A Trudge to Get Bread

As expected we rose to a white landscape this morning.  Slow traffic edged its was along the highway, occasional workers coughed and muttered as they slipped their way past.  Occasional dogwalkers muttered also while trying to find a clear spot for the dog.  Clearly, not all succeeded.  

Much against my better judgement I joined the cheery throng, once the schoolkids had passed by.  Whether they were off to school or off school I knew not, but I let them go first.  By the time I got fed, dressed and had my boots on, the traffic was beginning to flow normally.  Clearly the majority had remained indoors and only the workers and the desperate went out.  I needed bread... 

To get bread I trudged through the snow, being reminded of how hard this could be.  A few inches lay there, pathways already clear down the middle of the path, and at the side areas where children had sought to be the first to leave their footprints in the large white expanse in front of them.  Who can blame them?  Did we all not wish to do that?  And some of you still do!

One man, dressed for the front room, hurried across the park, pulled out his phone, took a quick picture, and ran away back from whence had had come somewhat guiltily.  The rest of us, warmly wrapped and slow moving, ignored him.  Most offered a rueful remark as we passed one another, one woman annoyed at being 'called in' to work when she wanted to take pictures also.  How cruel life is.  I bet her pictures would be better thought out than mine.

At the far end I snapped a shot from an area dominated by the early, and frozen, dog walkers.  I have taken such shots for years yet little changes.  To think that once this was a school ground, and before that a rich man's house?  Before that it appears to have been a field, an old painting shows this in the 1800s with a cow happily wandering about.  All things must change.

 

I had hoped to see the birds behind the church but clearly they were struggling for food at the moment.  None bar an occasional wood pigeon flew by, and they were not stopping.  I wondered how they would feed themselves today, though I suspect peoples gardens would be places to find free offerings in this weather.  Not much I can do to help these days.

My route took me past the freezing Town Hall and the old water fountain, it no longer works of course, but there are less horses, pigs, sheep, cows and buyers these days.  Bottled water appears uppermost today.  Council workers were spreading grit around the area, clearing a safe path, and working up a sweat.  Sadly, we have no equipment that allows me to do this here, just an old stiff brush which merely spreads the stuff and makes it slippier!  I will not tell you how I know this.

The only splash of colour comes from the Post Box.  Note the 'Sat' for Saturday tag, indicating nothing was collected that day.  I suspect it was not collected today either.  Vast quantities of mail fills the Royal Mail offices, little of it finds its way to me however!  I am all in support of the striking workers, however, Royal Mail and this grubby government are not willing to do the deal, the failing attempt to turn the people against the strikers has not yet led to a climbdown by government or their men.  I note however, the nurse will not strike in Scotland as the government their has found a solution to the problem.  Why can the English not do the same?  Simple answer, they do not want a solution, they wish to sell off the NHS to their American friends, line their pockets, and care nothing for the people.

Keir Starmer and the 'Tory Two' Party has failed the workers by refusing to back them, calling for an end to strikes, and even claiming it is impossible to pay the NHS staff more.  This is no longer the Labour Party, this is a man desperate for the top job and he will say anything to get it.  It is time for Starmer to go, he could do nothing when the failing Boris was PM, he failed to remove Liz, and now fails with the latest failing PM, it is time for Keir to leave the show and allow a member of the Labour Party to take over.

Vaccination and Microsoft equal Anger

Science Museum

 

The letter came the other day, this followed on from the email, informing me that I was now eligible for the 'seasonal' Covid vaccination.  'Hooray,' said I, and returned to slumber.

Today, I looked up the online process, I clicked, I clicked again, always in the appropriate places, and clicked again.

I entered my National Health number.

I entered my date of birth, 2nd Jan 1990.

I clicked 'continue.'

I then selected the nearest centre offering the vaccination.

Witham!

Witham!  Six miles away, an hour on the bus, and even then I have to walk miles to find the place in the outskirts of town!

