Becky says things about … staying alert

Good day, isolators.

Frankly, I’m ashamed of you. The amount of confused confusion over and around the clearness of the clarity and non-unambiguity relating to and concerning the government’s recent and previous but now and continually updated guidelines on how we should act and behave and not misbehave not only but definitely now and also in the immediate and potentially foreseeable future, is pitiful.

The slogan ‘Stay alert’ appears to be the crux of the befuddlement, which is ridiculous because it’s self-explanatory and couldn’t be clearer. I mean, it’s not as though a load of oiks at Number 10 would just come up with a vacuous and meaningless slogan and hope the general public will just accept it and abide by its ambiguous instruction, is it? Think, you fools!

But as I’m a responsible citizen I thought I’d explain it to those of you whose brains have clearly been besmoggled by lockdown inertia and not doing enough crosswords.

The concept – nay, the science behind the ‘stay alert’ slogan – is essentially a 1,046.723% guarantee that we will be just as safe travelling on public transport, or sitting in an office, or sending our children to school, or meeting people in the park, or exercising outside 29 times a day, or buying a much-needed phormium tenax variegate from the local garden centre, as we were when we stayed at home. But how? the more dense amongst you are asking. Why are we allowed to start doing all this when hundreds 0f people a day are still dying of the virus and there’s no PPE and no vaccine and workplaces aren’t ready and don’t know how to put social distancing measures in place and it’s impossible to get on a train without having at least three people empty a bodily fluid onto you? 

Because, dunderheads, just do what the slogan tells you to do: stay alert. It’s foolproof! If you stay alert, you will see the virus coming. If you don’t stay alert, you will not see the virus coming. If you’re lolling about in a queue for a supermarket poking around on your phone instead of staying alert, you’re not going to see the virus scuttle up your trouser leg, up your jumper and into your mouth, are you?

So what should you do if, through your continued alertness, you see the virus?

If you see the virus, you should then – as the slogan advises – control the virus. If the virus approaches you, shout very loudly and clearly ‘I see you’ or simply ‘No no no’, and the virus should scuttle off into the distance, embarrassed. Or, consider purchasing a virus alarm. If you see the virus – which, again, to stress so there is absolutely no ambiguity, you will only do if you stay alert – blow four short blasts followed by six long blasts into your virus alarm and three officials from the Virus Apprehension Group (VAG) will immediately appear and control the virus by tackling it to the ground.

If you are being forced to go back to work because the government has told you to if you can’t work from home but you should definitely try to continue to work from home but if you can’t you should go to work but don’t go to work if you can work from home but do go to work anyway, despite the fact your employer doesn’t know what ‘Covid Secure’ means but has made it very clear to you that your employed days will be numbered if you don’t get the hell back to work even though you can technically work from home but they’d prefer you in work because they don’t want you to work from home, and you have no option but to travel by public transport despite the fact the government advises you not to travel on public transport and to work from home if you can but please do go to work, there are several things you can do:

1 – Stay alert. If you are alert the moment you leave your house, you are more likely to spy one of several thousand mythical animal volunteers who have signed up under the Mythical Animal Transport Scheme (MATS) to transport people to work who live miles away from their workplaces but don’t want to risk the virus-soaked air of busses and trains.

2- Stay alert. If you don’t manage to hitch a lift from a unicorn volunteer, stay alert on the Bakerloo Line by staying alert for the virus and staying alert to maintain social distancing and, as the government suggests, simply keeping your head turned away from other commuters, because, if you use your common sense, there is plenty of empty breathable air on the London Underground, you just need to be sensible enough to find it.

3 – Stay alert. Once you arrive at your workplace, do not question your employer’s dubious social distancing measures: your workplace will be Covid Secure. Covid Secure means that, due to a watertight combination of social distancing, staying alert and good old English common sense, it will be literally impossible for the virus to either enter or survive inside your workplace.

