I got the call, booked my slot, rode the bus to the next-door village of Poringland and joined the orderly queue at the COVID-19 vaccination hub at the Community Centre. Friendly, fast and efficient, I was in, jabbed and out within five minutes – no messin’. The NHS really know how to run this kind of thing. Some people who get the Oxford AstraZeneca shot report flu-like symptoms for a while. Not me, I just got a slightly sore arm and a bit of swelling. Roll on jab number two – and freedom. A shot in the arm is just what we all need right now.
As further confirmation of my inevitable slide towards the slab, a bowel cancer screening test kit dropped on the mat – part of the national programme to regularly screen everyone over 55. It was back in 2016 that I endured the pain in the arse procedure at our local hospital. Five years on and the quacks are back for a second poke around. This time, though, it doesn’t involve a rear view camera, just a stick and a bottle.
As we all know, the NHS is under unbelievable pressure right now due to the pandemic knocking it for six. But it’s not quite ‘all out’ yet. I, for one, remain eternally grateful that my own health is in such capable, dedicated hands. Thank you!
What a year. Who would have predicted that 2020 would have brought a pandemic to strike us down and trash the global economy? Unsurprisingly, the coronavirus dominated the pansy charts this year. And there was death too but not because of the virus. Professionally, I lost a fellow author in a horrific murder and, personally, I lost my oldest friend to a sudden and totally unexpected cardiac arrest. But then came the COVID-19 survivor close to my heart and a birthday milestone, both of which brought some hope and happiness to a tragic year best left behind.
Despite the hurricane that swirled around us, Liam and I have been incredibly fortunate and life remains calm and peaceful. We know how lucky we are. The pansies remain forever perked.
Ladies and gents, both, neither and all those in between, I give you top of the pansy pops for 2020.
The most popular image of 2020 was this fuzzy black and white photo of my old primary school in Malaysia during my army brat years. Usually it’s something smutty or a hunk in the buff.
Mountbatten Primary School
2020 was a write-off but do I see more hopeful times for the New Year? I think so but then I’m an eternal optimist. Clearly, the vaccine will be centre-stage. With a bit of luck and a fair wind, life should start returning to normal. Wishing us all a safe and sane 2021.
Sitting pretty on the edge of our little village in a green and pleasant corner of old England lulled us into a false sense of security. Despite the chronicle of death on the nightly news, we thought the COVID-19 pandemic would simply pass us by. That was until we got the awful news that one of our nearest and dearest was struck down by it. It really was a close run thing for a while but he survived. And his message of thanks to his living angels got him on the radio.
Liam is mended enough to return to work (at a doctor’s surgery, ironically). Broken ribs are a nasty business and it’ll be months before he’s fully repaired. In the meantime, he’s popping the pills to get him through the day (and particularly the night). It reminds me that, during our midriff years, we need to do what we can to keep ourselves match fit for the future. No one wants poor health to spoil their twilight years. At my annual MOT last year, the quack told me to watch my glucose levels or I’d be on the road to diabetes town. This stark warning spurred me on to move more and eat (and drink) less. Twelve months on, I’ve dropped over a stone and my glucose levels are almost back to within normal range. So it’s a little less sugar and spice and everything nice – except for Christmas, of course, when all bets are off.
Perking the Pansies 