Other offerings were further afield.

I searched for the 'Walk in Centre.' 

I found one in town!

This operates at the 'Braintree Village' shopping experience.

I looked up the opening times.

SUNDAY!

Sunday, the one day buses do not run!

There is a Hospital up the road, 20 minutes walk away even for me, and that is where I got the previous two vaccinations.  The local 'Christchurch Pharmacy' run by a local church, offered the last booster.

No more.

For no good reason, cost in other words, if I take up this generous offer I must travel miles for it.

Shambles, that bloody Tories!

Bloody Microsoft!

They have kept me waiting a month before accepting the change of details, for no reason.  

Today I tried to sign in and had to go through all the hoops.

Eventually I was told to offer the last 4 digits of the phone number.

This I did.

I waited.

I waited.

I waited.

Nothing came.

I went through it all once more, informing them of my honest opinion.

I waited.

I waited.

I gave up.

I did get far enough into the mish mash of an organisation run by 14 year olds to find the phone number they required me to add was correct, however, the phone number on my details made no sense whatsoever.  Where did it come from?  I tried to delete it, but it appears to be still there.

Then I had to log in again, and now they are making me wait another month before I can go through all this again!

Happiness is not my name today.

Return to Normality

I did not leave the house today.  The need for an after Christmas clean up and the need to avoid the rain trapped me happily indoors.  I cogitated on the washing as the machine whirled the mixture around.  My mother did not have a machine until the 1970s and then a hand-me-down from a woman she worked for.  Until then all the washing was done by hand.  She must have grumbled often about the hard work, even though as kids we often er, helped.  Using the mangle was fun even if we avoided the hard part of the work.  She however, was lucky!  

Just imagine washing in Victorian times where much more clothing was the fashion, and not just much more of it but much larger outfits for the women.  All this done by hand.  The soap in those days was usually a long red block called 'Sunlight,' or 'Lifebuoy,' or some such.  It meant the woman had to scrape flakes of the end and mix them in water, washing the kids in the same fashion usually also, but maybe not at the same time.  It was the flakes that helped make William Hesketh Lever famous.  He and his brother worked with a local chemist to develop the soap, based on Palm Oil, he noticed the scraped flakes and an idea came upon him, he put the flakes in a box and 'Lux Flakes' were born.  This became the common soap powder, of various brands, we used way into the 70's.

Today, I poured a dollop of liquid into the machine, £1 a go at Poundland, and watched it go.  

The hard work for me was afterwards as I then had to try the variety of raiment that had lain there for many Christmas days.  I wondered where some had got to!  How can one person whow ears the same clobebr all week find so much in the washing machine?

This proves indeed that the Christmas Holiday is over, housework, rain, normality back, well as much as possible.  Boris lying in his teeth on TV, note the hair has been combed in an effort to make him look like a PM, children returned to school with no protection, no teachers and little hope from this corrupt bunch of gangsters.  NHS  worn out, told they must bear it as we 'are at war' while the NHS like the armed forces are deprived of proper equipment and support.  However, this does not matter, as Boris is still there and he and his people are still coining it in!

I am not sure nurses agree.

 

Sun, Sky and NHS

The sun was up, the sky was blue, an ideal time to walk round the corner and have the first off three visits to the NHS.  Get them in now folks before Boris sells the NHS off it to his donors.  Today was a blood test.  This meant being first in the queue of old men at ten this morning to have the delightful, efficient nurse struggle to get blood out of this stone.  She tried the left arm unsuccessfully leaving me with the conclusion that I was dead.  She smiled gently and thrust the needle willingly into the other arm in a fashion that disproved my conclusion.  Blood flowed!  

 

 

After this I wandered round Sainsburys seeking meat, some fool had forgotten to raid the freezer last night.  Thus I encountered several people of my acquaintance, including two who could not avoid me no matter how they tried, and headed home rejoicing.  Those two did not.  Thus encouraged I once again took my weary body, very weary this past week, across the park.  

