My senses are in turmoil, scattered in rotting piles of confusion. Outside, the gang mowers are giving College Field its first haircut of the new year and yet more surprisingly, the hand mowers are already preparing the square for cricket. This despite a howling gale, bitter enough to make Whitbread jealous and the smoking entrails of Storm Ciara threatening to unload yet more unwanted and violent precipitation. If nature is so confused what hope have I?
Did you know that roughly 8,000 people die from flu every year in Britain? That’s over four times as many as die in road traffic accidents; the recent average is about 1,770 deaths in these islands. Compare that with Libya, which boasts the worst rate in the world at 73.4 per 100,000 people. In Britain, that would amount to 48,444 (roughly) people killed per annum. Anyway, the point is, flu is a major killer, especially for the elderly and infirm. As yet then, Coronavirus (sorry I haven’t cracked the new name yet) is a mere drop in the oggin. It’s amazing though, what publicity can do. Here in Eastbourne I suspect people are feeling particularly vulnerable because of the outbreaks in nearby Brighton and Worthing. How much easier life would be if we knew nothing. Instead of curling up into balls of stressed scarediness, waiting for the fickle finger of fate to point at us, we would just get on with our peaceful lives, blissfully ignorant of the dangers until struck down by the virulent enemy. With luck, we would then enjoy a day or three in bed being pampered by our loved ones (I can but dream) before bouncing back full of energy and bonhomie ready to face the next issue we are totally unaware of. I am rapidly coming to the conclusion that we should not just ban all social media, but all news media, full stop. They say ignorance is bliss.
A very venerable friend of mine in South Africa, spends a significant part of each day avidly scouring every inch of newsprint and then rails against all the injustices, corruption, crime and other foul things that papers find important to report. His doctor is convinced that it would be so much better for him if he just went out and played golf (at which he is still extremely good in his eighties), chewed the cud with his buddies at the bar, read novels about Ancient Greece and watched endless editions of Pointless. Fretting about the terrible state of the World is not going to make his last few years on earth any happier, in fact quite the reverse.
As I write, I am listening to a wonderful concert with Kiri Te Kanawa and Jeremy Irons performing the classic songs from My Fair Lady which perhaps accounts for my flights of fancy and total absence of reality.
ADayInTheStrifeOf 