The Coronavirus Diaries, Wednesday 25th March 2020

MasterB is one the sofa behind me – I am in my usual subservient position on the floor – and he’s snoring. The world may be going to hell in a handcart, but My Boy remains blissfully ignorant. That is only right because our current crisis is entirely human made. That’s globally human, or more properly, greedy exploitative humans who view the world as their personal breadbasket. So no, I am not blaming China, though an astonishing number of people who ought to know better are. I don’t include DJ Trump in that, because even if he did know better I would expect some sort of disgusting xenophobic blame game from him.

As is now my routine, I stayed at home most of the day. I did some shopping which included items for Celia and Charlie so braved the Walworth Road. I admit after reading this in the Guardian online I was worried. The market in the photograph it mentions is my local market’ The Walworth Road is the road at the end of my street, the one I wrote about yesterday with the too close queuers. So hardly surprising I delayed and delayed going out to buy some necessities- mushrooms, bread, tofu, capers – the usual sort of vegan stuff. Had I not committed to get a few things for Celia and Mr Celia I might not have got out of the door.

The Incomparable MasterB

I headed up the road for the tofu, past the supermarket with a longer, closer queue than I liked, past the post office which made me think the package I was carrying to post for Great Niece Number Two would be coming home with me. Most fellow pavement users were doing the same dance, slaloming from side to side to avoid close contact, slowing down to let some one get ahead or speeding up the someone was too near. A few insouciant types just ploughed through the middle, leaving waves of distress at the possible fallout from their behaviour. Celia wanted tofu too. Upon enquiry I discovered this was because she has liked the sound of the scrambled tofu to which I am somewhat addicted. Continue reading

Silence

Ian McMillan started it. He was on Desert Island Discs on Sunday, and he chose Stockhausen’s four minutes thirty-three seconds of silence as one of his tracks, though for obvious reasons they couldn’t play the whole thing on Radio 4. But it got me thinking. And listening. So all week, on and off, I’ve been tuning out and tuning in.

Yesterday I was at Westminster Abbey for the opening of The Field of Remembrance. Continue reading