Was in my workshop building raised garden beds today and came across the following from Podcast of the Lotus Eaters on my phone. Warning, it does not make for comfortable listening.
Now if you listen to the pro-trans activists and their shrieks of “Hate Speech! Hate speech! Mommy, mommy stop the nasty man saying horrible things!” This sort of discussion is ‘hate’. My own take on it from 2016 is here in a few pontifications about the notorious bill C-16 compelling people to use made up pronouns.
In my offering I gave the link to a scientific study about ‘transition regret’ and the high level of post operative suicides in people trying to change their sex.
As a side note; during my time training with the UK NHS one of my classmates was keen on forensic medicine and brought in a couple of illustrated textbooks on the subject. One of the things that struck me among the section on suicides was how many of the dead were young and obviously gender confused. A few were autoerotic, but some found dangling from trees or bloated and dead from an overdose were in the throes of transitioning from male to female. Whenever I hear about underage children being encouraged (In schools? WTF!) to experiment with their gender those stark images pop into my forebrain. Wish I’d never seen them in the first place, but I was curious back then and just had to bloody well look, didn’t I?
The main problem, as Carl and Harry discuss, is that transitioning sex is a one way street. Once a person sets off down that road there is often no way back. And that road is also fraught with physical risk. Shortened lifespans, irreversible sterility and elevated diabetes risk to name but three. Never mind the need to take artificially high levels of hormones. But do the activists tell gullible children that? Oh no. The activists are all “Come on in! The water’s lovely!” They omit to tell people the ‘water’ is full of carcinogens and the occasional Candiru fish, metaphorically speaking.
No doubt this blog post constitutes ‘hate’ and not a simple op-ed that points to reputable sources, as well as reflecting on known risks which the activists don’t want widely known. Me, I’d encourage counselling and encourage sexual experimentation rather than entice sexually uncertain immatures into irreversible, high post-operative risk medical procedures. After all, you can decide you are gay or not and physically there’s no comeback if you decide it’s not for you. ‘Transitioning’ is another matter and should be the last option rather than the first.
Right. By popular demand. A post on arthritis pain relief. Bee venom and arthritis. It works.
So far I have had five days significant reduction in inflammation and discomfort in my left knee from one set of stings. The pain that has dogged me for years on and off has basically gone. It’s been quite a revelation.
The ‘science’ says there haven’t been enough studies, but like with a lot of things, the ‘science’ is playing catch up. And I can vouch personally that this is no placebo effect.
As an alternative to getting swarmed, bee venom is present in certain brands of cosmetic as an anti-ageing formula but those are quite expensive. Look it up. Just type “Bee venom arthritis” into your chosen search engine. But it is pricey. ‘Apitherapy’ for example costs over a hundred quid a pop.
Alternatively, if you know someone with beehives, ask them if you can stand near a hive until you get attacked. Or annoy a foraging bee. Whatever works.
However, directly after getting stung, scrape the sting and venom sac off your skin with the edge of a card or your fingernails. Then get the hell our of Dodge. Because when bees sting they not only lose the sting (and their life), but also release a chemical message which says “Intruder alert! Attack! Attack!” It is wise not to hang around a hive or swarm once this happens.
Of course, some out there will have an undesired reaction to getting stung like anaphylaxis. For that I highly recommend that if seeking a sting or two, you take an EpiPen or similar with you, just in case.
Now if you’re not keen on getting stung; try and spike your potassium levels as Dr Berg suggests below. Bananas are a good source. However, there are others.
I got stung. Completely my fault. I was careless. I dropped a Nuc while taking it out of the car. I thought it was securely taped up, but the whole thing came apart in my hands as I picked it up. Next thing I’m running down the field, slapping off enraged worker bees as they kamikaze dive bombed me until I was over fifty yards away.
Tally was twelve stings overall, only one of which caused any real swelling. An hour later, smoker going, I walked back up the field, fully suited up, smelling like a bonfire, looking like an urban spaceman to clear my abandoned car of bees and see whether or not I’d lost a colony.