Some of you are also having problems with the government’s calculations about how we keep down the R rate and keep up the alertness and keep the things in the middle at an even level but not too much and as much as possible, so because you’re clearly all so dopey I’ve recreated the government’s helpful and extremely clear graphs as though I would for a toddler.

Speaking of toddlers, if, as a teacher, you’re unable to stop a class of 4 year-olds hugging each other or putting bits of the classroom in their mouths or all licking the same windowsill, quite frankly I’m not sure how you got to be a teacher in the first place, but as everyone appears to be so dense I’ll spell it out to you: use your common sense to instil common sense in the children, I mean this really isn’t difficult, a 4 year-old is bound to be understanding of the situation.

I trust that’s all clear now, because I hope you realise that if you now go to work or get on public transport or pop off to the garden centre and contract the virus, it will be as a direct result of not staying alert and therefore entirely your fault. What else can the government do to keep us safe other than release us back into society way before they originally said they would and give us extremely clear guidance on how not to be so witless as to catch the virus?

I know these things because I’m alert. I am so alert I haven’t slept since the government told me to be alert. This slogan came out last week. I am literally crippled with sleep deprivation but I am alert alert alert, and with a little bit of common sense, you could be too.

To test your own alertness I have devised a self-alertness test by inserting a picture of a chicken in this paragraph and if you see the chicken you

are clearly alert enough to go about your business and remain 1,046.723% safe from the virus. If you didn’t see the chicken you are clearly not alert enough and I suggest you just stay at home. Except don’t. Except do. Kind of.

Becky says things about … being institutionalised

Greetings isolators!

Happy Bank Holiday! Isn’t it wonderful to have a Bank Holiday on a Friday! What a novelty! What an absolutely wonderful excuse to go for a mass picnic in this beautiful weather, or to cram into a pub garden and drink pint after pint of ice cold beer! What an absolute MOCKERY OF OUR CURRENT INCARCARATION.

So it appears we are over the hump and the end of lockdown is in distant sight; a gradual relaxing of the rules that have forced us to be antisocial hermits for nearly eight weeks. That sounds fantastic, doesn’t it?! It’s the moment we’ve been waiting for!

But eight weeks is a long time. This is our life now, isn’t it?

So what if, when we’re finally allowed to all see each other again, we find we don’t want to?

What if we’ve all forgotten how to socialise with humans that are standing in front of us?

What even is real life? I wake up, I go to the shop, I go for a walk, I do some exercise, I check my emails (there are no emails), I write a blog, I read a book, I cook some dinner, I watch some TV, I speak to friends on Zoom – I have spent 23 hours a day for the last 47 days in my tiny studio flat. What else is there?

What if, when we’re allowed to go and buy the things we haven’t been able to buy for eight weeks, we become overwhelmed?

What if, when we’re allowed to have gatherings, and places get more crowded, and more people spill outside, and we’re allowed to go to things like birthday parties, we have a freak out?

What if, when we’re allowed to book holidays again, we find the thought of travelling more than 3 miles from our homes frightening?

The answer is: we won’t know until it happens. And in the meantime, I need to book the corner of my kitchen by the fridge for June 2021 before it gets too busy.

Becky says things about … losing it in lockdown

Greetings isolators!

IT’S FRIDAY!!! Quick, get out the party poppers and the party hats woooooo.

Put your hands up if you lost it to the Week 3 Wobble last week?

MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.

The Week 3 Wobble was borne from the following factors:

  •  By Week 3 I realised I’d completed most of the time-consuming activities I’d planned to keep myself busy (cleaned the blinds with a toothbrush, arranged my tinned food alphabetically, took all my books out of the bookcase, set aside one for the charity shop, put them all back in a slightly different order etc.)
  • By Week 3 the last dribs and drabs of work had fallen away completely
  • By Week 3 the novelty of having all this time and of being able to hear the birds and smell the flowers and see the sky bla bla bla had worn off
  • I suddenly remembered why we’re in lockdown.

