Week 22: Pestilence

Fate, Chaos and Pestilence are sitting on a log in one of the Circles of Hell. Fate looks troubled.

”He’s been writing about us you know?”

Chaos raises an eyebrow quizzically, causing a small herd of Tibetan yacks high up in the Himalayas instantly to turn purple.

“He? You mean the family on the receiving end of last week’s Special Treatment? Hmmm, this is not how it should be”. He drums his fingers in agitation. As he does so, Monsieur Carre, driving along the D660 out of Saint-Cernin-de-l'Herm, suddenly finds himself in a heavy shower of confused newts with a dazed cow as a passenger.

Pestilence smiles. I don’t know how familiar you are with Pestilence, but smiling is Not A Good Sign.

“I’ve got this one sorted already lads”, she says. “Remember we set the man up with a little stomach trouble at the end of the last week? Ha ha ha!”

”HA HA HA!” all three laugh.

And the world wobbled a little on its axis, causing dozens of visitors strolling along Marine Parade in Clacton to discover the true meaning of marine.

And so it came to pass, dear chums, that week 21 can best be described as A Bit Shit.

You may recall at the end of last week’s blog we had just discovered the joy that is an Alfred Prasad recipe (Murgh Makhani). A new family record was set in that everyone liked it, and the kids polished off the remains for their lunch next day. I’m not saying they are picky, but BT (Boy Teenager) has a list of things that he will eat that would fit on a small postcard posted by Mr Small from Smallsville. And these requirements change from week to week. Six weeks ago it was all meatballs in tomato sauce. Now? Don’t like them (related: freezer full of meatballs. Anyone want a pack?). Hey ho, it‘s all part of his Anxiety. When he is on better form, his taste-range and texture-sensitivity become closer to normal, but at the moment he is a bag of worry which we are trying to second guess. Seems the change from the routine of lock-down is messing with his head. He is though still going out to the park once a week with a few mates and has discovered the joy of basketball (we now have an eight foot high hoop in the garden to add to the goal and trampoline. And no grass. The groundsman is unable to keep up with the beating taken by the what-was-once-a-lawn-but-is-now-a-dust-bowl).

Fate, Chaos and Pestilence are back on their log discussing the state of things. Fate looks troubled.

“I know you’ve upset the man’s stomach a bit Pestilence, but it’s not had much of an effect and they all seem ... happy”.

Chaos smiles. ”I’ve sorted that. Watch what happens when the man completes his daily Covid-19 symptoms report”.

And so it came to pass that I completed the daily on-line Covid-19 symptoms survey only to find that stomach ache and The Trots are Covid symptoms, although not primary. This lead to a bout of Thinking Nervous Thoughts. I couldn’t have The Covid could I? I decide not as there is nothing else to suggest it.

And then the e-mail arrived from King’s College, which is running the study.

”Dear Mr H, Please would you get yourself tested for The Covid. You don’t have primary symptoms, but it will help our research. Thanks, Love Kings”.

Bugger.

I decided a Home Test was the one for me. Didn’t fancy a visit to a test centre where people with the Actual Covid have been. Might catch it. I ordered one (seems any old Tom, Dick or Al can get one) and it arrived next day.

Bugger.

The funny thing about swab test for the Covid is that it increases your belief that you have it and suddenly additional symptoms appear. I was convinced I’d got a sore throat (well yeah Mr H, you shoved a swab so far in you re-created the stomach scene from Alien) and that my eyes were runny (wouldn’t be that you pushed the same swab so deep into your nose you could feel it touch the back of your skull?). And temperature ... I’ve had to replace the battery in the medical thermometer as I used it so many times (surely my temperature was higher than 36.5 degrees?). And so the test was done and posted and the nervous wait started.

Gin, so called because she’s heard that each glass adds a minute to your life span and has passed the plus 10 years mark, had been taking all of this in her (short) stride up until the point. But Chaos is clever. I casually asked Gin to remind me when she and her sister (Piggy) are going up to Scotland to see Auntie F? Nine days time. Inside the 14 days self-isolation that a positive test will require then. Tumbleweed. And then much drinking of gin. What else is a girl supposed to do in such circumstances?

Talking of girls, GT (Girl Teenager) seems to have had a decent week. Witchy Mary’s magic (or drugs) has helped hugely (I wonder if Witchy can sort out dodgy stomachs?) and GT has been happier. She’s even taken to playing basketball in the garden with BT; an extraordinary turn of events as their communication usually consists of grunts, and GT’s idea of exercise is moving from her bed to a sofa.

By the time Saturday arrived, the Dudgeon Level was set to High. Scottish trip contingencies were being considered and my Coast-to-Coast ride in a fortnight’s time seemed to be at risk. Fate was having a ball.

Pestilence though must have been feeling left out. Her Aztec Two-Step bug was really a minor inconvenience, leaving the recipient feeling a bit queasy and needing a couple of lavatorial visits a day. And so she activated the time-delayed Ring of Fire option, and Oh My God. Through the small hours into Sunday morning a localised drought order was put in place in Coulsdon to accommodate the volume of cistern water that was being used. Unable to sleep, I became convinced that this Must be The Covid and at 5.30am pulled out of the golf competition that I foolishly imagined I might be playing in four hours later.

Finally at 6.10am I managed to sleep.

At 6.13am I was woken by a text message. From the NHS.

“You recently had a COVID-19 test“ it started. Just reading that was enough to cause a tightening of the buttock cheeks. Not something a man in my condition needed.

”Your test result is negative”

Hallelujah and praise the Lord! I celebrated by rushing to the toilet.

And so here we are at the end of week 21. It’s fair to say that we are all hoping that in week 22 Fate, Chaos and Pestilence will spin the globe and stick a pin in to find another set of unsuspecting victims.

I hope it isn’t YOU.

Love & elbow-grease,

Mr H

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