There is something very enlightening and enjoyable found in crossing even a small area of green, especially when the sun is up, the sky blue, the air filled with light, and dogs taking their owners for walks wish to meet you.  It was indeed chilly however, when I first left the house the air that we breathe out was like a steam engine, but within an hour it had warmed up to freezing.  

And Winter has not started yet!

I ended up in Tesco for the things not available in Sainsburys.  They were not available in Tesco either.  However, I managed to spend money and hobble back home, clamber up the stairs for the second time, grateful I need not do this again today.

 

Ding Dong! Ding Dong!

'Hermes' at the door.  Packet collected for next door, I indicated the way around the back to Number 2 with a second.  Back up the stairs a third time after all.

It was as I laid the large red, plastic bag down I noticed the name.  

It was incorrect.  

This packet was for Number 2, not Number 5.  How stupid of me not to check the name.  Anyway, off I go, downstairs, round the back, knock on the door, and am glad that he indoors was as dumb as myself.  He never looked at the name either. His wife also spends too much online.  

Upstairs for the fourth time!  How happy I am!  My routine shattered I have lingered all day after this trying to catch up with things I keep forgetting to catch up with.

I anticipate tomorrow with great pleasure...

 

Stasi at the Surgery

 

 

I awoke after 6 am this morning and lay there full of fear and ire.  I had to phone the Stasi at the surgery to arrange a blood test ordered by the doctor.  My mind filled, as it does when still asleep, with imagined fears, arguments, responses and abuse.  I attempted to get this out of my mind by listening to the wireless but for an hour I wrote and re-wrote imagined complaints. 

At 7:30 I awoke peaceful.

I forgot to phone at 8 am and remembered after the half hour.  I then called, endured the corporal's long intro and pressed 'Number 2' as ordered.  She repeated the same words needlessly thus increasing the costs to me.  After the overture to an opera a gentler voice informed me I was 18th in the queue.  I put down the phone.  

Some time later I tried again, this time when answered I jumped straight to 'Number 2,' and then the opera overture.  Eventually the music stopped and the gentle voice informed me I was 13th, 13th!!!  "How long do they take to make appointments?" I wondered," I bet it is all those old people at fault."  

Later, I tried again, three times I have called at the most expensive time, at least now I was second in the queue.  Almost 25 minutes had gone by since I first dialed. (Do we still say 'dialed?')  At last the phone rang, and rang...and rang ...and rang...and rang...and a female voice kindly answered as I was muttering things down the line.  

I stated my case and was cheerily fixed up immediatley!  Shocked, I mentioned the Flu Jab I had not been offered.  "Right," she says, "Friday 26th?"  Shocked again I grasped the chance and the morning time offered.  

Isn't it just typical that when you fear something will be a struggle against the powers of evil the reality is very different?  I spent a few minutes checking to see if I was still asleep and dreaming, once convinced I was awake I also checked for bite marks.  None found, I had called reception and lived!  And you say prayer does not work?

I got out no further than Tesco today.  I had to go for those forgotten things yesterday, bread I am not supposed to have, chocolate I must avoid, wine which should not be taken and yoghurt which can be.  I also stocked up on 'Waterstones Voucher Cards.'  You see Amazon, whom you may have heard off, are having problems with 'Visa.'  Visa charges have increased from, if I remember right, 0.3 to 1.5 after Brexit.  The EU had a cap on these costs which we lost with Brexit so the price shot up.  This is now costing the UK £35 billion a year.  Amazon, those friendly staff-oriented people, are not happy and are ending UK Visa cards at the end of January (ensuring they get this Xmas in first).  So Waterstones it is then, which will surprise the members of my family who find reading a problem.  So, happily paying the young lady at the checkout I hobbled back the pretty way, avoiding buses, lorries at the building site, reversing vans up the side road and people attempting to keep a social distance away from me.  I think that was the reason.  Home to cogitate on the work to do tomorrow and wonder if it will get done?  

