The Coronavirus Diaries, 1st May 2023, Bridlington, Blooms and Another Birthday

The forecast was not promising, but the sun is out and it’s going to be a lovely evening. Carol’s lilac is blooming, the lilies of the valley Celia gave me several years ago have multiplied and the flowers are appearing, the May flowers look like a bridal gown.

I have spent the day with MasterB. He’s having his dinner now, having already enjoyed an aperitif of biscuits. I am trying to encourage him to use his grooming arch. It’s probably the least successful thing I have ever bought him. He sniffs it, but does not behave like the cat in the adverts. As the weather is warming up he is shedding his coat for lighter late spring wear. Using the arch would relieve me of some grooming duties.

I still have some Bridlington photos to share, but I need to be quick. Celia is coming round, and then we are due at Michele’s at seven. She has kindly offered to host snacks and drinks for my birthday and May Day at her flat.

First some more dogs. I met Jesse and Valzar on my walk yesterday morning. Jesse shot by me like a bullet in pursuit of a ball thrown by her owner. A collie she is full of zip and energy. Relucanttly she sat still for a photo. Valzar is a rescue from Italy, mistreated, beaten and locked in a shed, he is still nervous and constantly checking with his new people for reassurance. They have had him thirty days. The first three he refused to leave the house. Then they managed to get him down to the beach and saw a different dog, a dog who raced around, who went in and out of the water, who looked alive, alert, happy. He accepted a treat from me, touched noses with a friendly Labrador but was happiest sitting between his owners. I’d love to see him in a year’s time.

And actually I realise now I am out of time or I shall be late to my own party. Add your prayers to mine for a happy, confident Valzar, a dog who deserves so much more than his earlier life has given him.

Happy May Day!

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The Coronavirus Diaries, 28th April 2023, On the Beach

I keep thinking I should drop the coronavirus bit from these posts, but on the train to Doncaster today two women sitting behind me were talking about how they had both recently had the virus, and mentioning friends and acquaintances who are ill with it now. I thought of the man beside me on the tube this morning who sneezed, and hopes I have not been infected.

Maybe the sea air this evening will have banished any germs. I am in Bridlington in advance of Ray’s birthday celebrations tomorrow. She turned 100 a month ago, but the tea party is tomorrow. I’m staying by the seafront, and I love the view. Bridlington has evidently seen better days, and is now starting to reinvent itself, to look to a future, rather than past glories. As a result it’s a mix of run down, tired and very dilapidated buildings, and joyously restored ones, as well as a modern, confident leisure centre. The library building is an example of decayed civic pride and I rather love it. I’ll post a photo at some point. Local cuisine appears dominated by fish and chips. I was starting to wonder if anyone actually ate vegetables at all.

The Coronavirus Diaries, 17th February 2023, Goodbye Belfast, See You Again Soon

A lift to the city is not to be sniffed at, especially where a suitcase, however small is involved. Kathryn needed to get to work, and Johnny who could have opened for a well earned lie in, kindly drove the pair of us down. Buttons came for the ride, sitting on my knee most of the way, alternately watching out of the window, licking the back of the front passenger seat, or looking me in the eye. She is a very sweet dog, very affectionate and loving. I should have got up half an hour earlier and then she could have the walk she so clearly thought I was going to give her. However, Johnny plans to take her out later so she’ll be happy. I’d say she’s a daddy’s girl, but then she’s also a mummy’s girl, the boys’ girl. In short, the perfect family dog.

The lift into town meant I got an earlier bus out to the airport than anticipated. So I shall be hanging around departure for a while. It meant no worry about getting through security in time for my flight, or filling my water bottle at the unbelievably slow water dispenser. My main fear is getting too relaxed and missing the announcement that the gate has opened.

After a wet and noisily windy night, the day is beautiful, blue skies and sunshine on the fields about. Before I came the forecast was a week of unrelenting rain, but other than a light spattering yesterday evening, the rain has been at night.
I spent much of yesterday at cultural pursuits. In 2017 I saw Girl From the North Country during its first run in London. If memory serves correctly, I saw it a second time during that run. I see a lot of theatre, but much of it becomes a blur. Not the case with Girl From the North Country. So when I realised it was on at the Grand Opera House during my stay in Belfast, I treated myself to a ticket at the matinee. It was also a treat to get inside the opera house whose exterior I have long admired. Arriving some time in advance of the performance, I was able to explore and study some of the displays. There was a photograph of a very young James Nesbitt sporting lots of curly hair. Without the caption, I am not sure I’d have recognised him. All the greats have played there, everyone from Charlie Chaplin, Laurel and Hardy, through Laurence Olivier and Morecombe and Wise, to Kenneth Branagh with then wife Emma Thompson in a production directed by Judi Dench. On Wednesday night I was at the Lyric theatre for a performance of Romeo and Juliet, a production based on an adaptation by my Johnny’s sister Anne. Portraits, both paintings and photographs, adorned the public areas. There was Adrian Dunbar with locks to rival those of young Nesbitt; Brian Friel looking serious, Liam Neeson looking craggy, Stella McCusker looking serene.

