Schools back by March 8, then outdoor entertainment, then indoor entertainment, seems to be basically how it goes. Theme parks can reopen April 12 which is somewhat baffling because theme parks are the germiest, grossest places you could possibly imagine.
If all goes well we could be out of lockdown by June 21 and back to almost normal lifestyles again, which my mind can barely even fathom at the moment.
I will not be clapping, not because I didn’t care about Captain Tom but because I’m sick of this performative nonsense from the government.
I liked Captain Tom. I admire what he did. But I will not stand and clap on my doorstep on the order of a political leader whose own government’s policies led to a very elderly gentleman walking laps of his garden to try to fund our national fucking health service.
It would be great if we allocated more money for the NHS in Captain Tom’s memory so that in the future 100 year old aren’t having to fundra-oh they’ve announced another clap fantastic forget what I just said everyone
in the latest instalment of ‘the tories like to starve children’: a private company called chartwells has been awarded a government contract to supply for £30 worth of food that should feed a family for ten days.
apparently – as we can see above – this amounts to loaf of bread, some cheese, a tin of beans, two carrots, two bananas, three apples, two potatoes, a bag of pasta, three frubes, two soreen bars and a tomato.
Hey that’s not bad actually, considering what they had to work with. And by that I don’t mean the technological limitations, I mean the fact that there was very very VERY little to celebrate in this country during this year.
🗣️ “It was minimally affecting children in the first wave… we now have a whole ward of children here.” Laura Duffel, a matron in a London Hospital, tells Adrian Chiles about the Covid situation in hospitals. 📻 @BBCSounds pic.twitter.com/2BwYOJvov5 — BBC Radio 5 Live (@bbc5live) January 1, 2021 Yesterday BBC Radio 5 interviewed a health […]
If only, if ONLY there was some sort of famous historical story about an authority figure invoking cake at an inopportune time. If only we remembered what happened to that person. Oh well.
God, the state of the UK feels rough right now. I knew I wouldn’t be seeing my family this Christmas anyway, but I just keep thinking at the back of my mind, “What if I can’t go see them for literal years? And what if I can’t go to the cinema, sit in coffee shops, visit theme parks, walk on beaches for literal years either?” (There is, of course, an “…if ever?” at the back of that, too.)
It could be so, SO much worse for me, I know that. I was ridiculously, painfully lucky. Lots of my loved ones were. I’m sitting right now thinking, “You’re fine, your family is fine, you have a fridge full of garlic bread, what have you got to complain about?” But I just really really wish there was any sort of end date whatsoever.
Of course, in this version of A Christmas Carol Jacob Rees-Mogg comes out of it thinking that the visions of poor children suffering are perfectly reasonable. He wakes up on Christmas Day, punches an orphan, and then is elected Prime Minister by a landslide.
