Coronavirus crisis escalates Clapping, Boris, and face masks
WRITES HIS THIRD DIARY ENTRY OF LIFE UNDER IRELAND’S NEW NORMAL IN THESE COVID-19 TIMES
Wednesday, March 25: DEAR DIARY – My day gets off to one of its more thrilling starts of late as I notice I’ve a hole in my right sock. It’s not a big hole, but it’s enough to warrant a binning, and I’m grateful for the distraction.
For my 11am break, I drive back to Dingle to get The Kerryman and a cup of coffee. I used to go to the shop daily in the early days of working from home, but now I’m growing afraid even of that – with good reason.
Today I’m stopped at the shop door by a worker, who looks around first to see if the footfall’s low enough to leave me in. Then she gives me the go ahead.
Did I mention she’s wearing a mask? All the employees seem to be.
Most worrying about this usually bizarre sight is that it doesn’t even cross my mind to make a smart comment. I used to find it gas that the late Michael Jackson went around the place wearing a mask, but it’s now entirely understandable.
It’s actually a welcome sight for these weird times we live in. They’re taking it seriously, as we should all be.
Thursday, March 26:
DEAR DIARY – I didn’t join the clapping for our front-line workers at 8pm. It’s not that they don’t deserve our recognition – of course they do – I’ve just never understood such gestures.
See, I give out about fellas watching rugby in the pub who tell people to hush up while a goal-kicker sizes up a penalty. Call me cynical, do, but I don’t see how goings on in a Kerry bar would upset a professional sportsman in the Stade de France.
By the same token, my decision not to clap in my west Kerry sitting room won’t lead to our national heroes downing tools.
Our front-line workers are fantastic. They’re under-appreciated, taken for granted, but they’re the best our country has to offer. It’s always been thus.
A round of applause, however widespread and well-meant, doesn’t feel like a just reward for their efforts.
Friday afternoon, March 27: DEAR DIARY – The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and it seems my father has asked Google Assistant to play ‘The Hucklebuck’ in the kitchen. For a few minutes, everything seems as it should be.
But then I remember: Coronavirus. It’s still here, ruining stuff.
Today most of the attention will go to Brains of Britain, Prime Minister Boris Johnson, who has only gone and contracted COVID-19.
Now Johnson doesn’t deserve any more attention than anyone else, but the whizz-kid is, somehow,
leading our powerful neighbours and it’s going to steal headlines – like it or not.
So I’d like to devote this afternoon’s diary entry to a tremendous quote by Bojo from early March.
“I was at a hospital the other night where I think there were actually a few Coronavirus patients, and I shook hands with everybody, you’ll be pleased to know”, he said, unaware that we actually wouldn’t be pleased to know.
“And I will continue shaking hands”.
Deary me.
Friday evening, March 27: DEAR DIARY – I hadn’t planned on writing a second diary entry today, but then Leo announced a lock-down.
Now I don’t think it’s officially called a lock-down, but if it looks like a lock-down and sounds like a lock-down and functions like a lock-down, then I’m not going to feel bad for calling it a lock-down.
Whatever name it goes by, restrictions will get a hell of a lot tighter from midnight. So I decide to pay my grandfather a visit – keeping the appropriate distance from him, naturally – as I’m not sure how much I’ll be able to see him in the next while.
He’s 90, almost 91, and as I pour a can of beer for myself, I ask “Have you seen anything like this since Wartime?”
“No.”
I don’t let on, but he’s fairly floored me there. With one word, the entire enormity of what our Taoiseach has just announced is conveyed to me.
The weekend:
DEAR DIARY – It’s the weekend and there’s nothing to do, so I continue playing Championship Manager, the iconic 2001/02 version of the famous soccer-management video game.
And while others got nothing done this weekend, I led Cheltenham Town to three straight promotions, and we’ve won the 2005 Premier League with nine games to spare.
But my players aren’t satisfied. Many of them feel my squad hasn’t enough depth.
I don’t know, lads. My starting 11 is Buffon, Roberto Carlos, Cannavaro, Nesta, Thuram, Giggs, Zidane, Figo, Brazilian Ronaldo, Henry, and van Nistelrooy. Indeed Klose, Materazzi, Carragher, Cafú, Scholes, Rooney, and Casillas are not seeing much game time. I think I’ve a good squad, personally.