I’m certain nobody needs an update, but as we’re all self-isolating, what the hell else am I supposed to do? Let me tell you . . . assuming this (now) pandemic ever turns into a full-blown apocalypse, I’m fucked. I consider myself pretty good at only three things on this earth and they are writing, playing music, and being a postman – I was never blessed as a child. What am I supposed to do amidst a zombie attack, write them a strongly worded letter and post it? If that doesn’t work I could always bash out some Neil Diamond on my acoustic. I hope zombies like Sweet Caroline.
It’s looking like my employers – Royal Mail – have self-titled themselves the fourth emergency service, which is obviously ridiculous; alas, I am but a small cog in the vast machine and have no say in how it all works. I just listen to my music and my audiobooks, put letters through boxes, and hope they continue paying me for it.
It seems likely, though, that I’m one of those ‘key-workers’, but I don’t think anyone (myself included) knows what a ‘key-worker’ is, just yet. Actually, I must stress that if you’ve stumbled here in search of some solid information regarding the Corona virus, you’ve come to the wrong place. I probably know less than you. I’m only here to try and make you smile in a society that is, quite rightly, going berserk.
I’ve been on annual leave this week. In a way, it’s helped. In another way, not so much – It’s proved to me that I definitely wouldn’t survive an apocalypse. I’m in the process of getting my house up for sale, so I had jobs to do. They were: painting, decorating, gardening, de-cluttering, cleaning, tidying, etc. Instead of getting all my jobs done, I’m fucking wrestling old dears for bog roll on a daily basis – still not got any. I was gonna make some meatballs for tea but some kid beat me to the last pack of mince because, as well as being weak, I’m slow and fat, too.
There’s also a shortage of beer. All the Galahad in Aldi has gone! This is probably my worst nightmare coming to life as we fester into the subsidence of our existence. I managed to grab the last crate this morning. But because it’s in my fridge now, it’ll probably be gone by tomorrow.
Keep yourselves safe and sane, guys. I read an article earlier, written by some well-known, well-respected psychologist. It said that if you’re self-isolating with your partner, it’s best to put up a makeshift barrier, like a clotheshorse or something, to prevent you from driving each other crazy. Remember kids . . . don’t believe everything you read. The world is full of cunts that have no intention other than to make your life a misery.
But If you take nothing else away from this little moronic piece that I’ve fashioned clumsily during a coffee break in between housewife duties, then please take this . . .
Just be nice, man. Be fucking nice.