Dying to Live

It has been a while since I blogged. The cobwebs are billowing past my face and crusty keyboard keys squeak every time I try to type. Once I dust off the layers of wasted stories and events that have built up and never seen the light of day, it will be easier to get down to what I want to say today.

This year has not been easy. Since finding out about my renal failure and going through the motions to establish some form of new life with the disease/ailment, I have persevered with a positive attitude and fighting spirit. The amount of support and good wishes were incredible, especially since I am an introvert and do not keep in contact with many people. Thank you for that. There’s a quote that goes, ‘In life we weep at the thought of death. In death, perhaps we weep at the thought of life’ – Marylyn Monroe. I hope that is her quote and not something that has been attached to her because of her celebrity status. The quote itself resonates with me as I enter the second year of sickness. My positive temperament is worn and my cynical nature has found a firmer footing. Over the weekend, I had a serious bout of illness – so bad the family decided to call the paramedics. I was terrified. Terrified of being alone in a hospital in the middle of the night. Terrified of dying because I was in so much pain. My terror turned into hysterical tears which is not something I am proud of. I try to maintain some level of decorum even in illness.

Needless to say, I refused hospitalisation and thanked the paramedics for their time and effort. They could only check my vitals and advise me to take paracetamol. Honestly, the fear of having to go with them numbed my pain more than anything else. I can honestly say it was my first real panic attack about dying. When I was first rushed to the hospital and told that I was going to die if I didn’t receive treatment right away, it didn’t phase me at all. I took it all in my stride. But this weekend has shown me how vulnerable my mind is and how quickly panic takes over. The pain has subsided, thankfully, and I am recovering.

I just wanted to share this moment with you because I am caught in a bubble of silence at the moment and feel like I am living on my own planet far from mankind. Yes, I could reach out and make plans and go out and live life and do what everyone else is doing, but I don’t want to. It’s tiring. Watching everyone go about their day is about as entertaining as it gets for me. Apart from my writing classes, of course, which I absolutely love. They keep me going each week. I guess I am weeping at the thought of life. I am counting down the days and awaiting that final moment. I know it won’t be coming soon, or maybe it will; either way, I am ready for it.

Unfortunately, I am not as creative as some of my counterparts who have gone out after doing amazing things. My steps are little and easy to fill. The footprints I will leave in the sand will probably disappear seconds after I am gone and I am okay with that. Now, it’s just the fear to overcome – the fear of missing out!

Peppermint Tea anyone?

I can’t remember the last time I visited the coffee shop in the ether. The bell tinkles above the door and I am greeted by the smell of freshly baked cakes that bring back happy memories of sitting on the yellow sofa close to the bookshelves at the back, sharing news of my week with you.

The cafe is surprisingly full with familiar faces. It’s good to be back. I make my way to the counter and order a peppermint tea – no cake today as I have a strict diet to adhere to. Searching the crowded space, I spot a seat near my favourite yellow sofa and gently shove my way through, barely making it to the low table and mottled red armchair without spilling. It’s so good to see your friendly face. As we are still under Covid restrictions, I won’t give you a hug. A big smile will have to suffice.

I ask you how you have been and what you have been up to over the past two years. Yes, it feels like a lifetime since we have chatted and so much has happened, I don’t think I will fit in all the news. So I begin with the biggest shocker and leave the trivial bits out for later. Since last year, my kidneys have failed and are working at 3%. Apparently my little organs were attacked by my own antibodies known as Anca Vasculitis. It destroyed the kidneys and the doctors were afraid that if it was still active, it could attack my lungs or my brains next. Over the past few months, I have been receiving chemo treatments to suppress my immune system and hopefully kill the vasculitis. I was going to receive my fifth treatment this week but I’ve caught Covid which has delayed the process. Plus my white cell count is low and other little issues are rearing their ugly heads which makes the doctors think it best not to dampen my immune system further.

As I take a sip of the peppermint tea, I tell you that it is not all doom and gloom. The dialysis is going well and I am still running my writing clubs and literacy booster private lessons. The mentoring has taken off too with more clients signing up for advice and help. It is thrilling to meet them and I appreciate their efforts to become the best version of themselves through the process of writing. My own writing has slowly come back and I am hoping to finish my next crime thriller this year. I missed the opportunity to submit my book to a publisher who was interested because I didn’t finish the script but I guess time and tide will tell whether it was meant to be or not. I am not stressing over it as I know how hard it is to complete a story with the right ending.

