Day Eight

Day Eight:

How lucky I am to be totally alone and locked up-down in my little home.

 Here I am with no one to please but my own dozy self;  no arguments, no irritations,  no expectations or obligations to be anywhere or do anything.  
It’s quite liberating - but for the fact I’m not at liberty. 

 It’s also a sort of allowable selfishness which doesn’t impact on anyone else, or put anyone at risk. 

 Many stories are emerging about the tensions, particularly for families and couples thrown together in unaccustomed  isolation and on the verge of insanity, divorce or worse.

Were I locked down with the sort of persons I’m reading about: women who secretly have friends round for ‘drinkies and bikkies’ at night; men who won’t wash or change underwear because they have no need to leave the house,  I'd very quickly be grinding soporifics  into their Muesli. 

 Then, of course,  the local Constabulary and I would be having Very Serious Words.

And a new word has been coined.

 ‘Covidiots’ are the people who feel they are immune to the disease and all the rules which aim to keep people safe.

It’s possible to be asymptomatic with Covid-19, although being a total imbecile is less easy to  hide.

The Backpackers who phoned a radio stationin New Zealand and declared they had no intentions of restricting  their plans to tour the country,  are, like Typhoid Mary, potentially infecting thousands.

The 3,000 people who thronged to Brockwell Park in South London yesterday, not only compromised their own health but that of everyone with whom they subsequently socialised.

If just one person in that gathering of 3,000 was infectious and asymptomatic, everyone they talk to and breathe on; everything they touched, had the potential to infect and even kill.   

They could be responsible for the sickness and death of  babies, young children, pregnant women, essential workers and more, not to mention themselves and their own families.

That’s the unacceptable side of selfishness but I suppose if you are a moron, you don’t see it as such.

When I was at school, we used to chant a silly rhyme.

Happy little moron, he doesn’t give a damn.

I wish I were a moron

Oh no, perhaps I am!