Fortunately the queen had stayed put and the colony looked mostly intact. I think I perhaps lost about a couple of hundred workers. Phew. So I smoked and carefully put the Nuc back together again and put it next to the hive. I’ll go and give it a visual before moving the Nuc frames into their new hive tomorrow. I may just have gotten away with it.
One observation post stings; I have a touch of arthritis in my left knee. All the discomfort and pain I’ve grown to know and curse has disappeared. Not sure if this was down to me getting stung or last weeks physio session. However, my knee now has no discomfort at all, which is very nice indeed.
In the outside world I see the Davos party is in full swing again with talk of people having a ‘tracking app’ (Which doesn’t and probably never will work) or not enough people having continuous injections for a respiratory virus whose time has come and gone. Neil Oliver has a few words to say with which I wholly concur.
He has a point; who do these m0the#rfuck*rs think they are? If looked at dispassionately the WEF’s meddling can be seen as behind many of the world’s problems. Perhaps they would do us all a favour by looking to their own affairs, and not meddle so blatantly in the lives of others?
As Neil observes, there always has been a social contract between rulers and ruled. Leave the peasants alone or suffer the consequences.
The thing is, most meat eaters don’t really care about what vegetarians do, so maybe if these well-funded activists and meddlers wound their necks in a bit, maybe the world would become a better place. As suggested below.
Matters with the house proceed slowly. Mrs S and I are slightly hors de combat at present, her with a gastric illness and myself with a bout of stress related muscle spasm which has locked up my back. Not much fun while it lasts but all afflictions and difficulties will pass in their own time.
The pills I’ve had prescribed have limited facility, so just by way of an experiment I’m backing them up with plenty of cold steeped green tea and lemon. The quack has told me to drink plenty of water and the green tea and lemon mix makes plain water a little more palatable, at least to me, so for the next month I’m going on the wagon and seeing what happens.
Talking of afflictions, the latest scare to hit the headlines has arrived. Wait for it DEE-DAH-DAAAH!Monkeypox. Okay, Right. How bad is it really? 7 UK cases since 2017. (Update; 20 overall now) Riight. Is it fatal? Ermmm… Not really. How do you catch it? Close proximity droplet infection or via the mucosa.
Indeed all cases reported to 16th May 2022 were men who had sex with men. So if you aren’t a promiscuous gay male or bisexual, I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it. Just be careful who you snog. Besides, it’s not that contagious so your chances of getting covered in those nasty blister like lesions are minimal. So you won’t need a vaccine and masks and lockdowns won’t help one iota. Just keeping your naughtier urges under control will keep you pretty safe. So there. Good news there eh? Right. Disaster averted. Home for tea and medals.
As for that WHO pandemic treaty. Seriously? Putting that much power in the hands of unelected bureaucrats of limited intellect? Whoever thinks that is a good idea needs a large dose of cascara. Then when they’ve (eventually) come out of the toilet, their constipated brains might start to work and they would see all the downsides.
At this point I’ve lost all trust in the powers that be. None of them have a clue, leading the rest of us into the situation that, in to part quote the words of late 19th century writer Elbert Hubbard “just one damned thing after another”. However, I’m sure another ‘crisis’ will turn up to divert attention from whatever cockups the powers that be and click hungry media are trying to bullshit us all to death with.
The problem is, that all the current powers that be have to offer are more problems, not workable solutions. They aren’t interested in fixing the problems of ordinary people, just stumbling from one shitshow to the next. Everyone from the USA to China, it seems, are firefighting by chucking gasoline on the blaze. And the fallout is the worldwide inflation we’re seeing.
Contrariwise Mrs S’s car developed a difficult to trace fault and needed an expensive fix. Fortunately we have a good mechanic nearby, and he knew how to solve the issue long term. All done, but still an additional expense we didn’t need.
