Viral Panic is Catching

My intention was to rise early, I tend to rise near 6 am in Spring like weather, wander around Tesco as soon as it opened and miss the virus laden crowds.  I awoke around 5 am, dozed through the World Service News, the Shipping Forecast, (In days of yore Alvin Liddel would end the late night Shipping Forecast with "Goodnight Gentlemen, and good fishing."  Not enough boats out there now to make it worthwhile,especially as they only speak Spanish."), the 'Farming Today' girls, always girls while the farmers are always men, and then just about six I managed to actually rise out of the pit. 
This is not the time to take a 'selfie.'
My plans died as the rain came down.  It continued well into the morning so breakfast was taken and plans to return to bed wandered through my mind.  However just about 11 am I actually made it out, the rain had stopped, as had the postman, wet, desperate to go home and enjoy the day, and with no mail for me.  
Trudging gaily down the Avenue, passing a woman who gave me a look of fear, either because she thought I was bad or she saw me cough, why fear missus, over the road stands the huge Police Station!  Another neighbour ignored me, his wife does not like me, and I wandered into the throng attending Tesco.
For a laugh I looked for 'paracetamol,' the empty shelves were a giggle, no soap on the other side bar the expensive stuff no-one wants.  I suggested they claim bleach is in short supply and they could get rid off all the plastic bottles full that were on display. 
Gathering my few needs while trolleys barged into me the drivers distracted by pig ignorance and stupidity, I made my way to the checkout via the beer stall.  Even there several sections were empty, deliberate I reckon, some shops do this to ensure stocks and to stop dafties taking everything.  At the checkout it intrigued me that football is suspended because of the fear of passing on virii.  Yet some experts claim it is not easy to catch virii in such crowds, it comes via face to face contact and here the girls, and its mostly girls, though some Saturday lads are on, the girls face people all day! Now who is in the most danger?  Football crowds or such women?
I coughed cheerfully over the Lesbian like lass who cheerily threatened to 'Nutt me' as I packed my bag.  I like this shop, proper women.  We debated the crap in the 'up market' Saturday press, neither of us willing to pay £500 for a pair of boots as in last weeks 'Times.'  I chose the 'Guardian' today, £3:40!  So that I have plenty sections to throw away during the week.   
I jostled my way out the only entrance, in amongst short sighted people who think you and everyone else will get out off their way, clambered down the steps, checked the skies and headed home avoiding the pleasures off the Saturday Market.  Few stalls out today and not too many people around either.  All at home stuffing toilet rolls into cupboards or under beds. 

             New Scientist

I must wash my hands before writing this.  
This new bug is indeed dangerous, and I am probably the one to get it!  My bug returned this week, usual symptoms, and hopefully will be gone by tomorrow, but why does it keep returning?  Especially when I have had lots to do this week and little energy when required.  I am going to demand out church seeks a person with the gifts of healing, for others sake obviously...

This I found on Twitter this morning and may be worth a read.

Professor Ian Donald @iandonald_psych

Psychologist: Social, & Environmental research, & behavioural factors in Anti-Microbial Resistance. Emeritus Professor, University of Liverpool.

1. The govt strategy on Coronavirus is more refined than those used in other countries and potentially very effective. But it is also riskier and based on a number of assumptions. They need to be correct, and the measures they introduce need to work when they are supposed to.

5:32 PM · Mar 13, 2020·

2. This all assumes I'm correct in what I think the govt are doing and why. I could be wrong - and wouldn't be surprised. But it looks to me like. . .

3. A UK starting assumption is that a high number of the population will inevitably get infected whatever is done – up to 80%. As you can’t stop it, so it is best to manage it. There are limited health resources so the aim is to manage the flow of the seriously ill to these.

4. The Italian model the aims to stop infection. The UKs wants infection BUT of particular categories of people. The aim of the UK is to have as many lower risk people infected as possible. Immune people cannot infect others; the more there are the lower the risk of infection

5. That's herd immunity. Based on this idea, at the moment the govt wants people to get infected, up until hospitals begin to reach capacity. At that they want to reduce, but not stop infection rate. Ideally they balance it so the numbers entering hospital = the number leaving.

6. That balance is the big risk. All the time people are being treated, other mildly ill people are recovering and the population grows a higher percent of immune people who can’t infect. They can also return to work and keep things going normally - and go to the pubs.

7.The risk is being able to accurately manage infection flow relative to health case resources. Data on infection rates needs to be accurate, the measures they introduce need to work and at the time they want them to and to the degree they want, or the system is overwhelmed.

