Covid Confidential

I drove to Portishead today. I took the M5 motorway which seemed ‘normal’, as in what it is like on a normal day, if any of you have memories of what that feels like.

First call was the laughably named Sugar Loaf beach. It almost sounds faintly exotic, but it is anything but. A slip way, a gravelly, gritty beach over which washes the brown, sludgy waters of the Bristol Channel, in which some people were swimming. It wasn’t as warm as Bristol because of a gentle sea breeze and the beach wasn’t especially busy, either. There was, however, the delightful odour of urine from the back of the local yacht and sailing club, which was being used as a lavatory by all and sundry. Classy.

I moved onto the lake grounds. If Sugar Loaf beach was relatively quiet, the lake grounds were rammed. Although the actual sea front was closed off, it didn’t stop people parking around the cricket pitch and outfield. I didn’t get out of my car, not least because it was obvious that social distancing was now a thing of the past, at least in Portishead. I have never seen it so busy, not even on a summer weekend.

The High Street looks weird. There is lots of traffic but hardly anything is open. But then, you could say that about pretty well anywhere.

I dropped off briefly in Clifton on the way home to see son number two. The Downs were not particularly busy and many were observing social distancing. It was a peaceful, relaxed scene to be honest. Whiteladies Road and Blackboy Hill were anything but quiet. When the pubs reopen, here like everywhere else is going to gridlocked. I was glad to get home in the end, even if I accidentally tuned into the awful Mary Anne Hobbs on BBC 6 Music, the worst and most irritating DJ ever.

easyJet cancelled our Dubrovnik flights today. That’s our main holiday of the year buggered but if we all get through this year in one piece that’ll do for me. Ridiculously, it’s actually warmer in Bristol today than it is in Dubrovnik, as well as in the Greek islands. It won’t stay like that, obviously, but it’s fun while it lasts. I can’t remember a lovelier spring than this. In fact, since our semi-lockdown started in March, it’s barely rained at all. You know what this means, don’t you? We’re in for the usual grim July and August. I’m afraid this is the law.

Matt Hancock says he believes the “vast majority of people” will self-isolate if told to. Dream on, Matt. I’ll interpret the rules my way, thank you very much. If I get the call, I’ll go for a test but if that test is negative, I’ll carry on as I am doing now; keeping a respectful distance from other folk and so on, but I am not, repeat not, staying inside my house for 14 days. Dominic Cummings has gotten away with blatantly taking the piss and whilst I won’t take the piss, I’ll carry on trying to live my life as I am doing now.

I’m looking forward to Prince William’s BBC show tonight, Football, Prince William and our mental health. COVID-19 is driving many of us up the wall at the moment, including many people who have never had mental health issues. So to hear William speaking out on the subject is encouraging.

I think he’s genuine, too. I can’t believe the death of his mother in such tragic circumstances didn’t affect him. It is very clear the damage it caused his brother, Prince Harry. However, I don’t buy all this “It’s okay to be okay” because it really fucking isn’t. It would only be okay to not be okay if there was some treatment available to help you feel okay again, but there isn’t. I waited 15 months on an NHS waiting list not that long ago and I’m guessing my latest referral will take at least as long. “Nothing is happening in the NHS apart from COVID-19,” explained someone who called himself a Social Prescribing Link Worker when he called me earlier today. But don’t worry, I didn’t reply. It’s okay because I am not okay. I’ll just stick with being not okay. Thanks for that.