However, because of the disparities in exchange rates, I made enough on a recent Dollar to Euro transaction to cover it. Just. Because of the incompetence of Brussels over this Ukraine business, the Euro has been dropping in value faster than the Dollar or Sterling, despite huge amounts of money printing, so overall we’re at least no worse off.
On a more bucolic note, Swallows have arrived and are colonising odd places around our property. I swear, these silly birds have even built one of their mud nests on a power cable (See below) between the electricity meter and the front door. Well, they’re in for a summary eviction when the ESB arrive and the power gets reconnected in two weeks time. I’m happy to let them nest in and around the sheds, but in this particular case I’m afraid they’ve picked the wrong spot.
Well that’s all for now, the great works proceed, we’ll have a house worth living in by the end of June (Or else! Says Mrs S) and I can get back into my own bed at night. Then perhaps my back will settle down. Next!
Mrs S and I elected to take a break recently, mainly because I’ve been so busy working myself to a frazzle that a whole host of old health problems have been cropping up. You know the kind of thing, all the old injuries deciding that they’d like to get together for an old school reunion and say “Hi, remember us you careless bastard.” to the point I’m having to seek medical assistance. So I’m having to wind back my physical activities and rest these bones a little before launching into hanging gates and moving on with the next phase of workshop upgrades.
So I’ve been hobbling a bit, and had to resort to the use of a walking stick. Not terribly dignified, but there you go. The pain has been that significant, and chewing painkillers has become tiresome. However, a nice spa hotel break has taken the edge off the worst, and I’m now seeing a physical therapist. (but only platonically, Mrs S would have my guts for garters- heaven forfend!)
One thing amused me while I was in a pharmacist purchasing a few necessary items to mitigate my plantar fasciitis was an official sign telling people that in order to avoid suffering the worst of a SARS/COV-2 infection, health advice now recommended a daily dose of 3000UI of vitamin D3 to help boost ones immune system. Something I have been advocating for since 2020. Although to be absolutely accurate, I have written that 2000UI of D3 is a more than adequate prophylactic dose, and further note that the studies from the early 1980’s that highlighted possible kidney problems were associated with high calcium content supplements. Ergo that the 640UI maximum was significantly outdated.
It’s nice to feel vindicated. Now the narrative on masks and lockdowns that could not be questioned is being questioned, although somewhat belatedly. And I am standing by my comments about cancelling all ‘COVID fines’. It’s over. Let’s move on with the next self inflicted crisis, although I’d rather be feeling a bit fitter and getting on with putting my bees in. However, that’s a job for over the weekend.
Regarding my bees, I’m quite looking forward to the spate of UFO sightings that will follow my first public outing in a Bee Suit. Could be fun.
Today we’ve had the cleaning of drains, finding out where septic tanks are hidden and built a new garden compost bin. So I’m slightly mucky at the moment, but curiously happy to have done things without having to pay, or wait ages for someone else to do it.
Yes it’s hard work at times, but I don’t mind that, especially as I am motivated to get stuff done. We only moved in just over two weeks ago and we’ve gutted most of the old built in wardrobes, stripped out all the fly and wasp infested spaces, evicted the spiders, fixed and painted walls, organised the trades and warmed this old place up with the help of a propane heater running all night upstairs. Which after the insulators do their stuff tomorrow will no longer be necessary.
One other thing; I’m sleeping better. Despite all the worries about chasing about after getting building works sorted and wondering what to do about our nightmare wiring and eccentric plumbing. For the first time in years once my head hits the pillow I’m out cold for a solid straight seven to nine hours. When awake I’m feeling more relaxed and less likely to strop the razor of my wit, such as it is. It is a novel feeling.
Work is getting done on time, and we were supposed to be getting a brand new sparkly washing machine today. Which for some reason known only to the suppliers, turned into a tumble dryer at delivery. We’d ordered both tumble dryer and washing machine two weeks ago, but had been told the tumble dryer was ‘out of stock’ and we would be informed when it was coming. So it came as a bit of a surprise when what was ‘out of stock’ turned up first.
