The Rule of 6. The Spanish Inquisition? A docudrama on the Chinese Communist Party? No, it’s Bojo’s latest catchy one-liner to encapsulate all the Covid restrictions and make it easier for the great unwashed to understand what we can and can’t do. Previously only two households could get together under one roof. Now six individuals from six different families can party their little heads off, thereby quadrupling the chances of cross infection. I am neither a mathematician nor a statistician (thank God), so my arithmetic might be a little out but the principle is correct. Of course that’s only if you are in England. In Wales, where previously you didn’t have to wear a face mask, unlike the rest of the Disunited Kingdom, you do now have to don the burka on Monday, Wednesday and Friday if you live in an odd numbered house and on Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday if your accommodation boasts an even number. This will now be legally enforceable and fines will be dished out; but not by the Covid Stewards who are being recruited to police this, because they won’t have any status in law. Also, if you have a legitimate health issue that makes wearing a mask uncomfortable, you don’t have to. But who knows whether you are an asthmatic or a back-slider? If you live in Scotland, the Rule of 6 doesn’t apply because whatever Nicola Sturgeon says goes. Unless you are one of the twenty thousand people who live on the Shetland Islands and are pushing for independence from Scotland. You will probably do exactly as you please. As the Islands are closer to Norway than Scotland you’re probably better off being Norwegian anyway.
This chaotic situation has hit our shores this week, with daughter Tiggy going down with a really nasty sniffle, that at one point saw her temperature soar to 37 degrees. This life threatening condition raised all sorts of alarm bells and she has been forced into isolation until the results of her test are known. The rest of her year group bubble are also in isolation. It’s quite right and proper that the school takes these precautions, but this is only the second case since schools returned. What happens when all the seasonal cold bugs and flu hit? “Testing” is the answer proclaim BoJo and Matt Hancockup. Great, only when I tried to organise a test (either at home or in the Outer Hebrides) there were none available. “Please try later”. One person on the radio this morning had tried sixty times and counting. Under the Rule of 2 (Bojo and DomCum) Schools are apparently a priority and so they should be. But unless this changes quickly and dramatically our places of learning are going to end up as steaming piles of horse manure. Please forgive the vernacular but the incompetency of Captain Cockup and Field Marshal Lord Johnson of BoJo Land causes one’s blood to boil; or at least get pretty hot.
I must apologise to my loyal reader for the dearth of written material this week. I could offer all sorts of excuses but the truth is I’ve been distracted writing my first novel, The Drifter. It’s a toss up whether or not this gets completed before the Grim Reaper calls…..whenever that may be. I was also away for a couple of days staying with old friends, one of whom is a ham radio operator, amongst many other varied and unusual talents. It was intriguing to see someone still using morse code. He can write and receive at thirty five words per minute which strikes me as being quite impressive. Personally I get my dots and dashes in a terrible muddle. We did, however, record a short podcast with the potential for commercial gain.
One other family thrill to report this week. Son Oliver, who used to be an exceptional swimmer but nowadays can’t be bothered, was forced into the pool to compete in the Inter House competition. Wearing rugby shorts (why?), he won his two races of backstroke and breaststroke, against some boys who compete and train regularly. Cudos for him you would think, but not enough to encourage a return to the pool. Video games won’t wait!
ADayInTheStrifeOf 