What these last nearly 10 weeks have taught me is that there are many more things, more important than doing what I do for a living. I enjoy what I do, which I can’t talk about, i’d have to kill you all, but after I’ve done what I do, I feel no empathy for the company I work for, its important stuff but on the other hand ultimately worthless to me. I can switch my laptop off and forget about the job, and concentrate on the important stuff like trying to persuade my kids to camp in the garden and playing football disguised as the armless goal keeper whose history we have invented, Andy Anderson, was his name and he used his legs and head to protect his goal, he died a premature death, we haven’t decided from what yet, what fun times we have.

The schools opened today, or some of them anyway, a lot fo folk are still wary, and rightly so, rather than being swept up in this government created tide of false optimism, i’ve said this once or twice before, nothing has changed; the virus seems to be peetering out due to the public obeying orders and staying at home and socially distanced as much as possible, the language of a post lockdown world has been set free, like previously shackled lovebirds distributing manufactured joy and hope throughout the nation to give the public something to look forward to. Maybe if we ignore it, it’ll go away, if we do nothing but pretend to do lots of something then the public will swallow it, we can report only on regional deaths, which may not look as bad.

We took a day trip out yesterday, we went out early and the more I think about it the more horrified I feel about what we did. The crowds swelled and we left, walking up a deserted steep valley side to fresh unclustered air, and back to the car, ultimately to head back to our velvet lined home prison. It’s not a bad place to be. The Shrawley woods were rammed again according to N this weekend, day trippers and locals alike, and what not? The government has created an illusion of wellness of total control without actually having a handle on the thing. They remind me of the shop floor staff in Tandy who read the label of a washing machine label back to me when I ask why I should buy one against another. Telling us something we can perfectly easily find out for ourselves by reading the label. The virus had killed nearly 40000 people in the UK that we know of so far; the stable door had fallen off its hinges before the horse had bolted. Pandora’s box was opened, and to effort was made to try to shut it. We are riding a wave of hopelessness, with no end in sight for the foreseeable future, a summer of disappointment, but who knows, maybe we might get to have Christmas with our loved ones, those of us lucky enough to have loved ones.

Plus this had taught me how to be incredibly cynical.