Which means we’re still washing our smalls in basins for another few days, but at least we can get them dried properly now. No more festooning our damp clothing over the radiators to get them fresh or having to track thirty kilometres to the nearest launderette. Almost.
Which was one of the reasons I was out in the chill unblocking drains this morning. Now I’m damp to the knees, sitting at my keyboard and not giving a bugger about the outside world. War in Ukraine? Pah! Putin’s too clever, he’s a chess player with an eye for the long game. I think in his own subtle Russian way he’s messing with the Biden Administration, performing a little misdirection while he does something else crafty behind their backs. Getting a some payback for the Ukrainians skimming GazProm revenues. Ensuring they can’t do it again. Maybe trying to take advantage of the Turks current economic misfortunes to strike a clandestine deal.
If I am wrong and there is a shooting war, which no-one in their right mind, including the Russians, want, at least we’re in a neutral country and can watch the mushroom clouds from a relatively safe distance. Which reminds me, must pick up seeds and bulbs from wholesalers tomorrow while Mrs S supervises the builders.
Boxes are unpacked, furniture arranged, at least for the interim. Builders engaged, electrician booked, plumber sorted. Oh yes, and the Tree surgeon has been engaged to remove a couple of old Ash trees that have what is called ‘Ash dieback‘
In addition I’ve got to get my head around things like water softener maintenance, insulation grants and Irish agricultural regulations. It’s a bit of a steep learning curve. Then there’s also some patching, making do and mend, and removing several 1980’s vintage built in wardrobes have to be removed. The local spiders have formed a protest movement because I keep on removing their hiding places, but my mate Henry deals with them, and they don’t like that because he really sucks.
Today we’re taking the day off, having disposed of three of our built in wardrobes with all their historic leftovers, like someone’s stash of Irish Porn;
We’ve been lucky in that it’s been a mild week and our new homes lack of insulation hasn’t left us with icicles dangling from every exposed appendage. Fortunately the loft insulation goes in next week which should keep the old place a bit warmer. I’ve only got two more built in wardrobes to remove, all sorts of kit will be flying in and out of the door including a washing machine. Which mean no more trips out just to get our smalls done.
The oven is a mess and has to go to the scrap yard, I’ve managed to clean out the dishwasher and we have a propane heater on low upstairs to drive some of the damp out. Seems to be working.
Then there’s the heating, which is an old (and rather noisy and smelly) kerosene fired system. That has to go. It isn’t that it doesn’t work, it just burns through fuel at a frightening rate and will be replaced by a more modern and economical LNG fuelled heating system sometime this spring. LNG prices tend to be more stable, so at least we won’t find ourselves coughing up half as much again some months for five hundred litres.
We hear that all the restrictions are going to be dropped this side of the Irish Sea. No more “Show us yer papers”, every time you want to enter a restaurant, but oddly enough the wearing of masks will persist, which makes shopping a somewhat bizarre experience. Mrs S and I have a standing pre-mask up joke; “Disguises on Mugsy. I’ll get the stuff, you get the cashier.” Well, it amuses us.
Why keep the masks though? They only encourage mouth breathing which bypasses the immune systems primary gateway, the nose. These rules really are nonsensical. At least from a physiological point of view.
We are evolved primarily to breathe in through our noses, which have all sorts of structures inside to catch and deal with all sorts of lurgi before said pathogens get anywhere near our important little places. Those structures in the diagram are loaded with your immune systems heavy mob, who act as doormen, controlling access to the party town of your bodily particles. Breathing through the mouth bypasses this primary line of defence and lets whatever slips through those pointlessly wide mesh paper filters straight into the more lightly defended mucosa of your mouth and bronchus. Which is what you really don’t want to happen.
