• Young son William, caught away from school, isolated in wild west Wales under reinstated lockdown. Travelling back to big-time Birmingham for postponed studies was able to employ his student teacher’s ID to facilitate progress. Imagine any world where the fateful phrase, ‘Geography Teacher’ can get you to the front of every queue while opening all defended doors with nod and wink and gloved salute?
 • Face-timing is the latest craze around my house. But, not for much longer. As every person I get to see from way down under immediately offers condolent sympathy. ‘Sorry to hear of your troubles up there’ – the struggle and strife in that dirty old world. While I, hilariously, have no issues at all. Apart from missing Soho entertainments and live band action, the lockdown strictures are a piece of cake. But I’m not surprised by their misplaced pity having watched what currently passes for news over nine moronic mounting months, where every piece of information is edited into a sordid soapy opera with Dragons, Valkyries and Beowulf abandon. Get ’em involved – is the latest wheeze – to sell them stuff.
 • Yesterday I thought I had maybe contracted the Covid virus. My sense of smell was pasty poor and my taste non-existent. Then I realised I was eating supermarket fruit – which has no flavour and little aroma. For faint relief.
 • One advantage to compulsory facemask usage – we can mutter and moan undetected. No one can tell where those, ‘Why you sonofa…’ grizzles are coming from, or what exactly was being said…
 • Used to be news broadcasts would follow a conventional approved agenda: headline, alarm, content, expert advice, human interest, positive warning. Now it’s become: headline, alarm, human interest, human interest, human interest, human int… ad infinitum.
 • All this crap about living in the NOW, to promote positivity? If one follows this edict under quarantine orders gets a beeline track to your nervous breakdown. Comes to bemoaning; God damn darn it, not my teeth again? And must I tie these shit shoe laces, brush this hair, wash those dishes, walk around the streets, air in and out, every fucking day, for eternity… I now avoid paying close attention to anything I do, as it happens. That it’s better to live in the distant past, or far-flung future, anywhere other than here today. I first became aware of this insidious condition when recalling details of the last three showers I’d undertaken and resenting the next one coming right up – as if my RAM had not rebooted overnight, is what dreams are for, so the experts reckon – every mundane action is ready retained, like an autistic idiot, minus the saving savant factor.
 • So, what hilarious soubriquet will our media give to virus survivors? Coronarers? Coronados? Coviderators? Covers? Coves? Pandemicists? Panders? Pandas?
 • This lingering lockdown has brought a devilish addiction – to soft white bread. Far, far worse than any upper or downer smoked, injected or rubbed into the gums. And, chewing upon your latest dosage, a hollow promise; ‘That’s the last of it. NEVER again.’ Then the lurking urge to self-indulge, ‘You deserve a treat, one more can’t hurt.’ as you cowardly shuffle towards the bread bin, butter knife brandished, watching your hands as those of a stranger performing the sacrament, unfolding the wrapping on the crisp-crusted loaf, popping the top of the tub of golden butter… Oh the humanity…
 • Receiving a rash of telephone fraud calls. And not at all annoying. Breaks up the day with a human contact. And you get to call someone a cunt – for free.