Hospital Helicopter, NHS and Flanders Stew.

Another day of nothingness I am glad to say.  The excitement of watching Scotland win and therefore make it to the play-off last night meant I required a peaceful morning.  There was no disturbance, bar the Air Rescue Helicopter buzzing over my head several times while he attempted to get into position to land opposite.  Twice in a month I think, once again I have no idea where they went but it departed shortly afterwards and headed of in the London Hospital direction.  Quicker than waiting for an ambulance these days I suspect.

This graph tells us how governments spend cash on the NHS.  It is clear why the NHS has a bed, doctor and nurse shortage, and people are dying in ambulances outside of hospitals because of government cutbacks.  This is a deliberate policy of selling the NHS to their US friends and it may well go through before the next election.  Add a pandemic, send all the EU staff back home, do not employ new staff, and before you know it there is a shortage and Boris is at the root of this.  With NHS mask providers not being allowed to sell to the NHS while Tory donors make big money for providing too much or the wrong thing while making millions we must ask "Who voted for this?"

Being reduced, I bought some casserole meat, not the healthy stuff pictured sadly.  This I cooked for over three hours this morning, adding the usual tins of 'whateversinthecupboard' along with 'whateverfoodislyingaround.'  Thus I made the first 'Flanders Stew' I have made for some time.   This concoction, as you know, is called thus because once cooked it looks like and tastes like the sticky, thick mud that lies all around Ypres in Flanders.  The first dollop, and that has to be the correct term, was as expected full of strange tastes, hidden behind curry powder, with meat containing no flavour whatsoever.  This will not surpise anyone.  Now, I have three more 'dollops' of this life giving nourishment to go through. 

That reminds me, I must make out my Will tonight...

 

Cricket on TV

 

I note the rising numbers falling sick from the virus has caused worries in No 10.  Javid, the millionaire Health Secretary, will bring a number of concerned people together and try to work out how to allow as many as possible die without admitting blame on his or Boris's governments part.

That should be easy.

Schools are easily and deliberately being allowed to spread the virus, 'Herd Immunity,' even though this causes much pain and possible deaths.  I am not sure I can remember a government so happy to allow UK people to die for an ideology.  Previous governments may have been happy if people died abroad, but rarely did they encourage killing your own!  

I note Brazil has decided to take action against their president on grounds of failing to protect the people.  Soon I hope, the same will occur in the UK.

 

 

I have been watching a bot of the Ireland cricket match, it does not last long.  Several Irish players look ideal for the rugby union side, I am not sure they fit in with cricket, except afterwards at the bar!

As I watch another leaves with a score of 1 run, the Sri Lankans are having fun here today.  

Thus I have been occupied, ignoring the 'To do' list...

 

NHS Again

In spite of all my careful planning I still had to rush up the road to the local wee hospital for the blood test.  Rushing, moving fater than slow, is not my thing.  However I made it with one minute to spare.

No Stasi here, instead a notice board proclaimed 'BLOOD TEST'  'Take a seat and you will be called!'

However, there was one man sitting at a desk, a nurse waiting beside him, and me.

The board ordered me to use the sanitiser and as I did so he demanded the form.  I struggled to produce this and the nurse took me into a cubicle and placed me on a well set up seat.

Puffing like a steam train pulling 40 coal wagons heading into Cowdenbeath I sat awaiting the needle.

After clenching my fist at the very nice capable nurse she produced sufficient blood to send to the lab.  I now await the result next week sometime.  All this for statins.

Another successful NHS story.  Once past the Stasi all goes well.

Now, somewhere in Essex, a young woman, and path labs are stuffed full of women who apparently find that sort of work interesting.  So many women in path labs as there was back in the 70's.  

