one week in the life of Devid Scowcrovich
Lockdown Diary - Week Three or is it Nine - can’t remember
(This diary contains scenes of a sexual nature – goodie)
Hurrah, it’s all over! The government has eased the lockdown. You can do many things now that you couldn’t do last week. Tried to find out exactly what you can and cannot do but alas it is not absolutely clear. The Government website has over a thousand words but that was written last week, before the grimly, smiley, politician with the bald spot said they were relaxing the rules. He was backed-up by the fatter one with lots of hair and children. I think the latter one is called ‘Boris’. With a name like that he must be Russian and work for the KGB or the FSB, which I think is something to do with farming. There was a time when you knew a politician was lying – they opened their lips. Now they keep tight-lipped and you can only tell they are lying because they are standing at a lectern. I do know when they say they are being ‘crystal clear’ they are covering something up, like the true death figures or PPE levels. I can manage a bit of PPE, but I have to wait several minutes with my pants round my ankles and can never be more than 100 yards from a toilet.
The best I can do is rely on Brenda to help me with the rules. She says that one person from a household can visit another household or at least (and here she gets a bit vague) can meet with another person from a second household but no non-Royal Air Force hugging or kissing. I remain a little confused but fortunately she has been brave enough to leave the boat and visit someone, not sure who, an old friend she claims. She thinks it is best if I remain on the boat and not chance exposure to the virus. It must have been dangerous because when she comes back she is flushed and smells of Old Spice, which she says she put on to keep the germs away. Plus, now she has been outside, she must have a shower and change her underwear.
Whilst staying inside I note from the government advice one can now play Polo. This is because if you are on a horse you are one metre up and the other rider is one metre up which amounts to two metres and not because you are rich and couldn’t care less about the NHS. Which is all good to know. Brenda says she might go for a ride tomorrow.
It is becoming clearer by the day that this lockdown thing is all over, but Brenda insists I stay on board whilst she goes out. Only one per household she says is the safe motto; watching the TV it seems I must be more alert. Ah, well rules is rules bit like ‘Brexit is Brexit’ whatever that was, it seems so long ago it was the only topic. Then it was Climate Change when creepy old men encouraged young children not to go to school.
You can now play golf. It seems you are always two club lengths away and therefore safe. Brenda encourages me to go out and have a game she says the fresh air will do me good. I thought the air was smothered in germs, but it seems that was yesterday and the lectern politician - this was the bad-tempered looking one into a skirt or was that Boris again – said the death figures were under control. Confused me because the PowerPoint charts seemed to show we had the worst death rates in Europe and they did not include deaths in care homes, normal homes, on buses or anywhere outside a hospital ward marked ‘Covid 19’. So, relax if you die in a ward one to eighteen you have not died from the virus. Began to worry, that there is still a virus problem but fortunately my friend, Donald, the President of the United States has sacked his virus crisis team so it must be all over.
Went out on the golf course allowed because of the distancing and not because it’s a posh sport for those who care only for themselves. It seems you are not allowed into the club house for a quick snifter before or after the game. Females were, of course, at one time, not allowed into the club house at all but that was when we had an Empire. Now you are never more than ten yards from a woman dressed in a heavy tweed suit and proclaiming sexual freedom in a loud voice.
Arrested on the course by two policepersons sticking close together, it seems one of the rules is that you must have a set of clubs and a ball. I say, ‘So Adolf Hitler can play but I can’t’. Taken to the Police Station in Coventry as all stations in Birmingham have been closed due to something call ‘Austerity’. Which was when the country had no money, before the Lectern Politician – the one that looks like a young undertaker on a diet – won the lottery.
Released on grounds of too much paperwork. Brenda picks me up in a car driven by a youngish chap who smells of Old Spice. Brenda says he is an old RAF friend and that Boris says we must avoid public transport. Sent in disgrace to the boat whilst she thanks her old friend in the car park.
More relaxing; you can now play tennis which is not because it’s a posh sport but you are a good distance away from each other. Well not in mixed doubles but Brenda has never allowed that sort of thing. Turned up at the local club but not allowed to play due to an ‘all whites policy’. Told them I was Anglo-Saxon with a dash of Viking but I have two bi-racial golden grandsons and therefore was disbarred. It seems not only have you to be white you have to wear white clothing which played havoc with my cataracts. I am assured that allowing tennis is not just because ‘Society’ want to go in the Royal Box at Wimbledon. After the Grand Old Duke of York, that the last place any young society girl should want to go.
Got back early to the boat. I’m sure I saw someone getting off the back. ‘Engineer’, mutters Brenda and I will have to wait for a shower as she needs one and to change her underwear. I stay alert whilst watching the daily Corona Lies. The one in the middle says he is Raab which I think is an anagram for Really Arrogant Angry B***. Anyway, he explains they has been a cock-up in the numbering of cases and unfortunate deaths. How many fortunate deaths they do not say. Anyway, the cock-up has nothing to do with Boris this time but it seems the slides have been put into the machine each day upside-down. Therefore, the cases and deceased are increasing not decreasing but we can go on relaxing things provided we remain ‘Alert’; something I am always good at.
