The virus put my life on hold for two bloody years!

JULY 11, 2022

THE dreaded lurgy has struck at last. I have so far managed to avoid getting the virus by masking, and keeping away from public places, in fact by putting my life on hold for two bloody years.

Now I am doing a TV series which is strictly monitored to prevent Covid — tests every day, keeping a safe distance from others, not mixing with people outside the unit.

I was driven to Bristol this morning and my first test made them frown, then the second more serious test had everyone running around in circles. Positive.

I was shut up in my Winnebago with no one allowed to come near me, then hastily ferried back to London. Filming had to be suspended. I felt perfectly OK but very guilty about causing such trouble.

We were filming in a crowded room a couple of days ago. Everyone had been tested for the virus but the little bugger somehow sneaked in.

I am furious that for over two years I’ve managed to avoid this b***ard thing and then I get it when it is supposedly on the wane. Now I am sitting at home waiting to be ill, feeling every bit as vulnerable as I have repeatedly been told I am.

Can’t pretend I’m not scared. Some people say it’s just like a mild cold, but thousands, no, millions worldwide, have died from it.

For years I have taken drugs to suppress my badly behaved immune system. Will it now take revenge, and refuse to fight the virus?

JULY 13

OH BOY, do I feel ill. ‘Mild cold’? Are you kidding? Appalling sore throat, raging temperature, violent cough, causing bleeding in my throat. Rushed to A&E by my son-in-law.

It was packed. I was quickly shoved in the corridor with a couple of other plague victims. For the entire day they tested every crevice of my anatomy, and kept taking my soaring blood pressure and temperature.

I was not permitted to move from my corridor bed, and my son-in-law refused to leave my side. I ended up feeling more embarrassed than ill.

I noticed that every single medical person, nurses, doctors, trolley pushers, cleaners, ran everywhere. The feeling of a lack of staff and inadequate facilities was shocking. None of them rested for a second, and they were on duty non-stop for the length of my stay.

Eventually I persuaded them to let me go and die at home. Though saying that, I am determined that, having fought off a myriad other illnesses, this bugger is not going to see me off.

mention it, although i could, if i liked, as i was elderly, say something nice about her.

i didn’t, i couldn’t. i was too upset. so on i went with my jolly prattle. it wasn’t my best performance.

As the day progressed, the news gradually unfolded that the dear woman had indeed died. two days ago she was photographed, as she said goodbye to the current prime minister, who had resigned, and welcomed the new one, Liz truss.

she probably knew she was dying, but i suspect that she wasn’t going to miss the opportunity of seeing the back of Boris Johnson, or giving the new woman, who seemed to have popped up from nowhere, the once-over.

And now she’s not there any more. the whole country has gone very quiet.

of course it’s not surprising that the Queen has died at the age of 96, but somehow we are still shocked. she has always been there. through wars, recessions, terrorism, appalling governments, royal Family ups and downs, she has remained steady.

she has performed her duties impeccably, meeting and greeting with a smile some pretty awful people — trump and Putin among them. she has never shown the rage or boredom that she sometimes must have felt when carrying out her official jobs.

did she think, at the opening of Parliament, as she looked at the latest batch of MPs crowded at the entrance of the House of Lords, ‘All these peers and earls sitting here may not have been elected, but they are a damn sight more civilised than that lot from the Commons. What a shower! in my 70 years in charge, these prats are the worst. And this bloody crown is killing me.’

if she did think that, not a glimmer of a smile or frown did she ever show. she was a consummate actress.

i hope i am right in thinking that lockdown was a pleasure for her.

Prince Philip had retired and i like to think they had a nice cosy year living a normal life in the grounds of Windsor Castle. Just the occasional gallop on one of her favourite horses and a few staff looking after them.

No banquets or receptions. No need to stand about for hours shaking hands and asking people if they had come far. Just the two of them.

i fully realise the indifference of the young runner is shared by many nowadays, and things will have to change, but i am grateful for her service. ever since those messages that the princess sent to us kids during the war, i have liked her being there.

All those parties we had of which she was the centre. standing with happy, usually rain-drenched, crowds on the Mall, cheering big events like her wedding and her coronation. the military bands, the incomprehensible rituals, the Jubilee and Ve day street parties.

All the recent photos in the Press remind me how beautiful she was, with that rationed, radiant smile. in the grey years after the war, she was often resplendent in silk and satin and diamonds, or handsome, saluting in uniform, sitting sideways on a horse.

As the years have progressed, she has not fallen into the trap of trying to look young, but has aged with frumpy dignity. Possibly the image that best illustrates her spirit is that of the frail, bent old woman in

The Queen was a consummate actress

What will give us dignity now she is gone?

Balmoral, greeting Boris Johnson and Liz truss, probably racked with pain, but still managing that familiar, glorious smile.

she is revered worldwide, as the reaction to her death is proving. For the last 80 years she has met every major figure in the world, and they, however elevated, have deemed it an honour. And yet she always seemed, and probably was, quite ordinary.

A unique achievement. What will give us dignity as a nation now she has gone?

SEPTEMBER 19, 2022

AFter the funeral, the [Queen’s] hearse was to pass the end of our road on its way to Windsor. We were very excited about this as the street had been thoroughly washed and scrubbed in readiness; they even repainted the lamp posts.

By the time the cortège was due, champagne was flowing (maybe a bit inappropriate, but it had been a long day) and spirits were high as we waited on the pavement. then two cars went by at top speed and we weren’t sure if they held the coffin.

We realised they were behind schedule and the roast venison for the banquet must be getting cold, but hey, look at our lamp posts.

then, on its own, came a big, slower car. it was her. she looked lonely. she probably was sometimes, especially after Philip died. Alone on her pedestal. We all fell silent.

‘Goodbye, darling,’ i whispered.

EXTRACTED from Old Rage by Sheila Hancock, to be published by Bloomsbury on June 8 at £9.99. © Sheila Hancock 2023. To order a copy for £8.99 (offer valid to 17/06/23; UK P&P free on orders over £25), visit mailshop.co.uk/ books or call 020 3176 2937.