But I’m being visited again by that vague uneasy feeling in my gut
The one that waved that flag about lockdown
And the horrible, horrible isolation, lockdown brought with it.
My family was due to get together on Christmas Day.
Despite lateral flow tests and pragmatic plans one sister will not be there.which is a shame even though it’s understandable.
Luckily she lives in the same town as my elder sister so visiting both will be possible on the day
But omicron has left a nasty taste in the mouth
Similar to that low level anxiety turbulence gives you on a transatlantic flight
Or that snow storm when you a driving home on a Sunday night in the dark.
Choir is meeting back on zoom tomorrow night and I will be there before I go to work.
And I’m still wanting to go to the Liverpool Philharmonic on Thursday night although am awaiting discussion with a friend to confirm.
Other planned meets with other friends have been poisoned and cancelled
and I’m facing four days off work after my nights potentially with nothing to do.
A lovely colleague from work has just messaged with an invitation to a get together and prioritising my family meet means that I have had to decline the offer
I just hate feeling that we are all walking backwards again.
I hate it .
But we have to be pragmatic and flexible don’t we?
No need for tantrums ….that’s not going to make the hospital scan be organised any quicker even though it may be cathartic in the short term to yell at the woman in the Santa hat sitting on reception.
Yet again we all have to hike up our bra straps and pulls those tits up to attention
And get on with things.
I’ve just texted Gorgeous Dave with the suggestion of a walk instead of a pub visit on Christmas Eve
Pottery may be quiet on Wednesday and I may be able to finish my spoons off in a deserted corner by the kiln
It’s past 2 am .and so far we are having a peaceful night all told
So different to the one we slogged through last night for sure.
God were we all knackered this morning.
In the office , our nurses’ Christmas tree is surrounded by secret Santa gifts and it feels hopeful and positive and above Ive posted the village Male Voice Choir singing Bette Midler’s The Rose
I remember seeing her live the song in a performance at Radio City New York around a decade ago.
She was quite the old trouper even back then.
I feel like that old trouper somewhat tonight.
I bit jaded with omicron,
A bit disappointed with more cancellations and plans changed
But buoyed up by Middler’s last verse chutzpah
When the night has been too lonely And the road has been too long And you think that love is only For the lucky and the strong Just remember in the winter Far beneath the bitter snows Lies the seed that with the sun's love In the spring becomes the rose.
For the past seventeen years, there has been a political programme on the BBC called "The Andrew Marr Show". Aired on Sunday mornings, the show included searching interviews with a wide range of politicians from Tony Blair to Barack Obama and from Vladimir Putin to Boris Johnson.
It was of course hosted by a fellow called Andrew Marr, a Glasgow born intellectual now aged sixty two with the fearless doggedness of, well, a dog. He was not one to be fobbed off or accept deviation. He grilled them all as though he were Sherlock Holmes in pursuit of Moriarty.
in January 2013, Marr suffered a life-changing stroke but managed to fight himself back into shape and returned to the programme later that year - albeit with a severely weakened left side.
I watched all of his final show, including the interview with Britain's current Health Secretary, Sajid Javid. At the end of the programme, Andrew Marr's last words on camera were, "You stay classy San Diego!" echoing Ron Burgundy in "Anchorman".
Of course "Anchorman" was comedic but "The Andrew Marr Show" was always pretty serious. However, like Ron Burgundy, Andrew Marr was also an anchorman of sorts. It was a perfect way to sign off and maybe it contained a faintly veiled message - Let's not take ourselves too seriously.