8. Schools: Kids generally won’t get very ill, so the govt can use them as a tool to infect others when you want to increase infection. When you need to slow infection, that tap can be turned off – at that point they close the schools. Politically risky for them to say this.

9. The same for large scale events - stop them when you want to slow infection rates; turn another tap off. This means schools etc are closed for a shorter period and disruption generally is therefore for a shorter period, AND with a growing immune population. This is sustainable

10. After a while most of the population is immune, the seriously ill have all received treatment and the country is resistant. The more vulnerable are then less at risk. This is the end state the govt is aiming for and could achieve.

11. BUT a key issue during this process is protection of those for whom the virus is fatal. It's not clear the full measures there are to protect those people. It assumes they can measure infection, that their behavioural expectations are met - people do what they think they will.

12. The Italian (and others) strategy is to stop as much infection as possible - or all infection. This is appealing, but then what? The restrictions are not sustainable for months. So the will need to be relaxed. But that will lead to reemergence of infections.

13. Then rates will then start to climb again. So they will have to reintroduce the restrictions each time infection rates rise. That is not a sustainable model and takes much longer to achieve the goal of a largely immune population with low risk of infection of the vulnerable

14. As the government tries to achieve equilibrium between hospitalisations and infections, more interventions will appear. It's perhaps why there are at the moment few public information films on staying at home. They are treading a tight path, but possibly a sensible one.

15. This is probably the best strategy, but they should explain it more clearly. It relies on a lot of assumptions, so it would be good to know what they are - especially behavioral.

Most encouraging, it's way too clever for Boris Johnson to have had any role in developing.

Railways, a Book and a Trip

 

Amazon 

I have just finished reading ‘Eleven Minutes Late,’ by Matthew Engel, an excellent but rather ungainly titled book on UK’s beloved railways. ‘Beloved’ is the word I used but we must remember there are commuters who may disagree somewhat with that term.  This is not a book full of technical details, I would be dumb before it if it was, but an enjoyable romp through the growth off and present state of the railways in the UK today, well, in 2009 when the book was published.  

This brought to mind all the memories of good days on the railways, back into the nostalgia of the days of steam.  Obviously, none of my readers will be old enough to remember that grime filled time period.

Entering into the glass covered yet somewhat dim Waverley station via the long slow ramp, taxis lined up at the side, or by the wind-swept steps off Princes Street was always a pleasure, it still is!  Possibly it was dim in my memory because we usually travelled early in an Edinburgh July!  The confined spaces, taxis and cars passing by, people crowding John Menzies bookstall, crowds of people confused as to their platform, as indeed we were, possibly it is just my memory. 

Dad would make for the wooden ticket office in the centre of the station, a marvellously decorated hall, leaning down to the ridiculous small window from which tickets were dispensed at that time.  As kids we were just excited to be heading for Cowdenbeath or Dunfermline for a summer holiday glad to be out of school and in an adventure. 

Ah family, living off them is such fun, at least for us.  As I remember it my aunts and uncles then were all marvellous and quite used to children in the house.  Many had passed this way before us.  

After much fuss at Waverley we would head for Platform 18 where we approached the dark maroon carriages of British Railways.  How old were they I wonder?  Corridor trains that possibly came in to service before the war?  On occasion I would ask about the man in the blue, dingy oil covered uniform, to be informed he had been ‘under the train.’  This was a concept that intrigued someone well under 10 years of age.  The idea of crawling about under the train intrigued.  Had it been possible I would have ventured down myself to have a look.  This was not however encouraged.  These men were merely the crew ensure oil levels were correct, all moving parts greased to the driver’s satisfaction before leaving thus ensuring the dingy black engine would reach the final destination without hitch. 

I did not realise that such engines were no longer maintained to their best condition, the policy was to just keep them moving for a few years before diesel, the answer to all rail problems, would begin.

Another flawed railway policy.    

Inside we settled into a compartment, much to the delight of those who had got in previously who now contemplated the delights of travel with children!  Today I feel for those people.  

I would be entranced by the ridiculous system for opening the window on the doors, all leather strap and strength, however they usually remained shut, the small window of the compartment itself was half open, to allow air to enter and steam and grit to remain outside.  Some preferred sitting with their back to the engine to avoid such intrusions. 

The pictures above the seats, aged prints of highland glens, lochs and other delights unknown to those from Edinburgh’s corporation housing estates, sat next to the dim lights covered by even dimmer lampshades.  Switching them on made the compartment even dimmer still. 

On occasion a jolt would tell us the engine had taken its place at the front and soon we would be off.  

