We're at the stage now I think, where the questions, 'How are you?' or 'How's it going?' are tough to reply to with anything interesting.
Hmm. Meh. Yeah. Same old. Not sure what else to say really.
As far as my little sphere of biscuits is concerned, I don't have much going on. I've eaten. I've stayed logged on. I've done this bit of work. I've thought about this, I've washed up that. I've looked at the park through the rain. I've played Scrabble on my phone.
Easyjet have emailed me, urging me to book a flight somewhere, anywhere, in 2021. They seem confident. Of course the gamble for them is 'money now, maybe put planes in the air later'; - they want me flying with them. Ironic isn't it, that it should be their passengers who keep them afloat?
Meanwhile, outside my sphere, the world continues to melt down. A statue of a reprehensible man was drowned in Bristol harbour, shifting the debate, subtly, from racism to slavery, and then back again. Now all those 18th and 19th Century statues of former slave-owners are at risk of a righteous dunking from the angry mob. Oh and they've taken Gone With the Wind off the telly. I'm not commenting either way, by the way, just (as I always try to do) observing.
Meanwhile the Prime Minister continues to ease the lockdown. Apparently, single dwellers can now meet and stay with another household in a 'bubble' (as from Saturday) - he says he appreciates how difficult it's been for those of us who live alone. Mind you, if anyone in the bubble goes down with the symptoms, that's you self-isolating with them for fourteen days. Choose your bubbles wisely, single people.
I'll stick to my sphere, I think, in all its biscuity glory.
No comments:
Post a Comment