My mug is lovely and warm on this chilly Monday morning and I watch as the sun plays hide and seek behind the fast moving clouds outside as I listen to you telling me about your weekend and what you hope to achieve this week. We both can’t believe that January has already passed and we are into the second month of the year. Where did the time go? I think of how different life is now, living with an affliction that has changed my sleeping and eating habits, as well as my family’s. The ‘no salt’ rule in my house has been re-enforced. Unfortunately, rebel forces represented by the Hubble and oldest sprog mean that salt still finds its way into the food if they are in charge of dinner. The rest of us continue to battle to be healthy but it is very difficult when the rebels order salty, battered goods. My weakest point is when they buy Burger King Big Whoppers – my favourite! The struggle continues and though I do relapse into bad eating habits – overall, I think I have improved.

The mickey mouse clock with the moving eyes chimes, announcing the hour. It’s time for me to go. I take in a deep breath, trapping all the smells and tastes of the coffee house . It might be a week or a month till I visit again but when I do, I will be happy to see you here again. So save me a seat and let’s share our news the next time I visit.

Have a great week.

Shh… It’s Our Secret!

A few months ago, I had the pleasure of featuring a fantastic author who has the ability to create worlds that readers of all genres can sit back and enjoy. I am happy to announce that Lizzie Chantree is back to tell us more about her latest title, Shh… It’s Our Secret.

Welcome back, Lizzie. I’m so excited to hear more about your latest book.

Thank you for inviting me onto your blog today and for the amazing support of the launch of my latest book.

There are lots of ways to boost your mental health and wellbeing and having people around that you love and trust can help. In my latest book, Shh… It’s Our Secret, Violet struggles with self-confidence and self-worth.

Violet doesn’t want her friends and her sister to view her as a failure. The customers in the rundown café bar that she works in have become her confidants, including two eccentric pensioners, who feel like they have to act as her unofficial bodyguards when her secret ‘escapes’ into public knowledge. Violet will have to find out who has betrayed her and to step out of the shadows and find her voice.

If you could summarise the dramatic action, how would you capture it in a few words?

Violet has a secret that could change the lives of everyone she knows and loves, especially the regulars at the run-down café bar where she works. After losing her parents at a young age, they are the closest thing she has to a family and she feels responsible for them.

Kai is a jaded music producer who has just moved outside of town. Seeking solitude from the stress of his job, he’s looking for seclusion. The only problem is he can’t seem to escape the band members and songwriters who keep showing up at his house.

When Kai wanders into the bar and Violet’s life, he accidently discovers her closely guarded secret. Can Kai help her rediscover her self-confidence or should some secrets remain undiscovered?

Thanks for sharing your new title with us, Lizzie.

Shh… It’s Our Secret by Lizzie Chantree is available in audio, ebook and paperback format.

If you missed Lizzie’s previous feature on this site, click on the pic below to find out more about her highly entertaining title, The little Ice Cream Shop by the Sea.

About the author:

International bestselling author and award-winning inventor, Lizzie Chantree, started her own business at the age of 18 and became one of Fair Play London and The Patent Office’s British Female Inventors of the Year in 2000. She discovered her love of writing fiction when her children were little and now works as a business mentor and runs a popular networking hour on social media, where creatives can support to each other. She writes books full of friendship and laughter, that are about women with unusual and adventurous businesses, who are far stronger than they realise. She lives with her family on the coast in Essex.

Visit her website at http://www.lizziechantree.com or follow her on Twitter @Lizzie_Chantree https://twitter.com/Lizzie_Chantree.

The Little Ice Cream Shop by the Sea

For those of you who have followed me for a while now, you will know that I have a secret fetish: chocolate box romance novels. Reading through heavy texts from the classics to modern literature, my get away novel has to transport me to a place where I can relax in a world with enough drama to distract me from everyday life without taxing me with its heavy language and drawn out plot.

