Just when you thought it was safe to go back in the water...

 Here we are, in the middle of government induced paranoia...is there any other kind?

It's bad enough that it's 90 plus outside, has been since the weekend, and promises to be as hot as hell for the next week. I know: it's summer! But it's only good for people who like being deep fried, and who just can't wait to develop melanoma. For those of us who have skin the color of milk bottles, it's torture. I spend ten minutes in bright sunlight, turn the color of beetroot, suffer acute pain, and then peel-so it's all been for nothing. I look like I should be ready for embalming-only white, not pasty gray or the color of walkers out of The Walking Dead. If I could find an island, with temperatures around 68F (20C), I would move tomorrow. Maybe today...

You undoubtedly know that Monday was the day when all restrictions were lifted. From midnight on, it was pandemonium. Strange, because a lot of these people have ignored the restrictions for months. But now-every day is like a stampede of angry cattle. No masks, no social distancing, the appalling behavior that has always been part of being British has now returned in force. Will people have the courtesy to step aside when they see a disabled person? Hell, no-they expect us to move, even when there's no place to go.

Now this will make you smile, in the midst of all this chaos. I braved the crowds-wearing a mask, of course, even though I was just about the only one with the sense to do so-and there, in the middle of the street, was this huge woman, a terribly painful-looking shade of red, waving her arms around everywhere. She was fighting with someone, and the more the other person backed down, the more aggressive (and loud) she became. I'm not fat shaming, I promise-but her bingo wings were flapping in the wind, and some poor person who was trying to get past her nearly got one in the face. I had to laugh. Okay, I'm cruel, but can you imagine having to call the paramedics and explain how you ended up with a fractured skull? 

Oh, sorry, I got smacked in the face by someone's bingo wing that was so large, it could have been made into another whole person. And that was just the bingo wing; she wasn't wearing a bra, and her boobs swung around like a cow's udders. 

I think that you get the picture: bingo wings the size of a Mini, boobs like a cow's udders, and tattoos everywhere (yes, I forgot to mention the tattoos, I was distracted by other parts of the body flapping in the wind). A voice that could shatter glass (if the bingo wings didn't do it first), and a face that wouldn't be out of place as an extra in the Walking Dead. Oh, joy. Good thing I hadn't eaten breakfast.

This has been my week: hiding out and trying to stay out of trouble. My team at the hospital has the same opinion: we are in for a huge increase in infections, and a massive increase in deaths. We're all cringing, but telling everyone to wear masks, keep away from people as much as possible, keep hand washing. 

Eventually, we'll see if we're right. Eventually, we'll see if we're still alive! Whatever. I'm still planning on riding down the Pacific Coast Highway (if California hasn't dropped into the Pacific by then), celebrating my 100th birthday, on my Harley (I'll be driving, of course), with my 80 year old toyboy riding right behind me. Stop on the side of the road, have a picnic, and just keel over. I told this to my friend, who immediately rolled her eyes, said "yeah, dream on", and asked me what would my toyboy do? Well-why would he be worried? He'd get the Harley.

Some people have no sense of adventure...

Euro 2020 and the dubious power of voodoo

 All hell has broken loose in this country, and a lot of politicians have jumped on the bandwagon-as they do, when it's good for votes-and have declared that this country is very racist. We all knew that-even the media has been calling out people for racism. Of course, the media has to sensationalize everything. That's how they sell newspapers-if you can call the tabloids "newspapers". They're useful only for dog and cat training, nothing more.

The reason for all the hysteria is that England lost the match to Italy. Boohoo! England hasn't won since 1966-Italy hasn't won since 1968. Do I care? Of course not. It's football, not major surgery. It's a game, not a cure for cancer. Or Covid.

I joined a Whatsapp group of humanists, mainly to see other people's perspective on all the things that are going on in this country and around the world. Humanists UK are working diligently toward climate change-which will happen before we all annihilate ourselves. You can see from the weather how badly things have changed-and how much they need to change. 

Oh, did I ever make a mistake! I expected a local group of people who are committed to social change-by social, I mean climate, and other things, too. Instead, I got some weirdos who think that losing the match is the end of the world. The funniest person declared in a post that she was doing a dance, using voodoo to ensure that England won. She was praying to someone or other. Nutter, or what? Oh, she said, if England loses, her life is over. Nutter twice. I so wanted to post that she should have prayed harder-and maybe she should have shaken some bones and done a different dance. Oh, good grief, Jesus, Mary, Joseph and the wee donkey! Like I said: a total weirdo.

That was the funniest part of the week. I've been going to the gym, walking, and eating twice my body weight just out of boredom. On Saturday I'm due to return to the Tate to see the Rodin exhibition for the second time. Everything he did was done in plaster first; I couldn't help wondering how on earth the sculptures lasted over a hundred years. Rodin's sculptures in plaster outlasted most people!

