For The End is Nigh
They started rolling out the vaccine to The Great Unwashed on Monday.
To listen to them on the News it was an event akin to VE Day. Let joy be unconfined. We are all to dance in the streets, shout Hallelujah and be blinded by the light at the end of the tunnel.
We have heard a lot this week about that tunnel. Apparently it’s a very long one and the ever growing light at the end isn’t actually an approaching train. Apart from seeing that light we have also turned The Corner, which presumably means it’s a very twisted tunnel?
I’m sitting here by the phone waiting for my call to come and get needled. Unusually for me I score very highly in something; I’m up near the top of the class. Not only am I over seventy but also have a “heart condition”. And Herself has just heard somewhere that people who care for elderly relatives have also been pushed up the queue a bit so presumably I’m scoring even better. Top of the class – Come Forth and Receive Thy Needle?
Actually, I’m not holding my breath. Doc has his hands full at the moment dealing with people who are actually sick so I doubt he has the time or energy to just sit there making appointments. Or maybe he is wise enough not to put me on the list knowing I would tell him where to stick it? And the nearest camp where they are doling out the shit is fucking miles away, so maybe I could refuse on the grounds that it’s over 5Km?
I was in the chemist’s yesterday. Naturally I didn’t bother suffocating myself with a fucking mask and anyway I don’t get any further than the other side of the door. It’s like stepping into a giant perspex confessional with no contact with the staff, apart from a slot where they slide out the debit card reader at me and a drawer that they deposit my purchases in and I then take my stuff after the drawer is pushed through to my side. They’re well used to me in there and they never mention masks [they know me too well].
Usually when I leave, anyone who is queuing outside recoils in horror at my naked face. Not yesterday though. There was a bloke waiting to enter. No mask in sight. He looked at me. I looked at him. We both grinned. Partners in crime.
I didn’t shake his hand though.
Dear Grandad
The art of politics: when you can see the light at the end of the tunnel, order more tunnel.
DP
Sadly, very true. It keeps their builder pals happy though.
Government Brick Up Light At End Of The Tunnel