Almost a year

It's a year next week since everyone over 70 was told to stay at home for the foreseeable because of a virus. A week later the entire country went into lockdown for three weeks "to flatten the curve". Three weeks.

And yet here I sit, best part of a year on. Older, greyer and more anxious than ever, still wittering to myself about nothing in particular while those in charge (allegedly) carry on making a balls of it. A year on.

Some of the comments I've read online recently about the Covid 'vaccine' have got me flummoxed. Here's the thing... if you've had the 'vaccine' why would you complain about others not keeping to the current rules?  "People are out without wearing masks", "On a sunny day our local park is full of Covidiots" and "Social distancing seems non-existent now".

Ok. Let me get this straight; you've been 'vaccinated', meaning they're no threat to you and you're no threat to them... so what's the problem? It makes no sense. Unless, of course, it's not actually a vaccine and it's offering you no real protection?

Answers on a postcard please - I'm clearly missing something crucial in their logic.

Oh, I see Dr Death is in the news again warning of a "Third wave" of Covid sometime later this year. I think he's just afraid of losing the importance and status that Covid has given him - he's been getting off on this for the past year, he's not giving it up without a fight. He'll have us two metres apart and wearing masks forever if he has his way. Boris needs to slap him down.

Media is heaving today with the Meghan and Harry nonsense... It was never going to go well, was it? A weak, immature, pampered prince being worked from behind by a media-hungry narcissist who thought she was bigger than the Royal Family. You were wrong there, luv! But it has knocked Covid down the news pecking order, so I suppose the two mouthy ingrates do have some sort of use. Quite refreshing to see something else being talked about even if it is those two numpties...

I do feel sorry for the Queen, though. She really doesn't need all this while the Duke of Edinburgh is still in hospital. 

In the spirit of finding good news wherever I can... West Ham won last night and are now fifth in the table!

Kitchen comforts

After the stress of last Friday and the days leading up to it, comfort food has been needed this week. I fancied a curry and Mr S-V requested a sponge pudding - so we had both! 

The chickpea, lentil and veg curry really hit the spot and made enough to freeze for another two meals. Bonus! Searching for a pudding recipe was complicated by not having easy access to shops at the moment; it had to be made from whatever was in the pantry. Step forward this recipe from Dan Lepard. 

Marmalade and Carrot Puddings

I don't possess any dariole moulds (who does?) and I only had two eggs until the next Waitrose delivery but, having searched high and low for the recipe, I was determined to make it, so six individual basins were called into action. 

I had to do a bit of fiddling with the ingredients to fit the eggs available, meaning I made slightly less mixture than the original recipe. It still gave six decent sized puds - two of which we had with a large amount of custard (I bloody love custard). They were light and moist and they didn't even stick to the tins! I'll definitely make these again, but not until we've eaten the other four that are stashed in the freezer.

We had the easiest dinner on earth last night, made with penne, semi-dried tomatoes, mushrooms and Boursin. It took about 20 minutes and tasted great. I'm not ashamed to say we had sausages, chips and baked beans on Wednesday. Not exactly a culinary tour de force but it was just what we needed.

I've also made a batch of cheese and onion quiches this week and some spiced apple compote to have with porridge. I've been fiddling about in the kitchen a bit more recently than I have for some while - it's just about the only way to escape from Covid and all the crap surrounding it. A little bit of culinary normality in an increasingly abnormal world is about the best I can do right now. I'm doubting we'll ever feel normal again after all this.

That weasel, Hancock, is on TV again. If he worked anywhere other than in Government, he'd have been kicked out long ago, liar that he is. I'm not a violent woman but, by god, his face is slappable.

The Duke of Edinburgh is thankfully still with us (keep going, Sir) but sadly, his brainless, entitled grandson and his social-climbing, gold-digging wife feel this is just the right time to give a carefully staged interview and have a dig at the Royal Family. Nice way for Harry to show some gratitude for all they've given him... still, I suppose it keeps Covid out of the headlines, even if only briefly.

The last Goodbye

We said the last "Goodbye" yesterday to B and J.

It was a beautiful day, bright and sunny as we stood outside the chapel at the crematorium waiting for the cortege. Seeing two hearses draw up and park side by side was unbearably sad.

The service was perfect - their son and daughter did them proud.

I've been to a lot of funerals, but never one like this - a double cremation service held under Covid restrictions.

A maximum of 30 people, all socially distanced, everyone masked, recorded music only and no singing. There was a live webcast for those who weren't 'allowed' to attend.

The ritual surrounding funerals is important, not just for the deceased, but more so for the living. It's a tried and tested formula, a necessary step on a bereavement journey, which must always include the usual get-together afterwards. 

Eating and drinking together is absolutely integral to this ritual - something life-affirming in a time of death - providing a moment when everyone can draw breath and gain comfort from the group. The food is generally awful but it doesn't matter - that's not the point. It's not about the quality of the food; it's anecdotes and reminiscences, "Do you remember when...?" and funny little stories, all passed round along with the tea and sandwiches.  

But none of that was allowed. 

After the service the 30 attendees got back into their cars at the crem and drove home. 

That was it. 

I can only think the rules surrounding funerals at this time were dreamt up by a bunch of heartless civil servants who don't know what it's like to have a family or loved ones... or a brain cell between them. 