There are few contemporary romance writers that I enjoy as much as Lizzie Chantree. Her books are fun, uplifting and carry realistic characters that any reader can relate to within a setting that feels familiar and welcomes you in with open arms. Her style of writing fits the modern reader with its twists and suspense that keep us guessing whether the protagonist will end up with his or her love interest and live happily ever after.

Lizzie is releasing a new book called, The Little Ice Cream Shop by the Sea. I can’t wait to add it to my TBR (to be read) list.

Before I do, let’s find out more about her book and what inspired her to write The Little Ice Cream Shop by the Sea.

Tell us the basic premise of your novel.

The little ice cream shop by the sea is about a close family who run a seaside business buried in tradition, but a sudden incident throws them into turmoil and they all try to cope with the repercussions in their own way. The main character, Genie, doesn’t know why her family suddenly decides to sell the family business that she’s worked in since before she left school, but she’s determined that they won’t throw away her heritage so easily and fights to make them stay. 

The friendship between genie and pensioner Ada, who starts as a customer, becomes a lifeline for both women. Throw in some dashing locals who set their heart on helping Genie and a furious grandson who is out to protect his grandmother, and you have a sizzling story full of sunshine, secrets and finding love when you least expect it.

Lizzie’s book is available at a special price of 99p/99c for 7 days only, from launch day: 19/02/2021.

Now that we know more about her new book, let’s find out about the author herself.

What do you like to do when you are not writing?

When I’m not writing, I love to paint huge canvases of colourful landscapes. I find painting really relaxing and I enjoy capturing a view, especially if it is by the sea.

What was your dream job when you were younger?

When I was younger I wanted to do a creative job, but I didn’t know which one. I studied in art, graphics and display and design. I also went on courses about business and social media. I always knew that the creative industry intrigued me and being surrounded by a family who run their own businesses gave me the courage to start my own company selling products I designed, when I was eighteen.

For more information on the best selling author, check out her bio below and links to her social media pages. Don’t forget, Lizzie’s book is on offer for the next seven days.

International bestselling author and award-winning inventor, Lizzie Chantree, started her own business at the age of 18 and became one of Fair Play London and The Patent Office’s British Female Inventors of the Year in 2000. She discovered her love of writing fiction when her children were little and now works as a business mentor and runs a popular networking hour on social media, where creatives can support to each other. She writes books full of friendship and laughter, that are about women with unusual and adventurous businesses, who are far stronger than they realise. She lives with her family on the coast in Essex. Visit her website at www.lizziechantree.com or follow her on Twitter @Lizzie_Chantreehttps.

To access Lizzie’s collection of books, click here.

Social media links:

https://lizziechantree.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/LizzieChantree/

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7391757.Lizzie_Chantree

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/lizzie_chantree/

Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.co.uk/LizzieChantree/pins/

FB Groups: https://www.facebook.com/groups/647115202160536/

BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/lizzie-chantree

LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/lizzie-chantree-03006425/

YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCnCop-RlAcGqggZG3JfE-Mw

So long. Fare well.

It’s time to say good-bye to the year of change. Not only have we learnt, as humans, just how destructive we can be, we have found that love, compassion and kindness still exist. It survives and thrives on the burning embers and scattered remains of humanity’s desperate attempt to survive.

In the midst of the horrors that have occurred over 2020, we have witnessed the re-establishment of communities fighting for their weakest, holding up institutions filled with heroes willing to martyr themselves in their battle against an invisible enemy. Some of us less brave souls could only clap in unison to express our gratitude to them at assigned times each week, whilst others made sure those warriors were fed and watered during their most enduring of wars.

it is sad to mention a minority who formed a thick layer of denial against the truths of what was occurring. They rallied support through social media to defend their stance that a dystopia movement was imminent; our rights were slowly being eroded. Yet, they used those same rights they were afraid to lose to undermine the safety of others, choosing to be conduits for the deadly enemy, both mentally and physically.

And here we stand now, with the weaponry to keep the enemy at bay but racing against a ticking clock. How fast can we vaccinate humankind before more souls are taken or our enemy mutates again?