There is little to compare with the noise of an engine, whatever size, chuff, chuffing its way out of a station.  People who dislike train travel who come across such an event will be unable to pass without watching as the iron monster belches out steam from far too many parts and slowly noises its way up the track.

The leaving of Edinburgh heading west or north takes the train through the garden’s underneath Edinburgh castle high above.  Those sunbathing, for a few weeks of the year only, would watch the clouds of white steam rise as each train puffed its way along.  Then would come the short, dark, tunnels, always an engine driver’s delight as he was engulfed in the steam alongside any watery drips falling from above, tunnels always have drips falling from above.  The two dark tunnels, lit by dim lights at regular intervals, wound under Edinburgh taking us quickly to Haymarket station where the populace filled the time while waiting for their train by discussing the latest design for renovation of the site above. 

They are still discussing this today!

Trips in the sun by steam train were always special for a child.  He has no understanding of the problems around him, except the shortage of sweets to gobble on the way.  He does not comprehend the effort of the fireman stoking tons of coal into the fire, expertly keeping the pressure correct enabling the driver to work the steam power.  Real men’s work in those days. Today, some lines that run occasional steam trains often have two firemen to fire the boiler.  Even these men are not strong enough to work single handed on some tough lines as in the days of steam.  Just how strong was a fireman on any such engine?

The railway headed west until the outer reaches of Edinburgh, soon after turning towards the north, leaving the main line to run on towards Glasgow, we looked for the lights at Turnhouse airport, always hoping unsuccessfully to see aircraft come and go, very different today of course.  Fields full of green crops, sheep or indifferent cattle passed by and usually without stopping at Dalmeny we raced over the vast cantilever bridge that crosses the Firth of Forth.  

 

The ‘Forth Bridge,’ never to be called the ‘Forth Rail Bridge’ by anyone born within Scotland, is one of Scotland’s greatest feats of engineering.  Of course, few Scots actually built it, but we will ignore that little problem.  Erected in such a manner as to ensure it would not collapse in a storm as had the Tay Bridge not long before when the centre girders collapsed in a violent storm taking a train and its contents with it.  The engineers were not going to risk that and so far no storm has endangered the bridge.  The only danger came from down south when a proposal to close the bridge to save the cost of painting it constantly. Typical southern thoughts.  Now, to save money, the bridge wears a new coat of paint that will last 25 years – they say! 

From the bridge we would look down on many light blueish grey Royal Navy ships lined up on both sides of the Forth, part of the fleet based at Rosyth.  Further upriver at Grangemouth more blue grey ships were based, and under the centre of the bridge on Inchgarvie fortifications that once defended the port lay deserted but enticing to every young lad on the train high above.

The rocky outcrop at North Queensferry soon opens up on the right-hand side of the train to a view of the bay beyond.  Here, throughout the 50s and well into the 60’s it was possible to see the shipbreaker's yard.  Always two large ex-Royal Navy ships lay together, large chunks cut out as Britain’s huge war effort was diminished to fit in with her more realistic political position.  Navy ships no longer stand there but the yard still exists, work permitting.

Then it is on past Inverkeithing, slamming doors, cries from the porters, sailors abounding leaving and arriving, and onwards into Fife.  Again, fields of cattle and sheep, many gardens featuring huts that once were railway trucks, a sight rarely seen today.  How long these had been in situ it was difficult to tell, nor was it asked how they had got there.  Also no longer seen was the use made of the land at the side of the tracks.  On many occasion vegetable gardens were seen at the end of small gardens attached to smaller houses. Possibly some of these had been installed during the war and remained until much later British Rail little Hitler’s arrived to end the practice.

Today the view from the train contains more houses than sheep, more roads and cars than cattle, this is in my view, last noted some years ago, less interesting.  Progress I suppose.

The station at Dunfermline Lower was a magnificent building according to my memory, today the Edinburgh platform has seen the waiting rooms and covering shed demolished and replaced by a Scotrail bus shelter.  I hope that has improved since my last visit.  Dunfermline ‘Upper’ has long gone along with the engine sheds and sidings that once sent the clang, clang, clang of railway wagons being shunted across the night sky.  Now recently built overpriced houses fill the space, the only clang coming from pots and pans wives and girlfriends pass over their man’s head.  

 Canmore

Our journey ended at Cowdenbeath, once the ‘Chicago of Fife,’ the centre of the Fife coalfields and home to several coal pits.  In 1851around one thousand souls worked the land around Beath Church, Iron Ore and then Coal were found and by 1914 25,000 folks lived there, most worked the mines.