I’ve said it before and will repeat myself ad nauseum. Masks and lockdowns have extended the pandemic. Outside of a clinical setting, surgical masks are effectively useless. Lockdowns only serve to keep the infected and non-infected closeted more closely together, thus spreading the disease more effectively. Which has been amply demonstrated over the last twenty months.
Not that I’m bothered. There’s too much to do in our new place. We’re just carrying on like nothing else is happening. The apocalypse will have to wait – we’re busy.
Our move is complete and the tedious business of unpacking our lives begins anew. In between times there was a plague of flies to be eliminated, lists of building works to be agreed and the years projects to be funded and planned for.
Planning is all I’m good for right now. Physically I’m knackered. After a strenuous last few days my bodily particles have all formed a protest movement and gone on a work to rule. My ATP reserves are depleted and I need a solid twelve hours of deep sleep to recover. I can’t even raise the motivation to make silly gags about the latest media-fuelled panic.
That and I’ve got a raging need for protein, raw or cooked. When it comes to times like these, I have learned to trust my body and do what it tells me.
One doorstep bacon butty (Minimal bread, lots of bacon) later I’m starting to feel vaguely human again and may just make it for another four hours until bedtime. At times like these, carbs just won’t do. Cakes, chocolates or sugary stuff for fast energy only makes me extra sleepy. Only bacon or steak can cut it followed by fruit juice (Maybe, beer is also good). I know this from long experience. Don’t ask me what the underlying metabolic process is, but it’s worked since my late teens and that’s all there is to it.
Anyway. Mrs S is suffering too. She has her own remedy at times like these. Sleep, lots of it.
Don’t care what anyone else thinks, but moving money, especially my own and paying large amounts of it to someone else is always stressful. Especially when the other party has all the get up and go of roadkill. Fortunately the people I’ve chosen to do the job are heads up and on the bounce.
Right. My part in the house and land purchase is done. All I have to do is oversee getting the Interweb connected and arrange to fill up the oil tank so we can warm our new place up before the movers do their stuff. The worst is all over bar the shouting, and arrangements are made for the last of the vendors rubbish to be removed, accounts for water and leccy sorted. So, all I have to do is turn up on time to oversee works and stand there looking masterful. All right, stop laughing. I can look masterful when required. Allegedly.
Frankly I’ve begun tuning out all the panicky hand waving COVID stuff. If anyone tries to use it as an excuse not to do things I contract for they won’t get paid, simple as that.
Any whining noises won’t be coming from this end of the house. For my part, recently I’ve had a headache, a minor cough, sense of smell a bit off kilter and felt a bit snotty, but you know what I’m going to do? That’s right. Ignore it. Just like I ignore all minor symptoms. What am I saying?
OH MY GOD! I’VE GOT THE DREADED LURGI! WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE! Full Hazmat everyone! Distribute testing kits! Bill’s got the plague!!!! Emergency! Emergency! AWOOGA! AWOOGA! We’re all DOOOOOMED!!!
Sorry, no idea what came over me there. Take a breath everyone. Panic over. As you were. I’m perfectly fine. A paracetamol took care of the headache, I caught a nap to catch up on the old Z’s and the snottiness and cough disappeared by ten am after a large mug of tea and a couple of biscuits. I’m a great believer in the healing power of a cuppa.
Anyway, there is whiskey, lots of wine and beer left over from crimble, so we’re all good. Apart from Mrs S turning round three or four times a day to say “Bill… have you thought about?” you can hear my eyeballs rolling from over the interweb, can’t you?
That said, there’ll be plenty to do over the next week, but I’m all geared up and as ready as I can be. My office is packed up and ready to go, has been for weeks. As has Mrs S’s. We’ve both been working off the kitchen table, and you know what’s really great? No-one died.
They say there’s no rest for the wicked. Hi ho. If that is true then I must have negative Karma coming out of every orifice because there’s always something clamouring for my immediate, repeat immediate, like do it this minute Bill, attention. It is all, as they say, part of life’s rich tapestry.