As we count down the hours to a new year, let us think of those brave enough to battle for our rights to live. Let us think about the souls already lost and those willing to use their bodies as conduits to test the resistance of vaccines against an enemy capable of mutating itself into new strains of monster.

Use these thoughts to help you cope with the silent nights and empty streets. We are all in the void together. Yet, we move. This won’t be forever. So, stay strong. Stay in. Stay safe. Tomorrow is a new year.

Happy new year to you all. I hope to see you on the other side soon.

Coffee, or something stronger?

Good day, dear citizens of the new world. My cup is full and there’s a socially distanced seat near the bookshelf here in our favourite coffee shop. Grab your beverage and head my way so we can catch up.

First of all, tell me all about your world. What has been happening to you over the past few weeks? I am sorry I haven’t met up for a coffee or even visited your blogs and websites. There is no valid excuse other than I didn’t feel like conversing with humans, in person or online. Do you ever feel like switching off? Maybe hibernating in a cave? Well, disconnecting is my coping mechanism. Those that know me well don’t mind and those that do…well, maybe we aren’t as close as we imagine.

My news is: the sprogs have returned to school. Apparently, the sickness and flu bugs received the same memo and were in full attendance from day one. War has commenced and our learning institutions are fighting the great fight to stay open as our invisible enemies threaten to overwhelm the system. Who will win remains to be seen. I have my money on a bottle of tequila and my bat cave door remaining shut. What’s the point of placing bets on that battle? You got to know hold off, know when to fold up, know when to walk away and know when to run. Betting against these odds is a lose/lose situation.

Would you like to hear some horror stories from the front line? Well, face masks are being worn and hands are being washed. Social distancing is adhered to during line ups and lunch times. But, someone forgot to tell these bugs to butt out during the in-between times. They love killing time in bubbles, sharing anecdotes with their oblivious asymptomatic carriers. They roller coaster up and down the stairs next to minions pushing in unison to get to classes and kick off after school with those careful kids walking cheek by jowl down the country roads. It kind of reminds me of Goldilocks and little Red Riding hood on vacation from the bears and wolves, laughing that they’ll never get caught because they are too damn clever. If only the viruses understood this winning attitude and followed the rules of carefully prescribed bubbles. The battle continues. I’ll keep you posted on progress (if I decide to come back out of my bat cave).

In other news, I managed to published my ebook, Moofy and Flo. It launched rather quietly a few weeks ago, without the pizazz of repeated sharing across social media and piggy backing off friends’ platforms. Needless to say, it fell flat on its hairy a…face! So, in the spirit of sharing, I’m attaching a pic and a link. If you feel the need to entertain your tiny sprogs with a delightful tale of friendship and frolicking fun that goes wrong, download a copy. The paperback version is on hold. I am battling with formatting and will try to get that down before the world ends. If I don’t, well..no one will care, will they?

Things don’t always go to plan when you try to help your friends. Trying is what matters in the end.

Before we end this titillating tête-à-tête, I must share a rather amusing story of what happened this weekend. It’s not funny in the hilarious sense – rather, an tale of stupidity and the loss of faith in some youths. It all went down on Saturday night at about 11.20pm. We were still up, watching some dribble on the telly, when there was a screech of brakes outside the window. Next, a swooshing with the impact sound that makes your insides go queasy. I ran to the window, trying to decipher where the sound had come from, or ended up. Nothing. So I ran to my sprog’s bedroom window where a horrible scream emanated from the front of our house. It wasn’t one of those, ‘Oh my god! Someone died!’ kind of screams. It was more of the ‘Stop him! Oh my god! Catch him!’ variation.

