If I see one more tv newsman/woman/thing showing me a high road and telling me how ‘it’s usually teaming with drinkers, ravers, restauranties, rapists, muggers, flashers and old women carrying logs, but NOW, its fucking EMP-TEEEEEE!!!!’ I shall walk into the BBC newsroom and cough over everybody. This ‘street’ could be Broadway in New York, might be Oxford Street, Leicester Square, some… errrr… very busy street in Manchester, or even High Street Uppingham (Rutland), its the same story. Usually you can’t move for bodies rubbing up against each other and young girls vomiting into passing Ubers, but today you could play an 11-a-side football match in the middle of the street for 90 minutes (plus extra time, plus even more extra time for VAR) and no-one would disturb you nor complain. Other than football is banned. Unless you can maintain 2 metres of separation. Which makes defending corners very difficult indeed.

The world has shut down and we are in a Stephen King story. I would say ‘and not a good one’ but he’s never written a ‘good’ one in that sense. It’s not what he does. And he doesn’t do it better than any other living (or dead, or undead, zombified, vampired, back-to-life, re-born, hacked-out-of-her-own-grave, demonic or just plain ‘clown’) writer. But he loves a dystopian netherworld where ‘nothing is the same’. And that’s my world. And yours. And everyone you know’s.

Went for a walk yesterday, as we do, but now everyone’s doing it. Almost as if people are desperate for something to do! In the lovely sunshine. And as we approached people, they crossed the road. With their masks. After the 17 such incidents in 300 yards I asked Mel if I smelt. Which apparently I did, having not showered since tennis in the morning. And before you call the virus-police, tennis is allowed. You stand miles away from the other geezer and only hug at the end. Oops. No hugging. Which left Spurs Paul in tears when he realised, but I have rules. Just possibly not as many as most. And seeing Lila and Joey on the other side of the wire fence is almost more painful than not seeing them at all, but they’re ‘isolating’ cos of little Joey’s cough. And I’m old, therefore at risk. I was promoted yesterday when they shifted the DANGER!!! group from 70 to 60. Holy shit.

I went to drop some things round to my 95-year-very-old dad. No hug, no kisses, didn’t even stop for a cuppa to keep him company. Deemed ‘too dangerous!!!’ by the virus police.

And then, the worst thing of all… they closed Toulouse Cafe. MY cafe. The virtual hub of life in our little patch of the world. Where everyone knows everyone and dogs are welcome. Even the dogs can’t get in now for their little water bowls.

But heh! There’s always Netflix! And if you’re bored with that, Amazon Prime! Disney! Sky!!! Recordings of old Spurs victories (ok, very old recordings). There’s so much to be thankful for.

Not coping well.

Happy Sunday

A xxxx