Sorry I’m late, I went to a gig, which was wonderful and since then i’ve been emotionally empty, due in part to the ridiculous cabin fever inflicted onto me by this insane training course. Don’t ask. So its Friday night, post Argentina and Brazil and now I’m settling down to write, with the fire burning bright. So thanks to you Rochelle for keeping a lid on this can of volatility, it’s a grand job you do, and thanks also to yourself for providing a photo. I looked at it on Wednesday morning and had a thought, so lets see if it pans out.
On My Marks…
The Cloud grew and shrunk obscuring the man’s face, momentarily opaque contrasted against the sharpness of the dark colours behind.
The man came into focus again, he seemed sad, he was crying, his hand rested on the glass, leaving a smear, creating a mess, needs cleaning.
Maybe it’s cold.
The clatter of dishes, distracted him and he turned towards the direction of the sound, maybe someone’s preparing lunch.
“I haven’t eaten for days”
He slowly stood up and shuffled away. It smelled wonderful.
The man outside mouthed “Goodbye Dad” and leaned against the window, his face; gradually opaque.
There we are, 100 words I think, not sure how this reads, but its a reminder howMatt Hancock cast a protective ring around the care homes during the pandemic, filling them with Covid and leaving many to perish bewildered and alone.