Mrs S sent me this video this morning regarding a potential enhanced cancer risk from the mRNA vaccines.
From my rather loose understanding this does not guarantee that the vaccinated will get cancer, but indicates that there may, and I use that word advisedly, be an increased cancer risk because of the way the vaccines mRNA spike protein might interact with the body’s immune system.
On the other hand, if the vaccine needs ‘boosters’ after every so many months and is inferior to natural immunity, then any potential increased cancer risk risk may tail off as the mRNA vaccine loses efficacy after six months to a year and more people brush off a low-level dose of SARS/COV-2.
However, I have heard a number of reports of myo and pericarditis from the younger vaccinated, and even of professional sportspeople dropping dead on the playing field. More than usual. Yet people are being coerced by government into these ‘booster’ shots?
What part of “Maybe this isn’t such a great idea” don’t the powers that be understand? Especially for a virus with such a low mortality rate?
Rough night last night due to some well past sell be date cheese that was undercooked. My bad. As the cook of the household I will not be repeating that error again. Then again I was the only one who suffered, so, non fit, non injuria, eh?
Regarding our new place, the lawyers plod on with their searches and sundry details, so nothing to report there. I’m forced to sit on my hands and trudge through research topics, most of which are like revision, going over the same old ground in the same old way. There will be no house move until the new year.
As for trudging along the same old path, that is rather how I feel about all the politicians pushing the ‘no jab no job’ button. To which so many workers in the ‘health’ sector (and others) are saying “F**k your lousy job. Now where’s my redundancy money?” Because you can’t fire someone without recompense because you’ve arbitrarily changed their contract of employment. Frankly I’ve lost count of the times I’ve simply dumped a demand to ‘sign here’ in the waste bin and ignored the follow up emails. Retrospectively altering terms and conditions without overt consent of both parties beforehand isn’t exactly safe ground, contractually speaking. They can’t really force you to sign to something you don’t agree with. They can put pressure on you, but that skirts perilously close to ‘constructive dismissal’ territory.
As for a mandated third jab. Look, if the first two didn’t work very well, then what’s the point of a third? It’s just doing the same old thing over and over again in hope of a differing result.
I’ve said my piece on the dreaded lurgi and cross-immunitytwice before. SARS/COV-2 is a coronavirus. As are a few variants of the common cold and influenza. Your immune system, if you keep it in good nick with a good mixed diet and moderate exercise in the fresh air, without wearing one of those ridiculous surgical or cloth masks, will, if you’ve already had a coronavirus infection, be ready to pounce on any future interlopers.
I see from my Spectator feed that scientists are suddenly ‘discovering’ cross immunity (Again) and going “Sounds good.” Now forgive me from my simple minded layman’s perspective, but I got taught this basic principle when I was an NHS employee and student over thirty freaking years ago. It’s epidemiology 101 as our transatlantic cousins say. If you get an infection from a specific disease vector, your immune system will be primed to cope with something from the same camp. It will be educated by a previous infection and ready to deal with another, similar infection from the same family of vectors.
So no, I’ve had two jabs, and if they didn’t work then I’m not bothering with a third no matter the sanction. I’ve had my dose of the dreaded lurgi prior to my vaccinations, so I’m immune. A PCR test might find viral fragments in my snotty sinuses, but as for illness, no. Mild food poisoning notwithstanding.
The good news is that ‘North’ is spending the entire festering season with us. We’ll be putting the rest of our disparate clan on our big screen in the front room using screen mirroring via our AppleTV box and Mrs S’s iPad at Solstice, Christmas and New Year. I’ll rig up a stand so her iPad camera is facing in the right direction, and Robert is one’s Father’s sibling. Easy peasy.
The downside is that because ‘North’ is a vegetarian I’m going to have to cook two Christmas dinners simultaneously. However this is not insuperable and is merely, like all cooking conundrums, simple logistics.
