Listen to Granny because Granny always knows best!
If one more person tells me Covid has gone away I will not be responsible for the consequences. The virus has gone nowhere—being far too busy mutating to do the decent thing and die.
Equally, if I hear any more about it not being a serious illness there may be bloodshed.
It’s an illness like any other, which means it will be no more than a minor inconvenience for some people, while it will be life-changing or life-threatening for others.
Being fond of my life as it is, I think a few precautions are in order.
That is not to say that I believe in remaining inside my house like some sort of cowering baby bunny. I don’t. I like to go out. And I enjoy the fresh air as much as the next octogenarian, or maybe more than most!
I get my quota of air on quiet country walks, and the other kind of out is confined to pub gardens because I don’t want to be in confined spaces with potential plague rats.
I also reserve the right to wear my mask. Don’t give me any of that shit about it not protecting me – I know the science and wear a mask to protect other people (and so you can’t see my mouth when I’m swearing at your pigheaded ignorant behaviours).
In addition to which, I would be very grateful if people would keep their fucking distance. I can hear you perfectly well if you and your saliva remain at two metres or more away from me. If you don’t do metres think of it like my chum Mabel who explains it thus.
“It I can reach to crack you on the shins with my walking stick you are too fucking close.”
I’m not trying to tell anybody how to live their lives, though I’m disappointed by the lack of imagination that looks backwards for its definition of ‘normal’.
Stop feeling sorry for yourselves, you snivelling retards, and create something new.
Make your fun in ways that don’t require sharing spit and sweat with total strangers.
The global village was a fun idea until the germs caught on to the concept. Now we should maybe be tending our own gardens…