Storm Diary 8 – Somethingness

Friday 13th March, 2020
Gave Non-Sick Sprogs lifts to school and work, avoiding all temptation to stop for a shop; have no wish to be coughed upon by the folk of Sudbury, whether they be the clientele of Aldi, Sainsbury’s, Tesco, or Waitrose!

Returned home and washed my hands.

Delivered Sick Sprog’s usual breakfast of Cheerios (was not coughed upon – phew!).

Settled back into my usual position, parked in front of the TV, with laptop at the ready. Listened to lots of like-minded views. Seems the only person against closing our schools is Boris!
Noticed that the BBC newsreader has a crooked mouth just like mine! Is she a relative?

Pitied the BBC Presenter, Victoria, when she was coughed over by a guest speaker. Funny how someone can argue so vehemently for school closures (everyone knows how quickly viruses spread amongst children!), whilst failing himself to follow simple hygiene rules; the said guest did not even cough into a tissue, or the crook of his elbow, preferring instead to use his fist shaped into an open tunnel – a tunnel, through which and around which, the virus took its aim!

Could still hear the beast coughing as he left the studio.

Somehow, I suspect that the Victoria will need a substitute for tomorrow. Emailed my concerns to Received the usual automated reply. Is she out of office on sick leave already?

Read a couple of excellent poems from a writer friend. Thought about whether I ought to follow her example and churn out a poem, or two, myself. Decided against it.

Feeling a little weird. Coronavirus? The side effects of my anti-depressant meds?

Or just my own general somethingness?

The latter.

By The Silly-Savvy Salopian

Image by Prawny 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.

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