The Coronavirus Diaries, 1st February 2023, Wendy

I did my dusting to the soundtrack to South Pacific today. This was in honour of my neighbour Wendy, a lover of musical theatre, opera, and animals. It was Wendy who named Cat Fred after Fred Astaire, and his brother (yes that’s right) Ginger which I probably, other than the gender bending, don’t have to explain. The two young cats were adopted by her next door neighbour Lisa and she watched them dancing along the wall. She didn’t like the name I chose for MasterB, saying she supposed I could always call him something else. I held my tongue, refrained from pointing out I had chosen it because I liked it. She was appalled when two days into MasterB coming to live with me she visited, thought he was gorgeous and said to me, “Don’t you just love him?” “No,” I answered, “not yet, I’m sure I shall.” Of course I did and do, but I don’t think Wendy ever forgive me for what she saw as my hard heartedness.

Wendy lived in the street parallel to mine. She was shocked the first time she came to my flat, “You can see straight into my living room!” she exclaimed. I agreed I could. One of the things I used to see was Wendy doing her housework. I would know she had one of her favourite musicals playing at full blast as she whirled about with her duster. It used to make me smile. I introduced her to the Dulwich Cattery Christmas Fair and we would go together. The whole cat-ness of it was a delight to her. The bolder resident cats would recognise her as a soft touch, and if she sat there would soon be a cat on her lap. We would browse and buy, but none of our raffle tickets ever yielded the big prize.

The Coronavirus Diaries, 18th October 2022: Calendar Cover Mock Up

I have already got the Master B Ginger Ninja 2023 calendars printed, and some are on their way to various destinations around the globe. They are going quickly, but you have still have a chance of getting one.

The Coronavirus Diaries, 5th August 2022: Belfast

My friend Fiona who I met through the pages of WordPress has succumbed to COVID. We met in her garden yesterday after she had tested positive. I met one of her daughters which was lovely. I have read about her so often and seen so many photos it was delightful to meet her in person. Also met Harry, the dog. Again lovely, big ears, more bark than bite. We got on. Fiona was feeling perky. Not so today. But perky or not she would not have been able to come with me as planned to the Ulster Museum to see the small but perfectly formed Bloomsbury Group exhibition, or the larger and completely wondrous Light from the West exhibition which had me lusting after a Paul Henry painting of a sunrise. Annoyingly the museum has a very small postcard selection for sale, a selection which does not include this painting. Maybe she’ll get to both before they finish.

In 2019 Fiona and I had lunch at a place called Falafel at 9 Botanic Avenue. It was great. Last year, my first time back since the pandemic I took myself there anticipating a good lunch, only to find it very closed. I assumed it was a victim of COVID and lunched at a good, but not as good as Falafel, place a few doors up the road. Going along Botanic Avenue today on the bus I nearly had whiplash when I realised the restaurant was open. I am meeting Petra for lunch tomorrow, and suggested this is where we could eat. She’s agreed, so I am hoping it’s the same management and as good as before.

The Coronavirus Diaries, 25th July 2022, Masked Up

It feels as though the net is drawing tighter and it’s only a matter of time until I am caught in it. Almost every day I hear of someone new who I know catching COVID. All have been vaccinated, all have escaped the virus until now. I am in a group of diminishing size. So I’m back in masks, still opening windows and sitting beside them where possible when I am on the bus, restricting my social life, washing my hands, trying to keep my distance and mainly seeing people outside, which is not hard at this time of year.

Next week, should trains and planes allow, I shall be off to NI for a fortnight, and I really don’t COVID to put a stop to that or to strike me down while I am there. Octavia was telling me of her friend Loris who has flown in from Australia, but far from enjoying a holiday she is laid up in bed feeling dreadful. Allegra went to the US to attend a family wedding. A good friend who accompanied her for the relaxing break they intended to enjoy afterwards, has also tested positive and is very unwell. Jimmy returned from a festival in Croatia , and, well you have probably guessed the rest. My neighbours across the landing succumbed last week. Celia tested positive at the weekend. Mary, who I work with tested positive yesterday.