Spent time talking to people over the weekend. One guy, an ex-roadie who is one of Localtown’s ‘characters’ and thus up against some pretty stiff opposition let me tell you, was bemoaning the modern ‘Machine music’. He had a point. The sanitised pop music since the 1990’s leaves me yawning, but older stuff, with complex melody lines and interesting lyrics still compares more than favourably with mainstream pop.
Similarly, we spent some time jawing with Colum our landlord. He told us he’s stopped watching TV or listening to the news “Because it’s all madness.” Mrs S and I agreed, having seen the news about the petrol shortage that never was in the UK. I’d bought a copy of the Times, and the front page, apart from being dominated by a murder committed by a copper, carried a complete wind up story about Christmas shortages like there weren’t going to be enough goodies and everyone is going to starve to death over the holiday season and other such nonsense.
Hence today’s earworm; Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen. Freddie Mercury’s covert expression of his newfound homosexuality. Yet the opening lyrics can be used as an expression of the insanity currently enveloping the world.
Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?
Yes, this isn’t real life. Vaccine passports for a disease with a mortality rate far lower than advertised. ‘Green’ politics threatening to beggar whole peoples based on the fantasy, and yes it is a fantasy, of man made global warming. The real science says different.
Caught in a landside, No escape from reality
Superficially the world seems to be in inescapable chaos. Supermarkets and shops short of goods. Panic buying of fuel. Threats of power cuts. There seems no way out. This is our new reality. Yet hang on;
Open your eyes, Look up to the skies and see,
As for the current talk of shortages, the global supply chain is currently disrupted by prolonged lockdowns. Public demand for goods is spiking erratically driven by mainstream media scaremongering. Everyone wants to be a prophet of doom when there is a more sensible answer. See embedded video.
I’m just a poor boy, I need no sympathy, Because I’m easy come, easy go,
For myself all this talk of Christmas being cancelled is just hyperbole. Sure, a few items of cheap Chinese tat won’t struggle into your families stockings this year, but is that such a big deal? Is their love really conditional on getting the latest shiny new electronic toy? Or like me, can you make do with quite serviceable machines? Do I need a sparkly new office chair built in China by slave labour? No? Can I step back from wanton consumerism and watch a few YouTube videos on acquiring new skills and having a little old fashioned fun putting them into action? Why yes I think I can.
Why do we have to spend our time running around the supermarket buying up stuff that will probably end up in the bin? Why do you have to have a mass produced turkey? Why not roast beef, lamb, or pork with crackling (Yum) from your local butcher instead? Or chicken or salmon? I’ve already ordered a 3lb rind on pork joint. No one goes hungry on my watch. Or cold. All it takes is a little forethought. A little budgeting. Anyway, I’m preaching to the choir here, aren’t I?
Little high, little low, Any way the wind blows doesn’t really matter to me, to me
I still have a quarter full catering size bag of Yorkshire tea bought last October which should last us another month. A kilo and a half of coffee beans. The freezer is three parts full, and when people get their act together and stop running around like headless chickens there will be a house move (Yes another bloody house move) to organise.
Think on this; without the protracted lockdowns, this would not be happening. These shortages are all down to big government and their mishandling of what was a moderate health crisis. I say was, because the pandemic has mostly been over since November / December 2020. It was panicking politicians who made the decision to send infectious people into care homes in March / April 2020 and cause biggest spikes in COVID deaths. It was panicking politicians who stood in the way of letting health professionals treat the infected with well established doses of cheap anti-viral drugs. It was panicking politicians who pissed Billions of taxpayer dollars over the sacred cows of nationalised health services. It was they who screwed up and blamed us.
Yet it doesn’t matter to me. The politicians can talk about Winter lockdowns and shortages all they want, but I’m in the system now and I can see how it works and where the workarounds are. Where the back roads are. Who can supply me with barter goods and who we can exchange gifts of real value with. Food, alcohol, goodwill and good fellowship for example.
