Excuse the blogging absence, but we’ve been hosting ‘North’ for the last week and a bit. Our youngest daughter has been with us here in the wilder west of Ireland, putting a smile on our faces and forcing the household to go vegetarian for a week, but that’s no bother as she does eat fish. So it wasn’t really an issue, although I must confess to being all Salmoned out.
There have been times over the last pointless eighteen months when we despaired of ever seeing her again, but the simple joy of her saying “Gimme a hug” at the airport lifted a huge weight from our shoulders.
To hell with the politicians and their silly lockdowns, masks and ‘vaccine passports’. If ever introduced to one such, I will ask them pointedly if they were for or against lockdowns. If against, they will receive a handshake and me saying; “So why did you not speak out more loudly?” If for, then I will withhold my hand and spit in their foetid, narrow minded eyes before walking away.
What I have loved about the last week is that we got to greet a much loved family member in person. You simply cannot put a price on such events. However, I will never forgive those who have repeatedly extended lockdowns and mask mandates for the damage they have done. I may run out of spit.
Notwithstanding, last night ‘North’ went back to her London flat, much to our regret. She filled out all the right forms, went through all the pointless motions and walked away from us into a near-deserted airport.
An empty airport is a strange thing to see. Like some huge, lonely creature staring aimlessly out across the landscape, mourning the life and human activity that it is denied. Despite all the mock-cheerful “Glad to see you back!” and “Welcome!” billboards, there is still a long, low sadness that hangs over such places like bad weather. Airports, in spite of what anyone might think of the security theatre and interminable queues, are still a place for human interaction, of greetings and goodbyes, no matter how brief. A place of living, not as at present, of a kind of living death.
We’re a global family. Spread all over the world from England to Australia. Wrested asunder on the flimsiest and most overblown of pretexts. First a virus with less than a 1% mortality rate, and now ‘global warming’ (Again). Neither of which are valid reasons, even if the latter is patently false. All of these doomsday predictions come from a faction of mathematical modellers who aren’t fit to compile a basic spreadsheet. People who seem never to set foot outside of their centrally heated offices, or they would have noticed how brief Summers are becoming.
Unfortunately now the principle has been established, only the privileged will be allowed to travel freely, the rest of us will be discouraged from doing so.
So ‘North’ has gone home. The upside of which means steak is back on the menu as of today. Pass the Dijon mustard. I’ve had a bloody good week.