The head of our path lab was a doctor based at the main hospital in Queens Square, she often spent much time sitting in the front hall with us awaiting her staff doing whatever she has asked for.

The 'Doctor on call' sign on her car was a bit of a lie really but nevertheless very useful for her.  No feminists then whining about top jobs, just women doing the job.  That doctor used to drive a small blue renault I think it was.  The matron, when she came fro Queen Square, arrived in her 1926 Sunbeam!  Here, while warning the wards she was about, I would admire the car for a moment with nher, allowing the wards to hide things, before she stormed off upstairs to ensure all went well.  The deputy matron, who had been a young nurse on a hospital ship at Dunkirk, and one of those was sunk, not hers, lived in a flat round the corner.  Her phone was connected to the switchboard and when she had a holiday another senior retired nurse would take her place.  The assistant matron never went away, both sat in the flat drinking sherry.  One night the call came from the flat.  

"Can you tell me the time?" 

"It is just after 12," I replied.

"Twelve noon or twelve midnight?" came the question.

"Midnight," said I.

"Thank you," and the line went dead.

Thanks were then offered that these two never did any real nursing any more...

 

NHS Stasi

 

Today I had another meeting with the Stasi!

They had left a message to make a date with the doctor who wished to see me.  So, reluctantly I called at just after 8 am this morning.  Soon, after a long detailed explanation of who I called, how to deal with Covid, and one or two other points I was told to hold and given the music.  Early in the morning I do not wish to hear the overture to a rousing opera, something gentle and soothing, especially as I was then told I was 24th in the queue! 
I held.

The message was repeated

I held.

All this time I realised I was paying for this and minutes were passing at the most expensive time of the day.   

I held.

A message about something else (I forget what) came and went.

The music continued.

I held.

Having heard the music, the intro message three times, the forgotten, urgent, message three times and began to dislike the opera even though I could not remember who the composer was and then I was told I was in 2nd place.

I held.

Music again.

Then the phone rang!

I held.

Eventually a woman come on and after explaining slowly what I wanted, I held while she searched her screen, I discovered the doctor would phone me, most likely because she did not want me bringing virii into the surgery.

I then awaiting her call.

An hour or so later she called, referred to last weeks notes, managed to avoid calling me a fat lump but decided I may need statins.  What?  Only old fat people take these!

As the young lady had spent seven years training I decided to accept her wishes.  This then meant collecting a form from the Stasi, how dangerous, and heading off to the hospital to have blood taken.

Naturally this cannot be done at the surgery unless it is urgent, I am not urgent.  

So this afternoon, hoping they would be in a happy mood I actually entered the building and  met the girls face to face, except for the mask and the perpex screen they hide behind.  

I explained, she looked bewildered, I explained in English, she muttered, her friends looked around or at their screens.  Soon a bot off paper was proferred to me, instructions given to call and make a date, and get out!

Back home I called.

"The Blood Taking department is closed."   

"However, you can book online at Mumble mumble, mumble."

I had to phone back to ensure I got the address right.

This however worked!

After faffing around I got registered, booked in for Friday at 3:10 pm, and the bloodsucker will remove an armfull and have the lab investigate what this reveals.  

In many ways the system is very good.  But the faffing around, the 15 minutes at expensive phone time, and the bother for someone who has no idea what he is doing is stressful.  Especially as I have done nothing since yon time.

However, I am grateful that this is a good surgery, that the NHS is still alive, and that they are around the corner and not miles away.  Things could be a lot worse.

Mind you, depending on the results I may have to go through all this again!

First LIne of Defence

During 1941 Adolf Hitler considered crossing the channel and invading the UK.  Operation Sea Lion was prepared.  He had not succeeded with the Luftwaffe attacks in the 'Battle of Britain,' he was very wary of the Royal Navy that patrolled the coast, and was well aware of the defences onshore.  Pill boxes, barbed wire, anti-landing craft devices, and pools of oil deliberately set alight awaited his men.  However, on noticing a long line of desks spaced out along each beachead he understood that the landing could not go ahead.  On each desk was placed a formidable Doctor's Receptionist, and the head of Germany realised nothing he possessed could get past one of those!