By the time we got downstairs and out the front door (in our pyjamas), the neighbours had already assembled around the front garden of the house adjacent to ours. We live at a road junction which has become a thorough-fair for traffic avoiding roadworks and late night speed trails. While scanning the area to see what had occurred, I noticed my neighbour’s front hedge had a gaping hole in it. The grass was smooshed down in front of it and the focus of the gathering spectators pointed to something hidden beyond that toothless green grin. Just as I was about to ask what happened, I spotted a figure climbing over the hedge and dropping like a drunk bee onto the pavement. Being the good citizen that I am, I pointed to this young fellow and asked if he was involved. The avengers raised their war cry to stop this grass seed from leaving the crime scene as his friends had done before we arrived (which explained the earlier screams). Unfortunately, the hyped up youth thought it best to run through the defense line and ended up face to face with me. We both bent forward, ready to scrum. He lunged to the right. I turned and grabbed his shirt, holding on for a mere second before releasing it. Thoughts flying throw my adrenalin-fuelled brain warned me to watch out for germs and to remember the laws of the land. He stumbled straight towards the hubble who in turn snatched and released the lad. We watched him run up the road to the harrowing sounds of rage and despair. Funny enough, no one gave chase. The joys of being an adult conscious of the limitations of our wrath. The last bumbling fool to leave the car was so drunk, he forgot his phone as he stumbled over the remnants of hedge. Halfway up the road, he staggered back to retrieve his things, then walked away without anyone batting an eyelid. So much for the avengers.

I’m going to say it; if my parents were alive, the evening would have ended differently for those fine figures of society. Given the police still needed to catch them and test them for alcohol and drugs in their system before either substance disappeared, they were savvy enough not to stick around. Forget about taking responsibility and facing your mistakes. This is 2020. If you can lie, then ultimately get away with it on a technicality, you’re in the right. Isn’t that the modus operandi of politics and leadership these days? Let’s see what unfolds in the next few weeks. I’m not holding my breath for an apology from our future selves to my poor neighbour for the damage done.

Well, my cup is empty and so is my news basket. Send me your news and updates in the comments below and I promise to reply within the next few days. I hope we will get a chance to share a drink and enjoy each other’s company again soon.

Stay well and stay safe.

Aiding the Future Silent Killers

It’s Thursday morning and the house is bubbling with activity at seven o’clock. After six months of watching the early bird rise, eat his worm and fly home before anyone stirred in our house, this feels unnatural. It’s the first day of the autumn school term and we are all a bundle of nerves.

My son has packed and repacked his school bag over the weekend, checking his school list for any bits of stationery or equipment he might have missed. The school has been adamant in its correspondence: no equipment or stationery will be given or shared with students. They must ensure they carry what they need to avoid cross contamination. I put my coffee cup down to help him. He complains again that his tummy hurts. I know it’s the worry that he might forget something and get a detention, so I go over the prepared speech he should deliver in case of he forgets or can’t find his way to one of his classes. ‘Apologise first and ask for help. If they shout, explain you are anxious and it makes it hard for you to remember directions under duress.’ He gives me a look and tells me some of the adults he deals with don’t care. They are more concerned with moving crowds and settling the younger newcomers to the school. They won’t have time to deal with him. I give him a reassuring hug but we both know he has to grow up and just deal with getting lost in the new buildings they’ve erected during lockdown.

My daughter realises that she has not packed a mask yet and starts to panic because the only clean masks we have are the material masks with funny smiles printed across the front. She refuses to take one, breaking down into hysterics when I shout from the kitchen, where I’m dealing with her brother, that it doesn’t matter. It matters to her. It matters a lot. She doesn’t want to have a funny smile etched across her face for most of the day. She doesn’t want to be the odd one out. She’s going to be a senior and even though lockdown left her out of the social loop, she still had social media to contend with and that dictates what cool and what is not in the new accessory we carry with us just to breathe easier when we step outside into society.

I rummage through the tumble dryer, hoping the batch of masks we used over the weekend have somehow hitched a ride to the other side of the laundry. Yes! I’m in luck. Two plain black masks pop out and I silently cheer. She hugs me tight and the relief in her eyes speaks volumes.

Both children have survived lockdown without meeting up with friends or going out. Limited exposure to the outside world kept them safe. And us. Being high risk meant taking the warnings seriously and playing by the government rules. Not that it made a difference to their older siblings who pandered towards the conspiracy theories that Covid-19 was contrived, to downright refusing to stay boxed up for the summer. The division in our family life has been apparent. The younger two and ourselves now refer to our grouping as the ‘core four’, excluding the older siblings who shirked the responsibilities of helping us all stay safe. As the core four, we have watched the news and prayed for some miracle that would slow the spread of the virus down so that we wouldn’t be at risk. Now that it has, the return to the outside world feels daunting.