I'd like to see them and their petty 'jobsworth' rules consigned to the Eighth Circle of Hell. 

It's all they deserve.

A personal view

I've developed a visceral hatred of all the people who, through Covid, have forced me to put my life on hold. I can never get back the time they've stolen from me... their petty rules and regulations have increasingly made me feel as though I'm drowning. 

Covid has been the gift of a lifetime to the 'scientists' who've been propelled into the spotlight by Boris - fame at last and aren't they loving it? It's all been totally unnecessary and mismanaged from the very beginning - just a power trip for people who have shown themselves to be completely unsuited to govern a country.  Between the lot of them they're not fit to run a whelk stall.

Seeing pictures of Boris standing in the Commons yesterday telling us what we will be 'allowed' to do, when and with whom, just evoked fury in me. The fake concern, wild hair and bumbling, genial persona didn't hide the authoritarianism in every word.

I saw that jumped-up little weasel, Hancock, on Twitter this morning saying we may be 'allowed' to hug from May 17th. Allowed? Allowed to hug my son and grandchildren? Just who the hell does he think he is??!

When all this is over, when Covid is given its rightful place of just being something we live with like all other viruses, I expect they'll be rewarded with peerages and knighthoods. Their wrecking of the fabric of this country will be airbrushed away - but, one day, I hope they get their comeuppance. 

Whatever it is, it will never be enough to undo all the hurt they've inflicted upon us.

Just keep on keeping on...

Well, my two loved ones are slowly recovering from Covid but they're still dealing with intermittent fatigue and anosmia. The lack of taste and smell is particularly distressing because, when you're not well, you'd normally cheer yourself up with a few tasty treats... but it's not so cheering when everything tastes like cardboard, so I'm told.

I want to hug them and make everything better... but I can't. All we can do for now is chat on Skype and promise them a shedload of treats when their sense of taste returns.

Boris is dangling carrots before us - he's going to lay out his 'roadmap' on Monday; we may be allowed (how I hate that bloody word!) to do this or that but we must all be vigilant, have our vaccination (no chance, matey!) and follow the rules... blah, blah, blah. You know the stuff... we've heard it all before. It astounds me that he keeps giving out the same old BS and yet the media still hangs on his every word. 

Boris, read my lips: Shove your roadmap up your rear orifice... sideways.

I saw this online yesterday. If it's happening to this family, it's happening to others. It's quite clear we're being lied to - I don't doubt for one moment Covid exists but dying 'with' Covid is very different from dying 'from' Covid. However, Govt needs the death figures inflated to keep us compliant. They're shameless in their lies.

Nearly a year into this bloody virus and everything is crap. I'm down to my very last nerve and about a millimetre away from the end of my tether. Much more of this and I'll be ready for the funny farm... the stress is killing me.

I'm not ashamed to say my mental health has really suffered over the past year, as it has for so many others - sadly, mental health issues aren't even being acknowledged by Govt and the NHS. Their mantra seems to be "If it's not Covid, we're not interested". Well, thanks for that - I'll take comfort from it next time I have a meltdown, shall I...?

The weather was nice yesterday, dry and quite mild, so for a short blast of sanity we went into the garden. Mr S-V removed the dying apple tree and planted a new greengage tree, bought online, which arrived in a huge cardboard box! A tree in a box... who'd a thunk it? It's a strange life - seems you can have just about anything delivered these days.

Sorry to hear the Duke of Edinburgh is still in hospital. He's almost 100 years old and things aren't sounding too good. Bit worrying. Keep going, Sir, we've had enough bad news.

It's not an easy life...

...that's the understatement of all time.

It's been a vile week. Weatherwise, we've had snow, ice, biting winds and sub-zero temperatures day and night.

That hasn't been the half of it, however. Two of the most important people in my life both have Covid. I couldn't be more stunned or shocked. Not being able to see them just adds another level of stress. Their symptoms are reasonably mild at the moment, but I'm going out of my mind with worry. 

Since the last post I haven't set foot outside the front door. I desperately need some warmth and sun to breathe a bit of life into this tired brain and body... and some good news for a change. Any good news would do. Asap please. 

Difficult days

We sat on the bench in the garden for about 10 minutes with a cup of tea yesterday. It wasn't particularly warm, we were both wearing fleeces, but the sun was out and the unaccustomed brightness was a joy after so much rain and greyness recently. 

A few crocuses and snowdrops were showing their faces in the borders... there was a promise of spring in the air; it gave us a chance to breathe and feel a bit more connected to the world, even if only for a while. You have to grab the high points where you can these days.

The world feels weird and the weather's joining in - today it's been cold, wet, sunny, wet again and tomorrow we have heavy snow forecast... all we need is fog and we'll have managed four seasons in a weekend! 

A while back I said Nigella's Emergency Brownies might be needed in the future... the time has now come. Every damn day seems like an emergency. I don't like chocolate much but I do like a chocolate cake or dessert so I set to this morning; I think I must be one of the few people alive who've never made brownies before. They weren't very pretty although they tasted divine. I'll have another go when I'm feeling less stressed... god knows when that's likely to be. It seems to be a permanent state of mind.

Later this month we have a double funeral to look forward to. I have a feeling I'll need more than cake to get through it. Sometimes I wish I liked alcohol.

I really must buck up.