This time in 2 weeks I shall be in Morocco, somewhere, hopefully in the mountains or in a desert, it is Mrs T’s significant birthday and aftrer the event i’m sure upon returning I will have time to reflect on the fine time we had and what lies in the future.
Gazing into my crystal ball I will say, and you heard it here first, that once we arrive back at Froggers HQ, the governments of the world will slowly but surely stage a lockdown of all the things we regard as fun. Any large gatherings will be postponed, stopped and cancelled due too the Corona Virus. Following the most unsuccessful re-branding to Covid 19, indirectly implicating the crow family for dyslexics and skim readers, what have they ever done, I read with disbelief that 38% of the American population (in a poll of the entire population) will not under any circumstances drink Corona beer any more, those damn Mexicans, and to think Trump could see into the future to predict the viral time bomb which actually hails form Mexico, hence the wall, which we all know will stop a virus in its tracks. Or maybe not, as the clusterfuck of a President proclaimed in press conference yesterday, like magic it is, it appears and then will disappear as if by magic or osmosis or whispering death or whatever random words spill out of the maw in the centre of his orange ball of a face.
My daughter will be absolutely mortified that come the summer all the flights to anywhere in the world will be sanctioned, and so we will be forced to holiday in our homes, shouting across garden fences to our neighbours through beak shaped sinister plague masks. No concerts, no football, no cricket, no tennis, no festivals, no beer gardens, no camp sites, no shopping, no food pickers, no Tesco deliveries, no newspapers, no news, only fake news, no dog walking, no walks in the countryside, no going to work, no money, no income, no food, empty supermarket shelves, empty supermarkets, looting, riots, anarchy, Covid 19.
Thats what’s going to happen, but on the positive side i’ll have plenty of time to write a bestseller, sat self isolated in my room, chewing on dried pasta as the water dries up and stagnates.
On a sinister note; the council will still make collections. The bin lorries will drive by with loud hailers, shouting – Bring Out Your Dead.
Enjoy your holiday.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I’m not dead yet, I think I’ll pull through, I’m feel better!!
LikeLiked by 1 person