Time is ticking away. My daughter wants to leave. She’s promised her friends she would meet up with them and walk together to school. I mutter something about social distancing and she looks at me. We both know that, as much as the schools will try to keep their bubbles and make everyone wash their hands, stagger breaks and lunch times, and change school start times, the children will still congregate. After all, that is their culture. That is what they know. It takes years to change tradition and we are only at the beginning; the pioneers of a new world.

I go over the list with her again before hugging her and letting her go. The front door closes, trapping me inside and her out. She is now free to roam. My mind goes wild with the possibilities and scenarios she’s going to have to face over the next five hours. Before I know it, it’s time for my son to leave. He looks so small and vulnerable and his bag makes him hunch over. I offer him a ride to school which he gladly accepts.

The village High Street looks like an overpopulated anthill teeming with worker ants scurrying to and fro. They are wearing blue uniforms and carry handbags and satchels. Packed pavements spit out random bodies onto the road, slowing the traffic down to a crawl. The scent of perfume, deodorant and pheromones waft in through the open car window. I shut it quickly, switching to aircon. Our eyes absorb the sights and sounds of the morning traffic and I despair. Parents, children, bicycles and pushchairs fight for dominance on the narrow pathways. No one is wearing a face mask. No one remembers the death toll rising each day through April and May. They have forgotten the long days of looking out of windows, wondering if the lone stranger spotted stalking the empty streets was a carrier or victim. Now, they mix like a deadly cocktail, swirling the moisture carried on their breath through open, unprotected mouths and noses. Each one trying to reach their final destination: the local schools and businesses.

We drive to the bottom of the hill that leads to my son’s place of education. I park on the side of the road and let out a big sigh. He is clutching the back seat, excited to get going now that he sees familiar faces. My fear and anxiety release in a tirade of commands: keep away from them; don’t touch the handrails; don’t touch your face or chew on your pen; wash your hands at break and lunch; be safe!

I watch his receding figure as it gets swallowed up in the sea of blue churning at the school gates. The government promised us safety at school, better mental heath for the children and a return to normal routine to free parents to work. Doubts dance in my tummy and burn in my chest. Why do I feel like I’ve just sent my kids to a factory where they will be converted into ticking time bombs then sent home? Am I looking at my silent killers filling the streets and standing at the corner shop with their friends? I guess time will tell.

Coffee, Crowing and Cravings

It has been a pretty calm Thursday, even though the children finished their lessons early and have been driving me mad with their inane chatter and squeals of laughter over trivial nonsense they find online. That, and popcorn.

#StaySafe Monday Coffee

Come and sit next to me in our Covid-free coffee house. I can reach over and give you a big hug because, in this world, we are away from the madness, away from the social distancing that has kept us imprisoned in our homes and away from the chaos of confusing instructions on what our future holds.

The news of a lift on lock down protocols has sent ripples through our world, no matter where we live. Some of us feel exasperated by the ridiculous conflicting messages of lifting a lock down when we have no cure in sight. But, on the flip side, others are questioning how we are going to keep eating, drinking and switching on the lights and heating in our caves if the economy dies? We could sit here and enjoy the chocolate cake and finger sandwiches, but even this won’t last if the world stops. First world problems compared to those living in developing countries I hear you say – or maybe not.

I was discussing this dilemma the other day. To say that we are a mixed bag of circumstances is not a strong enough statement to capture the worrying conditions of some families locked away in high rise buildings with only the graffiti on dirty walls to entertain children. The conclusion I reached was: humans will always find a way. We are the cockroaches of the earth. Bickering, name calling, finger pointing and wearing impassioned charitable cloaks to cover our self-serving natures are all part and parcel of our nature. But so is our adaptability and enduring natures. What we need is a common enemy – something or someone that will force nations to break down their feeble fences and hold hands with neighbours to battle for our freedom and survival. Will this current destructive force be enough to evolve our muted minds and make us move towards a more cohesive future with our environment? I don’t know. History votes against us. Will our current invisible enemy win? That depends on our attitudes towards authority, their guidance and whether or not we follow it without question.

