JUSTIN DUNN’S ROOM 101 Almost everything worked during the pandemic... apart from my local GP

WHAT’S ANNOYING HIM THIS WEEK?

IT’S not particularly remarkable when the bin gets emptied.

The roar of the engine, the mechanical whine, the wheeze of the hydraulics, the awkward squeak of breaks.

Clump, thunk, dunk. And then they’re off again. It’s the same at the supermarket. Every time you pop to the shop there is indeed food and drink available up and down the aisles, despite what the Guardian, also on sale, tries to tell you otherwise.

There’s fresh bread, for starters, courtesy of a baker either in-house or not far away.

And fresh eggs which, with the absence of hens clucking up and down between the fridge cabinets, means someone outside must have supplied them.

Bacon, too, thanks to whichever hard-working pig farmer is rearing and then flogging their porkers into the food chain.

Fixing

Alongside the perfect ingredients for that all-important breakfast banjo, you can pick up a copy of whichever newly-printed-overnight newspaper floats your boat.

Last time I looked there were still about a dozen to choose from, alongside dozens of magazines about everything from puzzles and crosswords to high-end science or medicine to railways or angling or boats or… everything.

All of them involving loads of reporters, photographers, editors, accountants, printers, advertising staff and delivery drivers making sure they get onto those newsagents’ shelves up and down the country every single day.

Step outside the supermarket and you’ll see cars in the car park, all serviced and maintained by guys and girls in overalls who you can find fixing motors seven days a week.

The cars will mostly contain tanks of petrol or diesel that didn’t magically appear inside them. It’s in there because someone in a big road tanker transported it to the garage for you to buy.

And it’s hard to be bored because there is so much entertainment to enjoy, whether it’s Netflix or live footy or the latest blockbuster.

All thanks to the creative industries toiling away as ever.

Even the soap operas rumbled on regardless. Virus? What virus?

All of these humdrum things quietly going on around us 24/7 and we mostly hardly even notice. They’re just there. Carrying on relentlessly, like a ticking clock.

And they are always there because someone, somewhere, who might very well live next door to you, gets up every sodding day to do their job to get it to you.

Despite the plague hanging over us all, the post has continued to be delivered. So have babies.

So have facemasks and cartons of orange juice and multipacks of crisps.

And plumbers and kitchen fitters and roofers have carried on carrying on.

Flak

But have you tried visiting your doctor’s surgery lately?

I have... and it’s nigh-on bloody impossible.

The ONE service we’ve ALL either needed, or hoped not to need, throughout the last 18 months has been absent without leave.

There are going to be all kinds of inquiries and reports into this pandemic if and when it’s finally under control.

And yes, our woeful government should take the brunt of the flak.

But don’t let the GPs get away with it either.

Just when we needed them most, they just weren’t there.

Let’s hope their golf handicaps are much healthier though, eh?