Today, I attempted to get past one of those.

At the end of the queue, attended late morning when the crowd had dispersed.

I waited.  

One by one patients were slapped down into place.  

Eventually I got to the window.  

I say window because under Covid we stand outside in all weathers and talk though a window to the Stasi representitive inside.  No consideration given regarding the weather.  

I enquired about the 'Shingles Jab' on offer to those pver er, 32, and also regarding seeing the nurse.  I was given a time, exact time, that afternoon for the jab and my questions ignored.  Regarding the nurse I was told "Phone up at 8 am in the morning to book."  The fact that 50 others will be doing the same was not emphasised!  

So I may be back at the window tomorrow before I am awake.

Not long before ten minutes to three I was back at the window, waiting. 

Someone was taking a while, a woman looked at me and her eyes over her mask indicated a sense of despair, he was taking a long time at the window.  Eventually he went, the next woman wasted my time as we despaired on the queue.  

I was saved by the Stasi asking if anyone had an appointment.

"ME!" I almost cried, and I jumped the queue.

"Indoors, use hand stuff, Waiting Room 'B.'" ordered the Gauleiter.

Off I trot.  The locked door is unlocked and I enter sloshing my hands in the magic liquid.

I find 'waiting room 'B.'' and wait.

I wait.

I wait again.

A nurse looks out from a door and asks why I am there, she walks down corridor, returns, says nothing and goes away.

A nurse comes up said corridor and passes by.

Sounds from corridor of talking and laughter.

I wait.

Eventually a woman of certain age comes out, and leaves by the outside door, the nurse turns and looks through me.

I wait.

My options are considered, however, just then the screen on the wall demands that no violence if offered to clinical staff.  This, it claims, is not right.

I wait.

Another, different, nurse appears from the corridor and ignores me.

A man enters, sits himself down without noticing me.

Such attitudes are not uncommon here these days.  I blame the London overspill.

I wait.

I continue waiting muttering about how busy NHS staff are and being happy to take my place and wait while more important people go before me.

I wait.

Shortly afterwards the first nurse reappears, calls the new man and he enters her door.

I wait, muttering about being first.

I wait.

An er, chubby nurse appears, ignores me, goes to fridge and removes what to me looks like the injection I am awaiting.  

Hope is kindled.

She passes me by and says nothing.

I wait again.

I have been stood standing here, all this time.  I did not wish to sit and be forced up quickly.  Pah!

I wait.

Then, glory be!  Chubby calls my name indistinctly.  I rush to her room.

She is pleasant. competent, asks all the right questions, by reading them of the screen I noticed, and talks amiably.  She prepares the needle, injects cheerfully, and throws me out by another door, happily informing me that it is raining.

Take away the wait and we have a smart, efficient system.  A good practice, well run, with good staff.

Oh yes, and the Stasi at the desk!

I may be back tomorrow to see the nurse...

 

So True!

Normal Saturday

 

 

Life is returning to normal.  The holiday for most is over, Monday brings a return to the dismal norm for England and Wales, Scotland however will return on Tuesday as always, Monday being a compensation for Jan 2nd being a Saturday.

A lazy day.

Nothing to do but watch football and sleep, often during the game.

In the real world the hospitals are overflowing and medical staff are working all the hours of the day.  Naturally, both the Prime Minister and the Health Secretary have disappeared. 

Outside St Thomas's Hospital, where many are in the ICU fighting to the death Covid 19, a crowd gathers claiming 'The Virus is a hoax!'  Many, right wingers, Tories and Trump followers, spend time on Twitter and elsewhere pushing this evil lie.  Who pays for them?  What are they getting for this lie?  Why are they not stopped?  Could it be Brexit has allowed these people to step up their opposition to the NHS and begin the foul introduction of the disgusting US style insurance based health system?  This

seems to me to be the underlying intention.  These people will stop at nothing to destroy the NHS. 

