Where to start..

Where to start...

The grim fact that the UK officially has the highest Covid 19 death rate in the world?*

The ghastly death rates averaging over 1,000 daily?

The complete breakdown of trust in Government which prioritises wealth over health?

The bleak, grey, wet January days merging into endless barren empty wastelands?

"Blue Monday" has come and gone in a January where everyday is blue.  

The days merge into one. My husband works silently in his office, shutting out the building work opposite with noise reducing headphones. 

My car has been used so infrequently that it refuses to start when asked.The battery has given up the ghost. I know how it feels.

Staying positive is hard in the face of unremitting bad news. 

The Government's latest strategy to keep moral high is to play the mass vaccination card.  Hah. Whilst in fairness vaccine rollout is gathering steam, 4 million (officially) done and counting, it does not take a maths genius to work out that s only another 62 million to go then.

Controversy rages over priority groups. Elderly obviously, after that care workers, medical staff....but teachers want a shot, early years workers want a shot, police want a shot, the list goes on. 

Meanwhile the WHO accuses the world of moral catastrophe over vaccine hoarding as rich first nations hog the lions share of the available vaccines.  Shameful.

Press conferences are so monotonous the main headline recently was Boris Johnson and Professor Chris Whitty bickering over the meaning of 'spring' and who had mislead the public first into thinking we would be out of the woods before Easter.  Its okay , guys, none of us believed either of you anyway.

Staying local is a joke. The downs above our house are now more crowded than cities. Going for a walk is like riding dodgems. The streets of the village are packed with visiting cars. So much for Police enforcing stay local. 

By trial and error I have learnt to find quiet places and quiet times. But it too is getting harder as farmers , once welcoming, are now locking gates to preserve crops and livelihoods for hoards of inconsiderate walkers and the January weather has turned paths into rivers of mud.

Me, I pass my days a day at time. I run. I walk. In solitude mostly. With my daughter at weekends. I resist the urge to become a recluse and have a few trusted friends as walk buddies.  I work to feel useful thought I would feel more useful if my work was valued enough to merit a salary. 

This time last year I was off to India, a free spirit, loving life with my family, my grandchildren, my friends.  

This year my world is bereft of everything which gave it joy. I hold on to hope as each day disappears into the mists of wasted time. I wade on, a day at a time, through the January gloom.

 For reference