The house now lived in by my mother’s eldest sister was also the miner’s cottage where they were all born.  Granddad had managed to get through three wives and ten children, only one child of whom did not survive. That meant after my grandmother died, in childbirth like the others, granddad had a two roomed house, a kitchen attached at the rear with a tap, an outside toilet and nine children!  Not uncommon for the time, my mother was born in 1915.

The ground behind the house sloped downwards towards the large football ground.  This was built so large as the expectation as for the town to continue growing.  It is claimed some 70,000 could fit in when completed!  Not now!

Next to the football ground entrance stood Pit No 7.  Here my granddad and his sons all found work.  There was no other.  For generations the family had been miners, coal being found in the 1500s in Fife, and they were to be the last generation of miners.  All the boy’s sons were forced to learn a trade, none were allowed to endure what these men had to endure for 50 years!

Behind the house, we rarely went out the front onto the street, lay the path up to the bridge we crossed as we came in.  From here we looked down the embankment at the constant flurry of railway life passing by.  Trains running from Aberdeen to London perhaps, fish trains also passing, leaving behind a stink, many long coal trains, heavy wagons with no brakes, controlled by a guard at the rear, local passenger services running around Fife, goods trains abounded and we waved at each one and never failed to get a response. 

Today there is a much-improved rail service for commuters.  For a while it was pretty dingy.  Many complaints can be heard but few can complain about the view, either from the crossing of the Firth of Forth or the many scenic views when running along the coast towards Kirkcaldy.  Fife is worth looking at, even if they say “If ye sup wi a Fifer, do it with a lang spoon.”

B&Q For the Loo.

Cleaning the loo is one of the joys in life is it not?  No it isn't!  Just a routine job that is required when the grime begins to block the plughole.  While I was scraping away at this I also got the seal gun out and filled one or two gaps, realising the stuff I used last time was not much good and it all requires complete overhaul...tomorrow.  Then the loo seat, reasonably new, fell apart!  That is the reward from buying from cheap shops that stock Chinese made goods.  Looks good but the meta bits are cheap and worthless.  They are also all over the floor.  
So off I trot to the free bus heading for B&Q.  As I hobbled up to the bus the driver helpfully closed the door, a quick tap and a grumpy reopening and we were on our way.  The drivers of the free bus are usually cheery souls happily chatting up the mums and getting nowhere.  I was of the impression that the last person to chat this chap up was his Probation Officer while on Pentonville.  It was clear from his driving style that he may not actually possess a driving licence, possibly 'Arriva' ought to be told.  
A long walk across a car park followed.  Nothing helpful for those with no cars in this pace, it is made for the mobile shopper, not the one of the free bus.  In the far corner, having evaded several drivers who pull out without looking, drive while seeking their seat belts and wander across the while lines helpfully drawn all over the car park I made it to B&Q.
Where do I go?  Follow the signs.  There is no suitable sign.  Wallpaper, Paint, Garden, Electrics, and eventually, in the far distance, Plumbing.  However, what I wanted was not there.  On my journey I passed two miserable members of staff, I remembered the online questionnaire for job seekers this company used.  How did so many miserable, grumpy people get through that while I, happy, smiling, lying in my teeth, did not?  Maybe it's changed, maybe they now employ anyone from the job centre for a trial.  These two would be found guilty, and they did not even speak!  I deferred asking as I reckoned this would waste time.  Aches told me to hurry and in the last place I looked I found what I was searching for.  I hurried to the checkout, while many were using the M&S Food Store the shopping was very quiet for a Friday, Chinese Flu limiting the numbers again, and few were at the checkout.  One woman was in front of me, unable to understand the straight forward instructions regarding where items were placed.  This conversation involved lots of looking into the far distance and very little 'getting on with it!'  Eventually the also grumpy cashier took my cash, failed to smile, and I headed for the grumpy free bus driver again.

Possibly the driver recognised me even though he failed to recognise many of the rules of the road on the way along the five minute journey.  In the distance I am convinced he saw me, judged I would take ages to hobble to him, closed the doors and ran.  I wandered around the shops in the sunshine but hiding from the chilly west wind behind a wide variety of overpriced outlets.  While the car parks were busy the people were not to be found here, where were they?  They cannot all be in M&S Food Store?  
Eventually grumpy returned, I clambered aboard, took a seat at the back and watched as we drove stutteringly back to base.  We all said 'Thanks' as we got off, normal practice in these parts, but this time we were just thankful to get off.
From a standing start this morning I intended to have a clean house by now.  Instead I have several items to fix in the loo, seal to redo, "Can this wait?"  Then those other jobs require attention.  Trying to lever open the painted window that appears stuck may be one of them.  
Can't I just read my books instead...?

