned out wreck at Salwick…the perfect metaphor for the current global situation, really.
These are the days when only politicians refusing to follow their own orders, zealous policemen carrying flame-throwers and Mancunian tossers who couldn’t give a stuff about other people’s lives, stalk the otherwise empty streets.
Another burned-out, sunken boat at Salwick…there must be something going around.
Each day the death toll grows. Each day our government’s excuses grow along with it. That lovable, thatch-headed teddy bear we call our prime minister pulled a ‘Princess Diana Aids’ style PR stunt several weeks ago, shaking hands dismissively with his local Covid-19 patients. Unsurprisingly he ended up in hospital, where we were informed he was “absolutely fine”, it was “only a precaution”, “no need to worry”. (As far as the latter went, I wasn’t.) Until he was released into the restorative hands of Chequers, where apparently it turned out he’d been at death’s door for a fortnight after all – “touch and go, don’t-cha-know? Bit of a hero, really”.
Nowadays the cabinet are keeping him under lock and key until his foot-in-mouth clears up. I think Priti Patel’s been locked in the same fridge.
Salwick Hall – self isolation is possibly easier for some than for others.
After years of cuts to the NHS, of rejected nurses’ pay rises (when the Tories jeered and clapped and taunted those inferior workers openly in parliament), of Brexit frightening huge swathes of NHS staff back to Europe, leaving hospitals understaffed and on the brink or collapse, Boris and the Kryptkickers appear to have had a change of heart. Nowadays, as part of the obligatory rituals implemented by Oceania, we have to stand on our doorsteps (a bit difficult in terraced streets where the front gardens are less than two metres wide) every Thursday night on the stroke of thirteen eight and clap for the nurses. Or Boris. Or both.
It strikes me that anybody who voted for Brexit, and/or the Tories, shouldn’t be clapping. They should be apologising.
As for ‘clapping for Boris’, I’m sure he’s had enough clap off his mistresses already.
Random tree shot at Salwick winding hole.
But I’m not doing politics. Online politics just encourages angry bigots to exercise their hostility in the comments boxes. So, taking a leaf from Boris’s own book, anybody who disagrees with me and wants to voice their own opinion will just be deleted and subsequently blocked. You have been warned.
Got to have a swan shot. I can’t visit the boat without photographing a swan. Well…actually, Michelle took it.
I’m in lock-down in the Spinney, being one of the worthless ‘at risk’ people. I haven’t visited the boat in over a month…apart from today. Bilges still need checking. Most narrowboat bilges fill over time, because of the dripping nature of stern glands and stuff. A couple of years ago my engine flooded because of this, and the boat nearly sank. In normal times, whatever they were…it all seems so long ago now, that boat is/was/will be again officially my home. Therefore, I considered today’s trip a ‘necessary journey’ and the government can lump it.
I didn’t need to take the usually obligatory ‘boat’ shot this afternoon. I only turned the boat around. So you’ll have to make do with this instead.
After a mostly damp and miserable month, the boat has gone mouldy inside. The paintwork is flaking and rusting outside. All that will have to wait, though. Quarantine continues…at least it does for some of us. We still have to pay our CaRT licence, however. The CaRT say that the cut needs maintaining – nothing to do with the executives’ massive wages being kept up at all, honest. Judging by the state of the canal today, with fallen trees, burned out boats and assorted debris everywhere, most of the CaRT staff must be ‘high risk’ as well.
Cloak and Dagger, more like!
But I’m not doing politics! There are too many blame-shifting sour-faced Priti Patel’s out there on the internet. I’m going back into self-imposed quarantine now, until those bilges require my attention again.