Unclean, Unclean


Well, it finally happened. I got COVID. I think I must have contracted the infection at Easter weekend, when number one son Bill and I went up to Scotland on the train. Before I go on and on about the riveting subject of my episode of illness, let me tell you about the visit to Scotland. We had a lovely time, or at least I did, and I hope Bill did too. We went up on Good Friday, and came back on Easter Sunday, so a bit of a flying visit. I have two brothers and two sisters, and I saw the three siblings who still live in Scotland face to face for the first time in years.

We stayed in a hotel in Bruntsfield, a lovely area in the South Side of Edinburgh, all elegant tenement blocks and green spaces. We did a lot of walking around the South Side and the University area, and I pointed out various landmarks of my student days in the 1970’s. Bill was a great companion, and didn’t complain of being bored by my reminiscences (at least he didn’t complain to me).

Saturday was a particularly pleasant day. The weather was fine, and I started with a little jog around Bruntsfield Links and The Meadows. After breakfast, Bill and I spent the morning in the Scottish National Gallery, not missing the iconic Scottish image, Raeburn’s picture of the Minister skating on Duddingston Loch. We then got a Scotch pie out of Greggs, just to keep body and soul together. Thereafter, we got a taxi down to my oldest brother’s family home at Crewe Toll, where we caught up with various family members. My nephew Johnny gave us a spin in a souped up car which he had been renovating as a labour of love over the past couple of years. It was very interesting, but such was the velocity at which he drove (warp factor two, Mister Sulu) that I could have done with changing into my BROON TROOSERS first.



In the early evening, we got a train across to Dunfermline, Scotland’s ancient capital, and had a pleasant walk through the historic district, Abbey (where Robert the Bruce is interred), Palace and Pittencrieff park, better known as the Glen.  We had originally been due to meet my other brother Tbone, his partner Margaret Mary and my sister Marian in a pub which I shall not name for legal reasons. During the afternoon I received a text message from Marian, tweaking the agenda on the basis that the Shallnotname Arms was a shithole, so we met in the East Port Bar instead. This was all OK except that the East Port is the favoured pub of Dunfermline Athletic fans, and the Pars had won that day. The East Port was packed with celebrating football supporters, no face coverings or distancing. It was all very jolly but I suspect that was where I caught the COVID. We then went for a curry and Bill and I caught a late train back to Edinburgh.



The following morning, we got the train back to England, but not before buying some Scotch pies to take with us. You can’t get them for love or money in Cambridge. There is a fancy pie stall at Kings Cross market in London, which sells them at three pounds eighty-nine pence a go. Given that you can buy a packet of two in a Scottish supermarket for less than a quid, this is war profiteering on a grand scale. When I made this remark to Bill, he commented that since a packet of two pies costs less than a pound, it might be best not to scrutinise too closely the list of ingredients on the packet. They taste great, though.



Anyway, it was absolutely lovely to see John, Rosie, Stephen, Johnny, Tbone (Tony), Margaret Mary, and Marian.

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Back to the fascinating subject of my health. On Wednesday 20th April, I had a sore throat and started to feel a little feverish. On Thursday 21st, I tested positive for COVID. Linda and Tom didn’t have me chained to a radiator upstairs, but I did try to spend as much time as possible away from their company in the hope of not infecting them. Thursday to Saturday I felt pretty grim, sore throat, sore neck, sore head and that horrible common cold feeling at the point where the plumbing of the ear, nose and throat meet. On Sunday 24th I started to feel a little better.

Our infection control measures were bootless. Linda and Tom tested positive a few days after I did. All of last week the three of us were going stir crazy. Our neighbour Jan was ever so kind, going to the shop for us every day.

While we were ill and self-quarantining, I read quite a lot. I am a member of a Facebook group called the MR James Appreciation Society. A previous blog waxes lyrical about the ghost stories of Montague Rhodes James. I asked the Society if there were any other authors whose works can compete with the atmosphere of Monty’s, and I was referred to a writer called Steve Duffy (no relation), who wrote in the late 20th century stories set in the early 20th century, and very impressively in the style of MRJ. These kept me amused in my period of enforced inactivity. In theory I could have worked full time throughout, but in practice, I found it difficult to maintain concentration, so I spent a couple of hours a day working, and the rest of the time reading fiction.

During the period when we were all ill, number two son Tom put a DVD on one evening, The Night of the Living Dead, made in the late 1960’s by George A Romero. I had expected it to be awful, but I ended up with considerable respect for the movie. It has a very simple plot. Suddenly, the recently dead come awake and start a killing spree. A handful of people are besieged in a remote house in rural America, boarding up the windows as the population of shambling zombies outside grows and regularly tries to break in. The production is stark, minimalist and effectively menacing.

In a previous blog, I discussed the notorious Tobe Hooper film of the 1970’s, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Watching The Night of the Living Dead, I saw where Hooper got a lot of his ideas.

So as you can see, my time of infirmity wasn’t entirely wasted. I tested negative on Sunday 1st of May, and what a relief it was to be able to get out of the house again. I have of course resumed my role as a good customer at the Carpenters Arms. Somebody has to do it. Linda and Tom will be negative in a few days, and we can all get back to normal.

When one thinks of the death toll in 2020 and early 2021, we should be thankful that the COVID only gave us a few days of discomfort and inconvenience. As our Tom says, it could be worse- I could be baldy and have a big nose.

 

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