That said, things should start to settle by March 2022. I hope. However, if that doesn’t work, I can see me digging deeper into my large store of sheer bloody mindedness to get by. But you can take this to the bank; I won’t be bothering with the mainstream press, RTE, or BBC. It’s all clickbait.
As for mask mandates; book plug. James Nestors’ ‘Breath‘ is worth a deep read. Stop breathing through your mouth, use your nose instead, because your nose is a crucial part of your immune system. The old schnozzle could even be compared to having a built in surgical mask. So masks don’t matter. Re-learn the art of breathing and become a healthier person. Personal anecdote; it seems to work.
So I’m not quite gone. Just busy getting ready for when everything frees up. The blog has to take a long second place.
News from down under that Sydney is in lockdown again, further isolating ‘South’ and a need to talk to her whenever she needs to vent. She’s missing her friends terribly poor thing and has even taken to speaking to me directly, not via her Mum to try and keep a grip on things.
From the fabled land of Oz I’ve seen footage of people being ordered off the beach by loudspeaker toting helicopters, being ushered into their houses by the fecking Australian Army for heaven’s sake! Out of the healthy fresh air and back into the bacteria and virus ridden captivity of their houses. For what? 140 positive tests and one attributed death after a positive PCR? That’s just full on, disproportionate, out of your tree batshit crazy.
Going back to my operating theatre training, we had it drilled into us that the average human habitation is a veritable plague pit. Because if you did swab tests of your own living space you would be horrified at the concentration of contagion lurking there. Even if you are incredibly houseproud and everywhere stinks of disinfectant. Bacteria, viruses, fungi and moulds proliferate, and even apparently ‘clean’ surfaces can be as full of spores and lurgi as any outside space. Not a place you want to spend too much time, you old plague carrier you. Because most of the lurgi in the average home has one major source; humans. Sorry. You can’t blame this one on your Dog / Hamster / Goldfish. They get what you got.
As an aside it’s the same for CO2. CO2 levels are much higher within the average building than out. Take a CO2 (Dioxide, not Monoxide) meter and check if you don’t believe me. Then stick it behind your mask. Go on, just do it. Now try it outdoors with your mask off. You might be surprised at the readings.
FYI: A side effect of CO2 in higher concentrations means your cognitive performance can be significantly reduced. Here’s the science. Prolonged exposure to levels over 500ppm means you’re not as quick witted or on your game as you should be. Work in a stuffy office? Check the CO2 levels.
Put simply; wearing a surgical or other mask without additional squirts of oxygen for more than two hours or so increases rebreathing of CO2 to a point where the oxygen content of your blood is reduced. Not to the point of hypoxia, but certainly making you a little more stupid and possibly more compliant than you are naturally.
Ergo, you are safer outdoors taking a brisk healthy walk than lurking indoors with all the sources of infection and increased Carbon Dioxide. Of which you are one. So taking a shower on a regular basis might be a good idea. Some fresh food, a little fruit, and regular time out in the garden or sitting in a open window. Or at work, if you have a regular job, some time away from your desk is a good idea. You are at no more risk at a restriction free workspace than you are at home. Which studies on Supermarket workers from the start of the pandemic have demonstrated.
As for the reduced numbers, my argument for some time has been that we already have herd immunity. The constant reduction of cases, irrespective of vaccine take up and low mortality speaks volumes. The worst has come and gone long since. There is no need for extra vaccines. Only the pantywaist class of professional politician or the under informed think that.
Taking the aforementioned into account, under lockdowns, a strategy last used during medieval times, your risk factor of catching anything indoors is therefore elevated. Like you are more likely to catch the dreaded lurgi in a hospital, because guess what? Hospitals are full of sick people.
This is the simple truth. Not ‘disinformation’. I leave that to the real ‘experts’ in the mainstream of politics and the media. Those with product to sell and for government propaganda to foist on everyone.
In the meantime, my family is shattered. The economy is in tatters, as are our civil rights. I hate it.