The not-so-funny part of the week was the day we had such severe rain that the corridor outside my flat flooded. Is this karmic, or what? I've moved and taken flooding with me? Really, it was bad. Water was coming down from the ceiling and flooding everywhere, making it unsafe to walk unless you fancy sliding everyplace. So I photographed it, emailed the head of the repair department (in a panic), and the next thing I knew, two men appeared yesterday morning to take photos and inform me that they would fix the problem before we have more rain. Haringey built these apartment buildings in the 60s (19, not 18, incredibly), and built them as cheaply as possible, making the roofs flat. So when it rains, somewhere there will be a flood. Genius, don't you think?

More genius: all restrictions will end next Monday, the 19th. Bozo (Boris Johnson, the incompetent prime minister), has declared it "freedom day", and said that he expects people to act intelligently. That just about makes me choke on my muesli. Practically nobody in this country acts intelligently.

I don't know about you, but I'm going to continue to wear a mask. I will probably be one of about ten in London who will be masking-apart from the muggers, of course- but I'm doing it-not to protect anyone else, but because there's evidence that masks protect the wearer. Of course, not 100%-but some protection is better than no protection at all. 

One of my friends in New York emailed me to tell me that the news over there is that women are being attacked in London-particularly women who can't fight back (like me, muscles like a sparrow's kneecaps). So, she said, please be careful. And if you've been reading this for awhile, you know that I'm not shy when it comes to telling people off. So I really will have to watch my temper and keep my mouth shut-I keep saying that I will, but then something happens. Sometimes I wish I had a gun. But-I would probably end up shooting myself in the foot. Literally!

The Wizard of Oz and other fairy tales

 I noticed when Boris Johnson was doing his usual BS newscast that his hair-clearly done that way for the media-was probably stolen from the Scarecrow out of  The Wizard of Oz. No normal person has hair like that. He's a ringer. Probably walks around Downing Street singing "If I only had a brain".

You can tell that the pandemic and 14 months of lockdowns had a really serious effect on me. And there's more, too. I missed July 4th, the 245th birthday of the USA, because-well, I didn't have any fireworks to set off. Everyone I know was depressed. It wasn't really a day for celebration. Oh, boo hoo hoo!

We're supposed to be restriction-free on July 19th-even though there's an upsurge in Covid cases. BoJo -the media's name for Boris-is telling us that the great British public will naturally be cautious, and act intelligently. BoJo-I just call him Bozo, because he's a clown (and an idiot). The British public acting correctly, intelligently, respectfully-that's a fairy tale, all right. That's a delusion. It's like people being really pompous and patronizing, and telling everyone that, after all, something or other was made in Britain. Excuse me-so was the Titanic.

All our lives have changed since the beginning of the pandemic. We're stuck with living with Covid-probably permanently-and we just need to err on the side of caution. Too many people are too selfish and stupid to accept that. This is Britain, after all! The more people I have to encounter, the more mystified I become that they actually lived past puberty. 

I don't know about anyone else, but I have become very short-tempered. My fuse was never very long, but I always tried to keep it in check. Now I just get so angry...The worst part is that I get angry over the little things, things that are unimportant. Do you find that you are going through that? Losing your temper at really silly things that would only be a minor annoyance-if that-that you could just shrug off?

I'm on an elbow crutch, courtesy of the Four Cripplers. And stupid people just walk down the street, looking at their phones, oblivious to the fact that there is someone right in front of them who just can't -and shouldn't have to-jump out of the way. I want to push them in front of a moving bus-then laugh. That's what I mean about getting angry and overreacting. I wouldn't hurt anyone, obviously. So I just call them imbeciles. Usually preceded by the f-word. Considering that the level of crime has gone sky high, and that disabled people are being targeted (easy targets), maybe I'll have to watch my temper.

If you've had Covid and have been smacked with long Covid (yes, twice), you'll know how long the after-effects linger, and how terrible they are for a lot of people. I'm talking about people of all ages. Covid doesn't give a shit about your age, sex, religion, socioeconomic background, it'll wipe you out whoever you are. People in their teens, in their 20s and 30s and older-now are unable to live the way they lived before contracting the virus.

Example: brain fog. You aren't going senile, it's a Covid thing. And pain. Lots and lots of pain. I had a few days where I felt excruciating pain in my hands, then my legs, then all over. I felt as if I'd been hit head on by a train-that then reversed back over me. Nothing helped. My doctor certainly didn't help, she was useless. Her attitude was - so what? And you're always tired-an exhaustion that won't go away with rest. 

I'm not mentioning all this to moan about it, because Long Covid lasts as long as it lasts, and there doesn't seem to be anything that anyone can do about it except wait it out. I'm mentioning all this because you might be suffering from Long Covid and wonder what on earth is happening to you. Just so you know that you're not alone. We can all suffer together, tell really bad jokes (to be fair, they haven't all been that bad), drink lots of coffee, and have a pass when it comes to being pissed off.

My ex used to say that it's better to be pissed off than pissed on. Then I divorced him.