For the last few weeks we've been in a kind of mini lockdown in my area. Not meant to go in each other's homes, not meant to socialise internally anywhere, not meant to travel outside of our immediate area. Plus of course the [what has become] usual, hand sanitising, face masks etc. As of 6 p.m this evening, the whole of The Wetlands went into a stricter lockdown. Basically everything is closed other than what is considered 'essential services'. Effectively that means supermarkets, takeaways, Post Offices, transport [though only for essential travel supposedly], chemists, and off licenses. Who knew 'booze' is essential? Actually, I guess for some people it is - sadly. To cut off all supply and at the same time, support, would be catastrophic in all sorts of ways. If I had to go cold turkey for a 17 day 'fortnight' iro my morning tea I would be murderous.
A seventeen day fortnight? Yes -seemingly this is a 'firebreak' for a fortnight to reduce transmission of the Fizzy Flu and cut the NHS in The Wetlands some slack. Except these measures are in place until Monday 9th November. Not wishing to be overly picky [or pedantic] but that isn't a 'fortnight'. It's seventeen days. Do the Politicians have difficulty in counting? Maybe they can't go up as far as 17? Possibly the problem isn't in their mathematical skills [or lack thereof], but in their language skills? Maybe they don't know what the term 'fortnight' means? Or worse yet, the problem is both a lack of counting AND comprehension skills? Which is kind of scary. After all, these people are supposedly running the show!
I did have it in mind to take a bus ride to the bay today but the weather was absolutely foul. So I just sorted out a few bits locally. Including asking in the convenience store/post office if I'd dropped my key there. Lo and behold, Tasha, one of the members of staff I chat to regularly, had found it outside the door when she locked up yesterday so that's one problem solved. The supermarket have refunded my money for the missing chicken pieces so that's another thing dealt with. I finally got an email from the bank, not with a complaints form, but with a 'how did we do survey'. Clearly I'm going to have to set aside a chunk of time to deal with them on Monday. At least the money has been transferred to Elaine now. It was showing as paid in my account, and she confirmed it had shown up in her account.
She also called me today to say she'd managed to speak to her GP this morning who was sending her for immediate tests at the local hospital. I'm relieved that she's being checked, yet at the same time, concerned. She hasn't been 'right' or 'well' for quite some time. She let me know because she knew I'd be worried if I couldn't get hold of her for any length of time. Hardly surprising considering the last time I happened to be in Bristol when I couldn't get a reply from her. Frantic 'phone calls back to various members of The Bunch, all of whom clearly thought I was being a drama queen. Except it turned out Elaine was unconscious on her bedroom floor for three days so I wasn't such a frigging drama queen after all.
I have her next door neighbour's phone number now and we have a tacit agreement to keep each other informed. I don't particularly like him or his wife, I think they are after Elaine's property BUT, at least I can get hold of them if I'm seriously worried about her. I'm resisting the urge to call her tonight on the basis she'll probably be shattered and wanting to sleep. I'll call her tomorrow morning. Hell it doesn't seem so long ago that if I couldn't get hold of a friend, I assumed they were nursing a hangover and best left alone. Or maybe they'd sodded off to a Greek Island for the week. How I would have loved it if instead of being unconscious on her bedroom floor, Elaine had turned up a week or so later saying 'Don't be so soft, I buggered off to Teneriffe for a fortnight".