We must not let them.

 

Bored or Confused?

Amazing as it is, I am bored.

Yes, I may have 12 books to read but I am not in the book reading mood.  I wish to go outside and wander in the sunshine, except there is no sunshine, again!  A wander today would only be over the usual paths anyway.  And this bores me.  I have been over them countless times and it is an empty town with few highlights missed.  There is nothing new in this small town, nothing new to photograph, nothing new to see bar continuing road works and a needless white elephant building erection, nothing that is not boring!

Some people like Suza can wander along the same paths and fine many differing photographs and sights.  Some can find sunshine at Christmas!  Here, lacking transport, lacking a bus service just now because of Tier 4, here we can only dawdle around the same old places, freezing to death and being bored by it all.

Now I do not wish any crazy adventures to appear, although having a nice building fire, attempted murder/bank robbery or such would create interest.  Instead we have the traffic to Sainsburys, the freezing postman telling me the man in the Frame next to him has Covid (I do not expect to see him again this year) and an occasional dog walker passing by.  A boring place, not made exciting by doing the Laundry, although it appears my neighbours were in so maybe it excited them?  The week between Christmas and New Year is boring when Tier 4 traps us all indoors.  

However, reading Twitter I see how important this is!

This morning Twitter was stuffed with Medics of various types demanding help from this government, lack of equipment, lack of staff, and a huge increase in Covid patients.  Instead some media emphasis the emergency 'Nightingale Hospital' is being closed.  It is closing because this was another balloon from Boris, a new hospital but no-one to staff it!!!  Now all NHS are overburdened and Boris has disappeared.  No change there!

 

Bored?  Confused now.  One of my delightful, intelligent, talented nieces has decided to take a family photograph and have it made into a Jig-saw for me.  This sounds a clever idea, and in truth it really is clever.  However, the main colour is dark, little is light, and as it concerns several people posing before the launch of the Queen Mary in 1936, once she had been fitted out, it has awkward bits all around.

She thinks she is clever, and indeed she is, however, I am beginning to have somewhat rougher thoughts concerning her now.  In my mind jig-saws are things I last got occupied with back in the 70's, and not for long then. I have not forgotten the tricks to doing them, find the corners, look for the edges, but I am beginning to believe she has removed a corner and hidden some edges!  Anyway, it has been put aside for feeding time.  I will finish it tomorrow...

 

'Daily Star' & the NHS

 

I am beginning to like the front page of the 'Daily Star.'  

Each day they have more sarcasm/satire on the world around us than any other paper.  I sometimes get the feeling that as 'The Daily Mirror,' which owns them, keeps throwing out journalists from both the 'Star' and the 'Express' the people inside are less bothered about upsetting the folks upstairs.  They all expect the boot any time soon anyway so they are losing the fear.  

While all papers are free to attack Gavin Williamson these days, and they love a 'witch-hunt' don't they,  it is the 'Star' that appears to feel 'free-er' than the rest of the right wing pack.  Of course while Williamson or Hancock or whoever is in the news Boris can run around pretending he is in charge.  And let us not forget he is indeed in charge, as long as he obeys Dominic.

I await the 'Star' reporting on Dominic with a sad degree of glee I must say.

   

Because Hancock says 'Public Health England' has failed he, at around midnight last night, announced he was scrapping it and replacing it with something else.  Dominic's muppet has had this planned for a while, others have announced it already, but no surprise that the woman leading it is one who has aided a donation of around £100,000 to Mr Hancock already this year.  Dido Harding, for it is she, was head of 'Talk Talk' which got the 'wooden spoon' two years (her years) in a row for being the worst for customer service.  Naturally she became a Peer, as she is paying money to the Tories, then became head of the NHS (that is Serco) 'Test and Trace'  which has failed miserably.  She is therefore the right person to head this new organisation, one for which she has no knowledge off, no abilities for, and no experience.  Looks like another winner here.