Last week, during our pregnant pause awaiting the delivery of the newly born protocols on  lock down, I noticed a rise in traffic outside my house. Cars and trucks trundled past every few minutes. Residents filled the pavements leading to the forest down the road, chatting and laughing under the warm spring sun. A gentle breeze carried conversations about coping with isolation and home schooling. Joggers took to the street, sparing irritated glances at the congregated socialites littering their paths. People forgot just how dangerous it is to travel around, to meet up with each other and to socialise in close proximity.  Their lulled sense of security made me think of the invisible enemy watching them, following them back into their lives, their homes. We won’t see their mistake, not just yet. Give it a week, or two.

As we sip at our cups and wonder at mankind’s dilemma, let’s remember what the unlocking of restrictions without a cure or proper tests will release. Let’s think about the dying economy and families imprisoned in homes that can’t cope with unstable financial futures. Let’s sit here knowing that there will be no sirens to announce the tsunami of cases rising and approaching with speed in the coming weeks. Germany saw this rise  less than a week after they lifted their restrictions on lock down. Logically, this means the movement began once the whispers of change drifted on the media wind in the precluding weeks, just like my road told the tale of forgetfulness last week.

With all this in mind, I’d rather sit here, with you, sipping at my Darjeeling tea. What will you do? What choices do you have?

Stay well and stay safe. x

 

 

Monday Coffee in Lockdown

Come on in and grab a seat. I’ve taken the liberty and separating our sofas so that we adhere to the two metre rule. It’s wonderful to see you again. Grab your cup and remember to put it straight into the dishwasher to avoid contaminating anyone around you.

It’s unfortunate that our usual haunt has closed during this lockdown, but it does give me a chance to host our coffee catch up in my ethereal lounge. Time seems to have slowed and everything has taken on an apocalyptic appearance, especially venturing outside. I know it sounds terrible, and I really shouldn’t do it, but I’ve adopted the reference of ‘walkers’ used on the television show, The Walking Dead, to describe those souls traipsing past my house making their way to the forest just down the road. I fear them, each one a prospective carrier oblivious to the inhabitant that is growing within their healthy bodies.

I’m sure I can be forgiven for thinking that a trip to our local food store is not dissimilar to bathing in a septic tank filled with clean water. Chances are, you won’t see the germs but they will certainly be taking liberties with your clothes and exposed skin. Gloves are pointless as they just add to the contamination of different surfaces. You might not catch anything but the person two metres behind you won’t be thanking you when you’ve touched all the metal railings, containers and unwrapped food with those ‘safe’ gloves. If you don’t believe me, find a pair of clean gloves and spray a little paint on the fingers. Now go touch all your precious surfaces and see what happens.

My cynicism is born from spending too much time reading about the non-conformers – the free thinkers – who assume this is just a bunch of bull. ‘Scare mongering tactics’ and ‘utter nonsense’, and my favourite: ‘the government is just using this to control you’! I wonder what you think of those comments? How far should we accept what we’re told to do before saying: no, this affects my civil liberties? Do you feel the same way?

Considering I’ve been locked away for more than two weeks, I have to admit I haven’t found this lifestyle much different to my normal hermit lifestyle. The big difference is running my Writers Club Online, though my Zoom meetings have taken care of face to face group discussions. The children love it and have adapted well to the new norms. Social distancing was something I happily practiced anyway and travelling as little as possible is just sensible to reduce your carbon footprint.

Do you notice how fast technology is being developed now that we are facing a new war. Is this our version of an industrial revolution that sets a precedent for working at home to become a cultural norm, reducing travel and therefore activating a movement for climate change? I wonder if those who work from home will want to return to the office after tasting the opportunity to be closer to their families while accomplishing those same roles. I know it won’t be the case for everyone. Some will balk at the idea of being trapped at home. Others though, might appreciate it. Definitely something to think about in a future, especially with housing shortages and office blocks standing empty for years.

Maybe the future will see less office space eating up our central business districts and instead, housing estates with forests, play areas and facilities taking precedence over those spaces so that workers live closer to CBD’s but work remotely, time sharing office space. Just a thought.

Anyway, it’s nearly time for me to prepare for my webex meeting with my writers from Wooden Hill Primary. Thank you for stopping by. Let me know what you think our future holds.

Stay well and stay safe.