The Coronavirus Diaries, 25th March 2022

I am not going to talk about the war, or at least not much. Tonight’s news has awoken a flicker of hope that Ukraine may have withstood its powerful neighbour. Withstood may be too strong a word when you see the scenes of devastation in cities which were, just four short weeks ago, full of people going about their daily lives, returning to their homes each evening, cities which are now just so much rubble.

Rebuilding is going to be a mammoth task, not just the physical rebuilding of all those ruined buildings, but the rebuilding of hopes, of normality, of belief in the ordinary humdrumness of life. But compared to Afghanistan, compared to Syria, or Yemen, Ukraine may have a chance at normality sooner rather than later. Girls in Afghanistan refused the right to education were filmed weeping on a day they hoped to return to school. Their ambitions, their future, our future with them playing an active part in it has been placed on hold.

Nazanin Zaghari Ratcliffe has at last been freed, is back with her husband and daughter and is no longer wearing a tag. She spoke at a press conference a few days after she got back. Composed, gracious, assured, articulate, she was apparently insufficiently grateful for some, insufficiently grateful that it had taken six years to get her release, insufficiently grateful to a foreign secretary, now prime minister, who had not bothered to read about her case properly and asserted she was teaching journalism when she wasn’t.

Given a choice between that prime minister and Nazanin I know who’d I’d vote for.

Octavia is on the mend, slowly. Reinhild and Mark have tested positive. I had a PCR as part of the ONS survey. I tested negative. I hope it stays that way.

MasterB has decided he wants to be an outdoor cat. Each evening he meows piteously until I accompany him down to the front door. Then he takes flight. The nervous, unsure ginger who peers out into the street and decides discretion is the better part of valour has been replaced by a boy who, if there is no other cat about, and on occasion even if there is, is revelling in the smells and possibilities of the garden. Getting him in again is a problem. He’s outside now. I’m giving him until I have finished this post before I go in search of him. I really hope he’ll come in readily, and that i don have to catch him. It is wonderful to see him enjoying himself so much, and I don’t want to curtail or discourage that.

The Coronavirus Diaries, 28th July 2021

I can’t say I am comforted by the news about the numbers of people contracting Covid in the U.K.. Right now it seems Northern Ireland has the highest number of cases per capita. That said, I feel very safe here in the country. The rain came as promised today. My shoes are not waterproof, so the dogs had to make do with a game of football in the garden. They are keener on possession than passing, so we had two footballs, two games really. Westie Boy became rather excited, maybe it was the joy of having had his stitches removed. He grabbed my jeans when I moved to play with Poppy, something he has never done before. We played until the next shower and then came in. The vet was impressed with the striped pyjamas Westie Boy is wearing to keep his healing wounds clean. She said he should continue wearing them. Right now he is asleep on a cushion beside me. I am not keen on dressing up cats and dogs, but I have to admit he looks very sweet, and he certainly isn’t bothered by them. Nor does he look like a dog who would actively ran after a bigger dog to pick a fight. Appearances can be deceptive.

Cousin decided I should have a fire, so she lit the wood burning stove, and for much of today I have been feeding it, then retreating to the sofa to watch yet another episode of Baptiste, a series Cousin has got me hooked on. I have the window open, but it’s all rather a contrast with the hot weather of just two days ago. Poppy’s walks have been going well, and Westie Boy has now been given leave to join us. But it was when I was with Poppy alone a few nights ago that I saw the badgers. There were three of them, playing in the driveway leading up to a neighbours house. I think they were probably young. I have looked for them each time I have passed the house since, but no sign.

The Coronavirus Diaries, 20th July 2021

One of the dogs has lots of stitches, the other has put on so much weight since I was here two years ago she looks like a sideboard. You could lay an array of dishes on her back, it’s now so broad.

It’s Westie Boy who has been in the wars. He feels very sorry for himself, but before you start feeling sorry for him too, it was all his fault. He rushed out of the garden a week ago to assault a large dog he has taken a dislike to and came off worst. Apparently the two dogs have been eyeing each other with some hostility for some time, but usually there’s a barrier between them. Westie Boy can’t currently wear a harness or a collar so no walking for him for the moment.