The Coronavirus Diaries 16th September 2022: Boosted

I had my booster vaccine today. It began with an M but I have forgotten its name already. Funny to think that when the vaccines first came out we learned their names overnight and compared notes on what we knew about them. Now I just want to know if I am going to have an adverse reaction.

The vaccinator – a new word to me today – asked me to expose my arm. That’s the first time I have heard that phrase. It made me laugh. He looked surprised, then laughed too. Apparently he’s been saying it for days and only when I laughed did he think it sounded odd. In future he’s going to ask people to roll up their sleeves.

In the last few days I have decided my sitting room needs redecorating. It’s not a task I relish, and I shall certainly employ someone to do it, so probably not this side of Christmas. after exposing my arm I walked to the Old Kent Road and a branch of B&Q to pick up colour samples. I had been thinking pale grey, but they all seem either too grey or too pale. My thoughts are drifting towards white. The walls are off white now, but quite which off white I don’t recall. I’ve tucked the various cards under picture frames, and lost one behind the sideboard, to stare at over the coming weeks.

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Nadiya Begum, Our New Sweetheart; Can She Save the NHS?

I caught up with the final. Someone I was with while working on Wednesday night knew in advance but had been sworn to secrecy. I didn’t want to know. But once home, and MasterB cuddled and then released into the night, I settled down and watched.

What a perfect end to the day. And in the next few days, so many many people, including Clive James, revealed themselves as Nadiya fans. Though not the Daily Mail. I always think the subtitle of the Mail should be Spleen, and carry a health warning. The mission in life of this paper seems to be to point accusing fingers, find fault, cause division.

Often I work with people from the US. I have been baffled by comments they sometimes make about the NHS, as though to be admitted into hospital here is a sure fire ticket to the grave. Now I find that NHS bashing articles from the Mail are routinely republished in the US.

Ah.
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Shiraz or No Shiraz?

Bake Off over, Go Nadiya! My she’s doing well. If I knew how to place bets, I might put a tenner on her each way. I think that’s a betting term.

Soup that I didn’t get ready in time cooking on the hob, glass of extremely nice South Australian Shiraz on the book table just out of reach. Angove Heavyweight for those of you who know about these things. Which would not include me.

Fitting it’s Australian, because that, as far as I can make out, is where Ocsober began. In fact, there seem an extraordinary number of months in Australia where my Antipodean cousins are encouraged to forswear the demon alcohol. I can’t imagine why.
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