Sunday, hold my beer...

I signed off yesterday’s blip by inviting Monday to “Bring it on” and boldly declaring that “I ‘ain’t scared of you”.

Turns out that Monday was listening. It was listening and clearly did not like what it had heard and so asked Sunday to hold its beer. 

I had the run on it to begin with as a perfect autumnal day dawned with nary a cloud in the sky, so the children and I walked to school with our breath pluming out in front of us. It was PE day so they were both dressed in their black joggers and hoodies. In preparation for his music lesson, m’boy had his guitar strapped to his back as he strolled along, hands in pockets, eyes narrowed against the morning sun. I’d done his hair for him this morning, so he was looking sharp as the light caught him for just a moment, he put me in mind of Johnny Cash and so after taking this shot, I sung them both a little bit of “Ring of Fire” (don’t think they’re quite ready for Folsom Prison Blues.) 

Not long after that, I headed off to Preston for a productive meeting with my work wife and it was after that, that things began to turn… 

Monday began its assault with a traffic jam on the M6, making my return journey three times as long as it should have been. Nice try, Monday, but I have podcasts and talk radio. 

Next, text messages warning of positive tests from children of friends and the school warning of a positive case at the after-school club. Really, Monday? I have lateral flow tests! And would you look at this? Having taken one, I’ve scored a line next to both the “C” AND the “T”! Oh, I’ve tested positive for Covid. In the week when I’ve family visiting, have the children, had nice meetings planned, a weekend in London, spending some time with my sister and not to mention the small matter of going to watch HAMILTON.

You know what they don’t tell you about Covid? The resulting administration and logistics programme that goes with it, as children are moved around, people you may have infected are informed, bosses are reassured, hip-hopera ticket cancellation policies are explored and friends are informed in no uncertain terms that if you don’t make it, they better give you a blinding eulogy with a song about how great you are, delivered in the style of a barbershop quartet, otherwise you’ll be back to give them the mother of all hauntings. 

It was about this time that Monday dropped the mic, flipped me off and nonchalantly moonwalked off stage left.

Barring a miraculous contradictory result from the PCR test, it’s looking likely that I won’t see my children for 10 days, will feel pretty damn awful for a while and as for Hamilton…..well, in the mother of all ironies, I will have to Wait For It or to paraphrase:-

“Covid doesn’t discriminate
Between the sinners and the saints
It takes and it takes and it takes…” 

But at least I have my health! 

Oh.