Whilst waiting for the shower I watch some live sport on TV, gosh I have missed Liverpool not winning the Premership. Such a pity. I had a small drink in my Manchester United mug. This pandemic is a severe way to stop them winning but if needs must. The sport is table-tennis and you can bet on who wins, how many wiffs and how many waffs per game plus a dozen more technicalities to help the time pass. It seems that nice Mr Hill needs the income, Monte Carlo being so expensive. I put the housekeeping on the Chinese man who goes a couple of rallies up, but then starts coughing and falls to the floor in a collapse. The small fat English guy wins at odds of 100 to 1. The invalid when fit was five to one on and so Mr Hill has enough money to continue his isolation in Monte. We will have to make do with tinned tuna and out-of-date pasta. Explained to Brenda it was her fault for keeping me waiting for a shower – does not go down well.
You can now go fishing which I always thought I was too cheerful to take part in, as most fishermen I have roared past in the boat, have been bar stewards. Still we must do what we are allowed to do and Brenda issues me with a stick, a piece of string and a coat hook and tells me not to be back before dark. She would have given me bread for bait and my tea, but I lost all our money on the Chinese man. Who it appears, died not of the virus but of exhaustion. Sat for hours by the water dangling my hook but to no effect. Fish kept jumping out of the water, smiling at me and disappearing. It was getting damn cold but fortunately some local idiot has set fire to the nearby 5G telecoms mast and that kept me quite warm. He was an idiot because everyone knows that it was the 2G masts that spread the virus, the 5G masts are shielded.
Rang Brenda who said it was safe to come home. I think she meant that the boat was not sinking. I stay Alert.
I mention sex to Brenda, but she says the Dutch Government has said that you should only have sex with one person during the lockdown. I’m confused I only wanted sex with one person. Haven’t the energy for anymore participants.
The Donald has stated the virus is no more important than the influenza virus and so we shouldn’t worry. Meanwhile the newspapers report more shocking details of the virus thus selling even more papers. It appears the illness gives you scarring on lung tissue which can stay with you for the rest of your life leaving you breathless It also gives you sticky blood which can cause blood clots thus can killing you instantly. Glad its all over and we can retreat to worrying about having a cold.
The lectern politician is the blank faced one with the curly hair and a faint grasp on reality. He says that decisions on which country has handled the pandemic best must wait until it is all over.
Now last week, you could not go out on your boat except for essential requirements, which means that the boat which came and moored behind us during the lockdown was essential. Essential I was annoyed, obviously. The towpath was open to all. On average only a yard and a half wide the towpath contained walkers puffing by, joggers gasping, whilst spitting on the ground, cyclists whizzing by at great speed shouting for everyone to get out of the way. Ignore closed areas, the most dangerous area was a canal towpath. Meanwhile the wide expanse of water remained empty, the water undisturbed, not a boat in sight. The Canal and River Trust must have read my previous diary because they published a poster reading, ‘Limit your use of the towpath’. That will solve the problem of overcrowded towpaths. They have also issued new instructions that boaters can make small cruises of the canals provided they do not touch a lock. There are those who say CRT has not touched a lock since its conception, but that is unkind. I know of a couple of locks that are still in working order.
Brenda decides we should go for a cruise around one of the canal loops and laugh at the new modern housing. They are prefabricated construction built on a concrete base beneath a CRT dam. £250,000 gets you a concrete cube with a metre square garden. Might just stay with the boat.
On the way Brenda shouts ‘Drop me off, there’s an old friend, you can pick me up on the way back.’ I see only an RAF blazer and beret with the whiff of Old Spice in the air. I glide the boat to the bank, skilfully drop her off and stay alert.
Bad night couldn’t sleep. We have had a family of Canada Geese produce in Gas Street Basin and the honking keeps me awake. Also, Brenda was sawing wood which I thought was a bit inconsiderate so late at night. So, dozing on the sofa I missed the Coronavirus update/lies. I expect things are improving all the time, cases down, deaths down, correct decisions made at the right time by a dynamic government lead by science. Wonder if Boris is the first honest politician since he has openly kept a mistress in a Downing Street flat. Harold Macmillan kept his in St Johns Wood, Harold Wilson may or may not have kept his in the office. Ted Heath played the piano celibately – know how he felt.
Doze to the soothing smell of Old Spice - still alert.
Tomorrow the shops are open. No one can go inside and nothing can be bought, but they are all open except those that are in shopping centres behind locked gates and those who have gone belly-up during the crisis. That is the pandemic crisis not the ones who went belly-up during the financial crisis. Jet2Com has actually put the complete refund of our airfares into our bank account. Well done them in obeying the law. Ryanair says it will take six months to complete but then only masochists travel Ryanair so they will probably enjoy the pain. The hotel in Florence has given us a credit note until May 21 which should just be in time for the second peak. Instead of going to Florence we ate M&S Italian food and I posed for Brenda in my ‘Statue of David’ pose. So, the best of all worlds. No foreigners, proper traditional English food from M&S and one of the finest art works for Brenda to admire. Although she is seeing an equal amount of her old RAF friend whose perfume lingers over the mooring like the threat of a CRT eviction.
We are due to go on a Black Sea Cruise at the end of July. It will probable go ahead if there any Americans left alive and it will probably not be able to dock anywhere. The Travel Insurance will cost more than the cruise and the small print will be longer than the itinerary. Might get Brenda to take her RAF friend provided he stays alert. Brenda says she is not wearing any underwear.
Hang on, I have just started coughing, can’t breathe, pain in my muscles – I’ve caught the virus. Boris, you Cretin you stopped the lockdown too early.