The bad news today is that today a nurse injected a microchip into my arm, enabling Bill Gates, who invented COVID-19, to keep an eye on me all day. Bill will have access to my shopping delivery details, he will be able to watch me watching TV and, of course, he will be able to observe my visits to the bathroom. If any of these conspiracy theories are proven to be right, Bill’s life is about to take a turn for the worse.
Hopefully, mine is about to get a little better and, potentially a little longer, because I’ve just returned from Southmead Hospital after receiving my first dose of the COVID-19 jab. I went along with my usual collection of old jokes (“Just a little prick”, “Yes, but it is cold today” etc) and a relatively new one where I would jokingly insist on having the British vaccine rather than some foreign one, as some senior folk around the country have apparently demanded. As soon as I was given the consent form, the words Pfizer BioNTech were at the top of the page. Bloody Turks, migrating to Germany, saving millions of lives.
I was quickly summoned to Cubicle 1 where a wonderful nurse went over a few basic questions, one of which sadly wasn’t, “You don’t look that old!” and soon she was injecting me with a clear liquid which, if taken by enough people, will help the world get back to normal.
The needle looked as if it might stun a horse but I literally didn’t feel a thing. Bill Gates’ microchip was safely in my arm and I was led to another room where I was to sit for 15 minutes, to ensure I didn’t have a negative reaction to the vaccine. I didn’t. I was handed an appointment time for the booster shot and that, as they say, was that. As hospital visits go, this was the most painless to date.
I’d recommend the jab to anyone. And I hope Bill Gates enjoyed looking at the Cornish pasty I had for dinner as much as I enjoyed eating it.
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