Storm Diary 6 – Boris

Wednesday 11th March 2020

Sick Sprog now has a hacking cough.

Popped into Aldi, whilst on the Non-Sick Sprog school run, and was pleased to be coughed over by two ladies in the queue. Made a mental note not to apply for that Cashier’s job. Just how many customers have already coughed over the poor checkout lady? And what happened to the idea of coughing into a tissue, or one’s elbow? Clearly, the ladies of Sudbury are too busy with the important job of spreading viruses, to listen to, or read, the News.

In spite of Sprog’s best efforts with hygiene, he coughed over me when I was delivering his refreshments. Why did I allow him to migrate from his bedroom to the lounge? To be fair, Sick Sprog has been taking great care to cough into the crook of his elbow, but these especial coughs took him (and me) unawares.

Circumstances being such, I immediately saw the necessity of grabbing the Vodka bottle and swishing my mouth around with alcohol – such a shame that I had to spit it out! Decided against rinsing out my eyes with the same (I was wearing my protective sunglasses); I will just have to hope that Sprog’s spittle did not get into my ears:

‘Thank you my good Lord for giving me such tiny receptacles with which to hear the wise words of my fellow human beings, and to filter out any unwanted viruses!’

Indeed, I am currently an avid follower of Boris’ daily speeches on the topic of Coronavirus. Such a jolly chap, just carrying on and getting on with the catching of Covid-19, all in the great British tradition of bearing up and getting on with it. An inspiration to us all!

With this in mind, I banished Sick Sprog from the lounge for the evening, so that Hubby and I could watch the 10 o’clock news in a cough-free zone. Disinfected Sick Sprog’s settee (now officially his, as I won’t be sitting there again), just in case the virus decides to mutate into something that can jump from inanimate objects onto fresh victims.

Retired to Bedfordshire.

Memory traces of Boris kept me wide awake into the early hours.

By The Silly-Savvy Salopian

Storm Diary 5 – Protection

Storm Diary 7 – Mountains

Image by Pete Linforth from Pixabay

Published by The Silly-Savvy Salopian

Freelance writer and descendant of the cave dweller and outlaw, Humphrey Kynaston. Banished from Shropshire for my eccentricity, I have made my home in Suffolk. I write poetry, short stories, travel journals, comedy gig reviews and non-fiction articles. My wish is to write my way back into the heart of my birth land. All writing commissions (and free holidays in Shropshire!) considered.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: