LULOK ISLAND. PART 2. THE VILLAGE

23rd -  24th May 2020

The Lulok Coat of Arms

We looked at the map and decided to visit a small village called Sdrepzyll. It was mentioned in the guide book as a 'typical farming community featuring many forms of Lulokian agriculture including fine herds of the famous Lulok Szwienspitznfartz pig and a place where you are always made to feel welcome in the local tavern in which it is customary for visitors to buy the first (and subsequent) round of drinks'. We were to discover that Lulok boasts a lot of pigs of varying breeds and hostility.

Sdrepzyll is about 16 kilospurtz east of Zlakalitze on the plains north of the Alps. I should mention  that Lulok has it's own rather idiosyncratic system of weights and measures. A 'spurtz' originated in the distant past from the average distance a prisoner could run before being brought down by a sentry armed with a crossbow. It equates to 4.8 metres.

I think it appropriate to mention here a few details concerning my delightful travelling companions, Nikkla and Annabella. I have got to know them quite well over the past 24 hours. To spare their blushes, and those of their friends, I agreed to obscure their faces in the photos. This is what I have picked up so far:

Left: Nikkla. Although getting on a bit and with a dicky leg she is up for most things and has a great sense of humour. In her youth she was quite notorious for her impromptu act (frequently at dinner parties) as a belly dancer featuring the amazing contra-rotating nipple tassels routine. She said she has given that up due to getting married and the fact that physiological changes mean that if she tried it now she would probably put her eye out. She has travelled widely if not always wisely. A staunch member, and treasurer, of the Don Valley Darts, Dominoes and Scottish Country Dancing Association.

Right: Annabella. Daughter of Nikkla. A lively girl with irrepressible energy. As a talented and entrepreneurial person, she has had, and has now, a wide variety of jobs and enthusiasms. As a budding actress she featured as the scarecrow in Stephen Soderbread's first mega-flop movie 'The Day of Gerbil'. She writes poems, teaches Latvian clog dancing, sings in a gospel choir, is a ceiling inspector for her apartment management company, and an expert Celtic dry walling engineer. She also finds time to run her Action Group; Demonstrators Against Demonstrations UK and produces a terrifying 'podcast' (whatever that is) called 'Betsy and Bella'. If she survives this trip she will go far I have no doubt.

We set off in a surprisingly luxurious taxi (left). The driver spoke reasonable English. I must later try to describe the Lulokian language. It is like nothing I have heard before and even uses it's own strange script in the outlying regions...either that or the signwriters were 'under the influence'. Our driver was waxing lyrical about how the 'government' had recently increased the legal alcohol limit for driving from 100mg/100ml to 180mg/100ml, although still 100mg for children under the age of 16. It's all to do with reducing the crime rate. Very sensible in his, and my, opinion.

Right: The outer suburbs of Zlakalitze heading east.

There were some mighty confusing signposts en-route (left). I'm glad our driver seemed to know where he was going. At least they don't have any irritating traffic lights anywhere, or roundabouts or especially, as per the ridiculous situation in UK, roundabouts with traffic lights! I think the system works quite happily on the basis that you just give way at junctions to any bigger, faster or more menacing machines approaching you. A sort of mutual survival pact.

After a relatively uneventful journey we arrived at the outskirts of Sdrepzyll (right), although Annabella threw up on the back seat on the way. She thinks she has developed an allergy to beetroot.

We booked in to a small hostel (left) and had a room each, with a bed. Very quaint. Washing facilities were at an outside tap where they had thoughtfully even put up a mirror. The loo was the forest. Takes me back to my military days with 'shovel recces'. Very healthy and bracing.

Right: After settling in we decided to give the local tavern, the Zweinbar, a go. Our arrival had obviously caused a bit of a stir as the place quickly filled up with friendly villagers to welcome us. They generously accepted our offer to buy drinks (blitsovitse and/or the local beer called 'Spitz'). They said they didn't get many foreign visitors or 'mooginz' as is the term used here.

As I hoped, and discovered from those that spoke enough English, Lulok is entirely free of this pesky Coronavirus bug. Or if it is present nobody has noticed. Or if they have noticed they don't care because there are many other pestilential diseases that cause more serious problems. One such is Swinepox which is spread by the large pig herds and the disease is rampant amongst the farming community. Do pigs have herds, or flocks? I'm told they also have drifts, droves and sounders...but I digress. Left: Pigs here are usually kept indoors overnight due to widespread pig rustling. But because all the pig farmers rustle each other's pigs anyway they tend to end up with much the same number at the end of the day. I notice in this photo, taken in the village piggery, that there are a couple of brown pigs. This is either due to a BAME diversity programme or, more likely, nicked from another herd.

Right: These pigs are infected with swinepox. You can tell by the the warts and spots on their snouts, and they are blind. Fortunately Swinepox can only be transmitted by sexual activity.

Left: One of the symptoms of Swinepox is large pustulant growths, often on embarrassing parts of the body. Plus blindness of course so you wouldn't notice it in the mirror.

Before I leave the important subject of Lulok pigs, I noticed this one (right). Yes, they do have some sheep on the island...but I don't know what to make of it. I'm not sure that further investigation will get me anywhere.

We left the tavern rather worse for wear. Annabella had overdosed on Spitz beer and Nikkla, after a hefty intake of blistovitre, had come dangerously close to re-enacting her tassels routine. 

Earlier in the day we were introduced to our guide (he on the left) for following excursions. I'm sure I recognise him from somewhere but maybe just my imagination.                                         

So much more to see and do on this fascinating island, so I'll leave it there for the time being. Oh dear! Annabella is being sick again, and she only had 14 bottles of spitz and a pork sandwich.

LULOK ISLAND. PART 1. ARRIVAL

22nd -  23rd May 20

Lulok Island. South coast

Well, I have at last managed to escape the pestilential UK with it's paranoid cowering citizenry and arrived on the Island of Lulok. Lulok is situated in the Fistula Sea about 20 miles off the south coast of Mesipia. Actually it consists of one main island and several surrounding ones.

I flew from Luton airport on a rare, possibly illegal and surprisingly cheap (and empty), flight courtesy of the Mesipian 'flag carrier' Nuzdyv Airways to Maidai International, Mesipia. The facilities on board were rather basic, to say the least. Some seats had seat-belts and the toilets had no doors (for security reasons I was told). There is sometimes a flight from Maidai to the small airstrip on Lulok but due to 'technical reasons' this had been suspended. After paying the mandatory bribe to imigration officials I did not delay here. I took a bus to the port of Glodz and set about securing a ticket for the approximately, depending on weather and mechanical vicissitudes, 5 hour sea crossing to Lulok. The port was fairly deserted. While waiting here I bumped into a couple of Brits who were also, by chance and as I later discovered by mistake, going to Lulok. They are called Nikkla and her daughter Annabella. More about them later,

The ferry we eventually boarded (left) could not be described as luxurious. Horse-drawn carts, goats, pigs and other passengers boarded via a ramp at the back end. The engines made a strange noise and a lot of smoke. This was a vessel built for neither speed nor comfort. I don't think it displayed a name, or if it did it had been rusted over. Possibly intentionally.

During the crossing, as there was nothing else to do, I took the opportunity to visit the bridge and meet the skipper. He was a rather monosyllabic gentleman who spoke little English and whose name, I think, was Dontutzzat, or something  similar. He seemed to know what he was doing (not very much). The sea was calm, fortunately.

The Island of Lulok was historically a part of Mesipia. It is a lozenge-shaped island about 200 miles long (east -west) by 80 miles wide. It is described in guide books as a 'Bucolic community steeped in the past living in rustic surroundings of beguiling contrasts of concrete, wattle and mud. Untouched by Western pollution, and pleasantly devoid of mass tourism, it boasts an unpretentious lifestyle with stupendous panoramic views and uncrowded beaches. The weather in Spring and Autumn is wet, in winter freezing cold and in summer oppressively hot'.

Indeed, as I discovered, the landscape is one of fertile flat coastal plains surrounding a volcanic mountainous interior; the Lulok Alps. The plains are noted for the agriculture of crops such as beetroot, hemp and marijuana. Other natural resources consist of tin and asbestos which are mined (in both senses) profitably, if lethally. The tin deposits are mainly of old buried food cans and car parts. Their main export, other than forged currency, is the famous Lulok Black Beetroot which also features largely in their diet, if nobody elses. The exports go mainly to the construction industry where this robust vegetable is used in the building of cheap sea walls, dams and dykes.
The mountainous areas were home to numerous warring bandit clans which have now, mercifully, almost wiped themselves out. To add to the exotic demographic mix of inhabitants there is a small but vibrant Aztec community living on the east end of the island. This is the result of Aztec refugees fleeing the plagues and diseases (and slaughter) introduced to Central America by the Spanish 'conquistadors' in the 16th century and finding refuge here; a bit like the Welsh settlements in Argentina (but not sure what they were fleeing....maybe just attracted by the Patagonian sheep?). By the by, I discovered that 18 million Aztecs and other Central American indigenous peoples died of the pandemics between 1545 - 1550. Rather puts our Covid-19 fatalities to shame! There is also a leper colony on the south coast.
The island is surrounded by a magical sea of various changing hues; sometimes glorious azure, sometimes vivid green, orange, red or brown depending on the outflows. It is reported that in some parts it is even possible to walk on the surface. There are some interesting golden sandy beaches, if you dig down far enough.  

Lulok was granted independence in 1990 and is now entirely self-ruling. Actually I was told it was not so much 'granted' independence as officially disowned due to the rampant and uncontrollable corruption and violence which plagued the island. It has an interesting history as it was for centuries the chosen bolt-hole for various escapee warlords who set about forging the grateful islanders to their idiosyncratic tastes.


Left: Vlod the Inhaler. He was a notably feared ruler in the 18th century. He is revered for abolishing slavery on the island...by the simple expedient of calling it 'welfare'.
Most rulers did not die of natural causes.














The current self-elected 'President', Coplan Coccyx, is fondly known to his devoted and well paid admirers as 'Crackhead Coco'. He is the guy in the centre (right). The country is run by a small powerful autocratic and corrupt clique, but the situation has improved since the rest of the population has got the hang of it.






We arrived on Lulok late in the afternoon at the charming little port of Alluu (left). After paddling ashore amongst livestock, empty bottles and beer cans (the water wasn't too deep) myself and my fellow Brit travellers and 'new best friends', Nikkla and Annabella (N & A), found a traditional Lulok café in which to relax, get a drink and plan our next move.





Right: The Café Ulala in Port Alluu. I mentioned that N & A had arrived here by mistake. They came from Scotland where the lockdown rules are even more draconian and confusing than those in England. They had originally attempted to escape via some dodgy 'black market escape line' to the charming Vietnamese holiday island of Phu Quoc, but had been misled, or misread, and ended up here. They weren't aware of this mistake until they were on the boat, which shows an extraordinary degree of naiveté. We ordered glasses of the local brew called Blitsovitre (try saying that with false teeth). It is distilled, unsurprisingly, from beetroot. The first sip was eye watering; a fiery concoction which to the discerning palate might indicate an underlying suspicion of kerosene.  You have to be careful not to spill any on your clothes as Nikkla found out when it burnt a hole in her kaftan. Definitely an acquired taste but after a glass you can taste virtually nothing.  Payment here is always upfront as I came to discover. Which brings me to the subject of the local currency, the Gröné (pronounced 'groaner') abbreviation Gr.


Left: A 500,000,000,000 Gröné note. The currency is tied to the Laotian kip, and as you can see inflation has been rife. There are 13,728,000 Gr to the British £, as of today, which makes calculations somewhat difficult.
Getting change is a problem, it is rarely offered and it's easier to keep drinking until you have spent it all. Hence there is an endemic alcoholism problem amongst the locals....and probably tourists if they stay too long. In reality most local transactions are settled by bartering cigarettes, alcohol, beetroot or 'substances'.


We found a taxi (payment in advance) to take us to Zlakalitze, the capital city. It was a 30 mile drive and fairy exhilarating. I'm not sure if our driver was entirely sober. He spoke no English and made lots of 'whooping' noises. I tried to work out which side of the road they are meant to drive on. It was by no means clear and I suspect it was just the middle...and take avoiding action when and how necessary. The road was tarmac in parts and much potholed. The traffic was light, mostly horses or donkeys and carts plus the occasional tractor, and I suppose the driver just stuck to the 'best' bits of the road. Thankfully the maximum speed of our smoking shaking rattling vehicle was about 30 mph. At least the horn worked well accompanied by lots of interesting and expressive hand signals out of where the driver's window should have been. We arrived dusty and shaken but unscathed.

Left: The main street, Vlod Allee, where we were dumped. I had a primitive guide book but had been unable to book anywhere to stay in advance due to the fact that the communication systems on the Island are erratic to non-existent. I think they mainly rely on a system of 'runners'.







I had noted there was, according to my book, a large hotel on the edge of town which was described as 'one of the best' in Zlakalitze. So off we trudged. Nikkla is 'getting on' a bit and has a game leg which causes her to limp and tire easily. I discovered that she has an interesting history, but we'll come to that later.
Anyway, we made it to the Hotel Clamydia and, as time was getting on and Nikkla refused to go any further, we booked in. It appeared remarkably free of other guests. Lulok hotels are not graded with stars, but by repossession notices.


We were rather taken aback by the receptionist (left). I suspect she has another more lucrative job. The price of a room was around the equivalent of £5 per night, or 100 cigarettes, or 2 bottles of blitsovitre.
She acually spoke some English so presumably had been to night school. We were told, if we had any, not to take any blitsovitre into our rooms as it was considered an unacceptable fire hazard and the hotel fire extiguishers were all in for servicing.










Right: My bedroom. It had a TV.....which didn't work. Purely for decoration. Spartan to say the least but, surprisingly, I didn't suffer from bed bugs. I expect they were staying somewhere better.










The ladies shared a room. They thought it was safer to do so. They invited me to have a look at their bathroom (left). Bleedin' Nora! It might have been elegant once. No plugs in bath or basin. There was a trickle of water from the cold tap whether turned on or off and a special hosepipe which delivered an intermittent supply of smelly pale brown coloured tepid (hot) water. Goodness knows where that supply came from.












Right: The hotel 'lounge'. We never saw any other guests. The 'lady' at reception said they were always full during the festivals, but being the harvesting and shooting season most people were out in the fields and mountains. I expect they were more comfortable there.
There was no bar. I think you were expected to provide your own refreshments.





Left: The view outside my bedroom window as I pulled back, or more accurately off, the curtain the next morning. The steam from what is presumably a volcanic outflow reeked of sulphur. I smelled this foul pong during the night and was worried it was me!
I think I now know where the hot water supply comes from.





Breakfast, served by an ancient mute hunchback, consisted of a warm drink meant to be coffee I suppose, plus a bread roll, cheese and beetroot. We discussed our plans and decided bravely to sally forth and investigate the countryside. That was the first 24 hours and, by the cringe, it felt longer.
More  revelations to come from this enchanting island.

LOCKDOWN. WEEK 7

6th - 12th May 2020

Government instruction!

It has been mentioned by one of my more critical readers that these Lockdown Logs have become rather repetitive and too 'ranty'. I don't disagree with that because there is bog-all else to talk about and not much changes. In any event they can't be more repetitive and scaremongering than the dreadful BBC TV news coverage. Anyway, I enjoy a good rant; I find it therapeutic!'

This week the Great Boris announced new 'relaxed' lockdown rules. Frankly, as far as I am concerned, there was not much change except we are now allowed to do exercise for as long as we like and to 'Stay Alert'. I was secretly hoping he would restrict exercise further to only once a week, so I have now absolutely no excuse to reduce my 'runs' from one every other day. The new rules (as of Sunday 10th May) were explained to me by some expert as follows. I hope you can make sense of them: 

This should provide the clarity you are after:

I think I’ve worked it out...

* 4 year olds can go to school, but university students who have paid for the tuition they haven’t had and the accommodation they aren’t living in, can’t go to university. 

* A teacher can go to school with many 4 year olds that they are not related to, but can’t see one 4 year old that they are related to. 

* You can sit in a park, but not tomorrow or Tuesday but by Wednesday that’ll be fine. 

* You can meet one person from another household for a chat or to sunbathe, but not two people so if you know two people from another household you have to pick your favourite. Hopefully, you’re also their favourite person from your household or this could be awkward. But possibly you’re not. But as I can’t go closer than 2m to the one you choose anyway you wouldn’t think having the other one sat next to them would matter - unless two people would restrict your eyeline too much and prevent you from being alert. 

* You can work all day with your colleagues, but you can’t sit in their garden for a chat after work. 

* You can now do unlimited exercise when quite frankly just doing an hour a day feels like you are some kind of fitness guru. I can think of lots of things that I would like to be unlimited but exercise definitely isn’t one of them. 

* You can drive to other destinations, although which destinations is unclear. 

* The buses are still running past your house, but you shouldn’t get on one. We should just let empty buses drive around so bus drivers aren’t doing nothing. 

* It will soon be time to quarantine people coming into the country by air... but not yet. It’s too soon. And not ever if you’re coming from France because... well, I don’t know why, actually. Because the French version of coronavirus wouldn’t come to the UK maybe. 

* Our youngest children go back to school first because... they are notoriously good at not touching things they shouldn’t, maintain personal space at all times and never randomly lick you. 

* We are somewhere in between 3.5 and 4.5 on a five point scale where 5 is all of the virus and 1 is none of the virus but 2,3 and 4 can be anything you’d like it to be really. Some of the virus? A bit of the virus? Just enough virus to see off those over 70s who were told to self isolate but now we’ve realised that they’ve done that a bit too well despite us offloading coronavirus patients into care homes and now we are claiming that was never said in the first place, even though it’s in writing in the stay at home guidance. 

* The slogan isn’t stay at home any more, so we don’t have to stay at home. Except we do. Unless we can’t. In which case we should go out. But there will be fines if we break the rules. So don’t do that. 

Don’t forget... 

Stay alert... which Robert Jenrick has explained actually means Stay home as much as possible. Obviously. 

Control the virus. Well, I can’t even control my dogs and I can actually see them. Plus I know a bit about dogs and very little about controlling viruses.

Save lives. Always preferable to not saving lives, I’d say, so I’ll try my best with that one, although hopefully I don’t need telling to do that. I know I’m bragging now but not NOT saving lives is something I do every day.

So there you are. If you’re the weirdo wanting unlimited exercise then enjoy. But not until Wednesday. Obviously.

The highlight of the week was the test launching of my home-made paper aeroplane; 'The Terminator', as I christened it. This was as a result of being encouraged by a Belgian friend who is a fanatical model aircraft enthusiast. He is also completely bonkers, but that is by-the-by.

After nearly an hour of painstaking planning, design and construction The Terminator was born (left). It featured all the latest aviation technology such as flaps, ailerons and a couple of staples in the nose. It is being held here by Cringe, my faithful manservant.

'

Indoor short-range trials were satisfactory so the next step was a test flight from an upper storey window, courtesy of my next door neighbour, and her dog 'Rocket'.

The first flight was encouraging but it veered wildly off track, flew over the garden fence and landed in the middle of the road opposite. I filmed this flight (left) but, for the life of me, I can't get the blasted vid to work on this blog. I will hopefully sort it out somehow.

After a frantic retrieval to avoid it being run over and squashed, the control surfaces were readjusted and all made ready for the second test. Launched by my neighbour this went perfectly and, straight as a die, it did a graceful landing in the far corner of the garden. Sadly, my camera (I) failed to capture this magic success. Typical.

 I was very proud. Unfortunately, the audience, Rocket the dog, took a keen.... too keen, interest. Before I could curb his enthusiasm he sprinted over to The Terminator and ripped it to shreds. Also recorded on film, but still can't get these damned things to work. 

I shall be prosecuting (the dog, that is).

Left: The wreckage. In military aviation parlance 'Category 5' damage ie. a 'write off'. The Terminator was terminated.

Back to the drawing board.......perhaps.

What else last week? Bugger all, and only dross to watch on TV. My daily routine has become thoroughly monotonous and at times like this it can take me hours just to read the newspaper cover to cover. Which sadly I do, and also do the crossword. The only rag which puts an amusing take on this situation is the redoubtable Spectator. I recommend it if you want something to boost your morale.

Paranoid pedestrians are still diving into the road when someone approaches them on the pavement. I am waiting for the first report of someone being run over and killed by this ludicrous behaviour. 

I can't be bothered to witter on about all the other madness (worse than the bug) which has infected this country. I have serious doubts as to whether we will ever get back to a social normality. I'm therefore giving up on 'Lockdown Logs'. This is the final one. I have a plan to escape. I hope you will read about it in the next edition. 

Until then "stay sane" and, of course, "stay alert". I always thought that I was a 'lert'. 

PS. Saw this sign (left) in a window of some establishment. Very sensible and concise instructions.

LOCKDOWN - WEEK 6

29th Apr - 5th May 2020

There is some good news as a result of this virus 'panicdemic'. Nobody, as far as reports go, seems to have suffered from seasonal flu this year. Also, many people and organisations have benefitted. These include those now happily working from home and not having to traipse into an office every day. Then there are those who have been 'stood-down' (I'm trying to avoid the dreadful American word 'furlough') from jobs they may have found tedious and taxing, on 80% of normal pay, and can now blissfully spend their time at home drinking beer and watching Netflix. Companies have the luxury of being able to dispose of expensive 'deadwood' in their offices without the need to compensate; and all this is being paid for by our generous Government, ie. us, for at least a generation to come. It will be difficult to persuade some of the idle bastards to go back to work or dig fearful fainthearts out of their burrows when the lockdown is considered over. I'm sure many commercial organisations have managed to profit enormously from the situation such as home delivery services, especially Amazon, internet and TV service providers (Zoom?), bicycle suppliers and not least the manufacturers of PPE and the pharmaceutical companies. The big 'pharma' company that manages to produce the required magical vaccine will, if you'll excuse the expression, make an absolute killing.

I had a conversation with a friend whose daughter works as a nurse in the NHS. She works in the cancer department of a large hospital. She (the nurse) said that she had never been so underworked in all her career. There have been very few cancer patients to deal with, and the same is true of other departments. She spends lots of time now hanging about chatting and drinking coffee! Her colleagues 'the front line heroes' dealing with the coronavirus patients were mostly very happy and enjoying the cameradie and the challenge. They were also benefitting from lots of perks and basking in the glow of public adulation. On the down side she also mentioned that there were some 'less than conscientious' nurses who had deliberately self-isolated to avoid coming in. The NHS has now become like a religion. All NHS staff are regarded as sacred beings. Any slight criticism is viewed as blasphemy and those who do not praise and glorify enough are condemned as heretics and likely to be stoned to death. In fact there have been many serious failings in the NHS at the managerial (well paid) level. It has been the beneficiary of oodles of charity donations, including the £33m courtesy of Capt/Col Tom and his team of advisers and hangers-on. Where and to whom does this money actually go? Fees? Commissions? Expenses? Wages? Equipment? We shall probably never know for certain.....just 'The NHS' and everyone feels better. Lots of others are jumping, or more likely being lifted, onto this bandwagon. I have just read of a 102 year-old lady who is going to hobble around her garden, or maybe swim the channel in her bath, for similar reasons. As I said previously, I have a high regard for all the doctors, nurses and other staff in the hospitals. They do, and always have done, a magnificent job, and so they should, but then other people are doing equally noble and sometimes unpleasant things to keep us going. Think of all the workers keeping the sewage, electricity, water systems, etc. up and running and many others in 'essential' services. They do not attract such recognition, or perks.

I found a couple of photos. One taken of a group of nurses in the 1960s (left). So smart and trim with a stern looking matron on the right to keep them in order.











Right: Another pic of a group of nurses taken recently. I'm sure they all do an excellent job but I couldn't help noticing that they are rather less well turned out and carry substantially more 'condition' (ie. fat)! I would have thought that with all the encouragement from National Health England (another bureaucracy that has screwed up badly) to stay healthily slim (coronavirus is more lethal for the obese) that our nursing staff might have taken note. Famine is definitely not an issue here.


I still regard this mawkish, naff and unBritish clapping and cheering of the NHS (and now carers I believe) on Thursday nights with disdain and as pure 'virtue signalling'; as for people sticking rainbow pictures in their windows.....yuk! I expect sooner or later some righteous lynch mob will drag me out of my house, tie me to a lamp post and tar and feather me. Again, and I hope he won't mind me repeating his story, the admirable Rod Liddle (Spectator columnist) has an interesting take on this. He lives in a remote village and was rung up recently by Majestic Wine Merchants to query a delivery order. They said there must be a mistake because they had just received his order for 18 bottles of wine but had delivered the same only 5 days previously. Mr Liddle said " no mistake, that's correct, you must realise that there are two of us living here". He goes out of his house at 8.00pm on Thursdays to clap the Majestic Wines delivery service.....if he can stand up, he adds.

I had another semi-success this week. Another item on my lengthening TTD list has been crossed out. I managed to replace the filter on the extractor fan above my cooker. The lady who sold me the new filter said this should be done every few months. I hadn't done it for 5 years! The problem was that congealed fat and debris was strewn all over the work surfaces, the floor, the cupboard doors and me. This called for a large clean up operation which, to date, has only been partially completed.

I had an interesting experience in a long queue at the local Tesco store a couple of days ago. A chap behind me was wearing a face mask and plastic gloves. His mobile phone rang. He took his phone from his pocket then removed the snot infected bug trap from his face to talk. Holding the bug trap in one gloved hand he then spoke and coughed into his phone. He then put the phone back into his pocket and put his mask back on. Of course by now any nasty bugs he may have possessed were liberally spread over his gloves, face and mobile phone. I couldn't resist very politely pointing this out to him. He was an amiable chap, fortunately, and just said "gosh, I hadn't thought about that"! That is the problem. Better if he had not been wearing a mask in the first place, and the gloves were of no further use!

I read a comprehensive list of 212 countries, on the 'Worldometer' internet website, which have been  affected by this blasted virus and it gives daily updates on how many cases of Covid-19 they have recorded and deaths therefrom. It is quite revealing. It seems that less developed countries have had much fewer, some to the point of negligible, percentage-wise, fatalities, especially in the Sub-Continent and Far East. Even allowing for some faulty recording the stats appear consistent and believable. Compared to the carnage apparent in Europe and the USA, and maybe parts of South America, the rest of the world is relatively unscathed. As at 5th May India, pop 1.3 billion has recorded 1,695 deaths, Pakistan, pop 133 million 526 deaths, Thailand, pop 70 million, 55 deaths, Vietnam, pop 97 million, 0 deaths. I am in no way qualified to say why this is; perhaps they orchestrated a much more effective isolation, testing and tracking system? Or, my other thought is that the populations of these countries have not been so prone to obsessive hygiene regulations, nor filled with vaccines, pills and antibiotics and have as a result developed a much stronger natural immune system than our more 'health conscious' Western peoples who have been protected from just about everything, until now.  I attach below a link to this list which you might find interesting. I suspect you won't be able to 'click on' it to open here but can copy the address to your Google search bar.

https://www.worldometers.info/coronavirus/

I switch on the BBC TV evening news and listen to the headlines. If, as has been the case for the past 6 weeks or more, all the topics are coronavirus related  I now just switch off again. I'm sure I am not alone doing this. We celebrate the 75th anniversary of VE Day on Friday 8th. It has been declared a public holiday, but I haven't a clue how anyone will be expected to celebrate this while in pestilential lockdown. Maybe I will play old Vera Lynn songs on a loudspeaker outside my front door.  It might even feature on the TV news. At least all the silly #MeToo allegers have taken a back seat (for the time being) and thankfully the juvenile antics of the Extinction Rebellion climate change zealots have been snuffed out. I haven't heard much about any knife crime either recently (such a popular subject earlier in the year), but I suppose it's difficult to knife someone if you have to maintain 'social distancing'.

Thus self-isolating, social-distancing and furloughed with rigorous hand washing and plenty of gifting I am doing my bit to flatten the curve and squash the sombrero so there won't be an uptick in a second wave or spike to overwhelm the front line heroes of the NHS and carers in the local nursing home which is presumably short of PPE and, increasingly, elderly, frail and vulnerable inmates with underlying causes , but greatly helped by putting a rainbow picture in my window and clapping at 8.00pm on Thursdays before we can achieve herd immunity or a vaccine while non-essential workers stay home and stay safe with their loved ones.

Actually this is a load of rubbish, I only write it to demonstrate my new found fluency in 'Covidese'.

I have just read that we Britons are the most fearful of all nations regarding this virus. I am not surprised considering the doom-ridden scare stories we endure from the media and Government. I see the evidence in the frightened little mouse-like people who scuttle around our town wearing their face masks and plastic gloves avoiding, at all costs, their fellow citizens. Most accept unquestioningly any dictats, however nonsensical, from our increasingly authoritarian Government. If the  'experts' told us that to reduce the chance of infection we should stand in a bucket of cold water and sing 'God Save the Queen' every night before going to bed, many would unhesitatingly do so! Oh woe!

My motto; "BOLLOCKS TO THE BUG"