And all of these factors clicked into place at exactly the same time, setting off an uncontrolled snowballing of doomish truths: suddenly my friends and family seemed very far away and I realised I was utterly desperate for human contact of any form –

– the prospect of another evening in my tiny flat was suddenly grim; the pressure of relying solely on my own motivation to keep myself occupied became suddenly overwhelming, and the fear of this virus as the deaths ceaselessly climbed to eye-watering and devastating numbers became suddenly acute and terrifying, and all of the above exploded in the Week 3 Wobble that manifested itself in a brief but fairly intense meltdown on the floor of my flat.

But having spoken to several chums, it would appear that many of them also lost it to the Week 3 Wobble, as the adrenaline of the novelty of the first two weeks subsided and stored-up feelings of frustration, despair and fear managed to break through the sunshine and blue skies and remind us all that

THIS IS DEFINITELY NOT NORMAL.

And whilst I feel much better this week, this lockdown is definitely starting to take its toll.

For example, I appear to be losing my ability to communicate with real-life human beings in a face-to-face manner. A few days ago I approached Sainsbury’s, and there was no one queuing outside but it looked fairly busy inside, so I stood behind the queueing barrier like a responsible socially-distanced-aware citizen and waited to be admitted.

Whereupon a woman strode right past me and through the doors.

Now, in my head the words that subsequently came out of my mouth – ‘Excuse me, I’m queuing here’ – were supposed to be uttered in a polite and gentle tone, something that sounded like:

Instead, due perhaps to this strange and unpractised form of face-to-face communication with a human being who isn’t on the other end of Zoom or Skype or WhatsApp, the words ‘Excuse me, I’m queueing here’ actually came out in a tone that may as well have said:

I immediately felt AWFUL about my aggressive tone, made worse by the fact that the woman immediately and profusely and so incredibly politely apologised and hurried to stand behind me, and explained so apologetically that this was the first time she’d been out in four weeks and she didn’t know the rules of shopping and she was terribly sorry, and I felt SO bad at my unwarranted outburst that I spent the next five minutes orchestrating a desperately friendly conversation, and by the time I was admitted into the sanctuary of Sainsbury’s I knew where she’d met her husband, the middle names of her four children, and her bra size.

This was not the only queue-related momentary loss of civility I have had.

Is anyone else noticing that, whilst there are many examples of some first-class queues forming outside supermarkets, there are also plenty of examples of absolute queuing abominations?

An example, for your delectation: outside the post office earlier this week, there was a smattering of people loitering on the pavement in a manner that can only be described as willy-nilly.

This is a bird’s-eye demonstration of what they should have looked like:

This is a bird’s eye view of what they actually looked like:

It’s as though the social distancing measures are weakening the gravitational pull of the person in front, and queuers are going spinning off into the Deep Space of the pavement like wayward space badgers – and because this ‘queue’ looked so slapdash, shoddy and slipshod, I asked one of the dawdlers, ‘Excuse me, is this the queue?’

His response was an unfriendly ‘Well we’re not standing here for the fun of it.’

At which point I again forgot the fact that I am actually a very placid person, and drew my sword, drove it through his heart and screamed in his face:

Well, I didn’t actually slay him, but I did say most of those words in an extremely murderous tone, the ignorant queue-disrespecting dick.

Happily, I’m not the only one who has had instances of losing it in lockdown.

A very good friend of mine told me the heart-warming story of her pushing her baby through a park the other day when, and I quote, ‘an egg-faced ham of a man and his smug-nosed pierced twat of a daughter’ approached up the path behind her, encroaching on the sacred two-metre realm around my chum, and she was forced to move the buggy out of the way while they heinously brushed past her, causing her to experience a solid gold loss of all decorum and scream after them:

After which she burst into tears.

So I don’t feel so bad about my public outbursts, I’m sure we’ll all lose it during lockdown and say and do things we don’t mean at some point, won’t we? You snivelling bunch of toads.

 

Stay healthy, stay home and look after each other xx