Paint Shop

Painting the window frames with a cold draught coming in under the bottom window, slightly ajar, while having the heat full on to keep the rest of me warm is not great I must say.  However that is one of three windows that require gloss paint, the others can wait until it gets warmer.  
These frames have been there since 1812 as far as I can see.  That is when the house was built, before it was amended as most houses here of any age have been.  Being listed Grade II the windows have to remain as they are.  The rear of the house had new PVC ones put in a year or so ago but alas we have to do without.  This means painting the frames every so often, or in my case, not so very often.  Fiddly frames, dust appearing from nowhere, spiders webs also, and the great temptation to drop the tin on passers-by outside.  Still that one is done, the rest will be done soon.

Tomorrow I must go shopping.  I need to panic buy for anti-virus shopping.  Tinned foods for self isolating, disinfectant for touching people and actual food for my stomach.  I had better clear space in the freezer, I may need to buy a lot.  Someone in the county, somewhere, has the dreaded virus.  I must say this is not the time I would wish to be sitting at a checkout dealing with the public.  I have seen people coughing over the checkout staff with no conscience, the girls have to just sit there and take t, many managers put the customer first, not the staff.  I hope they disinfect the cash that is handed over, you never know where that has been.

Engage the Press

Boris Johnson has just announced his new divorce, alimony fight and child abandonment. The nation will wish them well.  Whether either of his previous wives will offer congratulations is as yet unclear, and his many known women have so far made no mention of how much they expect the 'Sun,' 'Daily Mail,' or any Sunday rag to pay for their version of the story.  His children, those not aborted on his orders, have yet to say whether he has acknowledged them as yet while their mothers may well be waiting for the most suitable time to put the boot in/make cash from the story.  
Of course this announcement had nothing to do with removing the Sir Philip Rutman story from the front pages of the press.  Rutman, as you now, is the high ranking civil servant forced from his job by, he says the bully Prita Patel, the Home Secretary.  Whether he has a case or not, and many suspect he has, it is not often a civil servant sues the secretary of his department.  This news has not pleased Downing Street and a much publicised court case will not go down well there either.
Good innit?
We, the ignorant public do not really know if this man was capable, was holding back her Nazi like policies, or just incapable of doing his job.  What we do now is that something is far wrong behind the scenes and with Boris unable to control his men, Dominic Cummings running around doing what he pleases even if rather weird, and we have a government stuffed with 'yes men' who really have no idea where they are heading or how to get there.
The future is bright, if we know where it is...

Where Did They Come From..?

I suppose everyone has a drawer full of cables.  Quite how I gathered so many I am not sure, I suspect more lie under this desk but I am afraid to look.  
Some of these must belong to old computers, others to aged phones or even older computers.  The old printer must account for some but there are more than I expected.  Some have seen much use, others remain in the plastic bags, unopened and without a reason for existence.  Colour coding the cables does not seem to have happened early on, 'you can have any colour cable you like as long as it's black' appears to be the norm.  Each new, overpriced, item comes with cables, that explains why so many are still untouched.  However if I throw one out it is inevitable that tomorrow I will be looking for one so I had better wrap them nicely and hide elsewhere, possibly in the cupboard outside the door.  Actually, that might not be a good idea, I just remembered there is a box full of more such cables and plugs in there!  I shall later spend some time untangling these and that makes me think of a great party game, 'tidy the cables!'  Have several piles off cables lying there and see who untangles them first.  They deserve a prize.

  
In times past you looked a a large round copper coin and found on one side the King or Queen's Head and on the other Britannia sitting there planning to steal other peoples countries.  On other coins such as the three pence piece you would find a portcullis for reasons I do not comprehend, possibly referring to Parliament perhaps.  Anyway while Britannia, now decked out in charity shop clobber, still retains her place on some coins there is a wide range of events, books, and cut up flags found elsewhere.  
For reasons that escape me Beatrix Potter is found on may coins with her story book characters also to be found.  Some of these sell at high prices, not the ones I find, and others just keep doing the rounds passing through many hands and soon forgotten without anyone looking at them.  I suppose those who write stories could make a tale about a 50 pence piece and its travels.  Some feature the flags of the Home nations, or at least bits of them for reasons that are unclear, artistic perhaps?  One or two of the £2 coins have excellent images of Great War Battleships offered in 2014 to commemorate the Great War itself. Very good I say.  Now of course I will have to make more effort checking my wealth to see if one of the rare Beatrix Potter characters appears, it might make me rich.