Blethering Sunday

Being the new month I had to wash today.  This is helpful as I did dust yesterday and you can imagine what stour was created by such an action!  The first free day from English Lock Down was expected to cause trouble, now news so far, and not having Facebook I now miss out on local gossip re Saturday night happenings.  For myself I made it to Tesco by 7:30 on Saturday morning to avoid the crowds and noticed a lot more stalls being slowly erected in the market.  They expected crowds I see.
It made me wonder about the stall holders.  For years now these people have had the enormous effort of erecting tables of some form, then slowly unpacking their goods for display, followed by a days trading, followed by an enormous effort to pack the leftovers into boxes and vans and going home.  Often they do this five or six days a week, I ask myself is it worth the effort?  The fish man of course has the right answer, he has a van, drops the back end into a shelf, and provides his customers with a view of the goods and an easy display and repacking and off we go.  Clearly an early start in the morning, like the fruit men at 2 am, but the van makes life so much easier.  As for the handling of several tables, dozens of boxes, often alone or just two men, to me this is hard work and much better becoming a postman.  

The sight of Boris clapping for the NHS was not one that produced a thankful response in me.  The man responsible for 25,000 deaths dumped on care homes with no PPE or testing resulting in many carers dying applauding the dead does not inspire gratitude.  It is to be hoped a proper court of law can be persuaded to inquire as to the justice or lack of it all.  Chances of that are small however the law being what it is.  'Support your NHS, Don't vote Tory.'

While some queued outside pubs many in this town were more careful how they stood in line.  People avoided one another, keeping 6ft apart whatever the PM says, and still many are very fearful of this virus.  I await the 'second wave' like many others.
Barbers shops were open, six men at least outside of those I passed later on yesterday.  I require an urgent haircut but will wait until the desperate have been attended to first.  I suspect the prices have increased to make up for 4 months lost wages.  There appears to be a Dullux dog in this house, the place is covered in white hairs that have appeared everywhere.

It's Almost Here...

In spite of the many items screaming out for my attention I have spent some time this afternoon writing Christmas Cards!  Today is the 1st day of November!
I like to be organised, these will be sent off on the 1st of December, partly to ensure they get there in good time, partly to remind others to get mine written out and sent back to me.  Of course not all is finished, gift cards for many have to be obtained, looks like Tesco or Sainsbury's for those, and then almost all will be complete, though my wallet will not be happy.
When I saw the 'Private Eye' advert I realised that two packs of their cards would do the worst of the job, each then costing me £1 each!  Cheaper than the shops where all begin at twice that price.
Most cost more than that and the fancy ones considerably more.  One friend I know designs his own.  This began when the kids were small, one sheet A4 paper, fancy design, cartoon, kids drawing, folded into card shape and off it goes.  Must have saved him vast sums of cash, especially as the family were all talented.  I have resisted such an endeavour as I lack the talent. 
It is to be regretted the election was called after the cards were designed, that could have been fun.

I think this picture represents the future of the NHS after Brexit or another Tory government.  The denials from the present Health Secretary, whatsisname, do not offer conviction, especially as Boris and so many other right wing nutjobs in his presence seek an insurance based system so they can cash in on the shares.   My Brexit store remains ready, Corned Beef, Beams, Tea etc, but it is not possible to stock up on medicines in the same way.  Indeed a friend, a radiographer, informs me of the vast number of aged medicines destroyed by the NHS, either badly stocked or donated by patients who do not know how to safely dispose of them.  Supplies in the NHS has always been a place for backhanders and individual progress.  Once Thatcher divided up the NHS the opportunity for price increases matched that of the growth in 'friendly chats' with those responsible for buying for the NHS.  I was in the wrong department!