Month: February 2022

February Flash Fiction – Lens Lovers

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 14 Comments

‘…so next week it’s back in the hall; of course you can wear masks if you feel more comfortable doing so and the chairs will be spaced out.’

The chairman’s announcement was greeted positively by most members at the zoom meeting of the Lens Lovers camera club. Down in deepest Devon the local village hall was slowly coming back to life with activities, from Beavers to barobics, that had last been enjoyed early in 2020.

Paul Gibbons, New Member of the Year 2021, was horrified by the news, how was he going to get out of this? That he was a brilliant photographer was never in any doubt, all the images he shared on screen were his. The travels financed by his ill gotten gains had provided the opportunity to snap polar bears before they snapped him as he liked to joke. He did not mention that he was in a helicopter at the time. From the sands of Namibia to the trains of Siberia, from the Antarctic research station to local Devon scenes, he had tantalising tales for show and tell and had given regular talks far more interesting than their guest speakers.

It was Paul’s mother who had passed on the link to Lens Lovers’ zoom meetings; a friend from the old holiday home days had thought she might be interested. She wasn’t, she never wanted to see a camera again after her husband’s photography fatality, but she thought it would be an excellent diversion for her son during his lockdown. She had assumed he would tell the members he didn’t actually live in Devon.

Paul had not intended to deceive the club, but he had looked up their website and saw members had to live within a fifteen mile radius of the village hall to join, even for zoom meetings. At the time it had been a bit of a laugh, but he had become pathetically addicted to the fortnightly meetings. The many photos of socially safe lockdown rugged walks brought back childhood memories of more innocent times and then later the happy family holidays with his now ex wife and estranged children.

Zoom camera club hardly compared with his world wide adventures, but it was more exciting than Facetime with his mother and the weekly ‘Moving Forward’ sessions with the group. With digitally produced scenic backgrounds anyone on Zoom could be anywhere and his tropical island setting gave no clue to the cramped misery of his bleak bedsit.

Paul put on a smile for the squares of friendly faces as he rubbed his chafed ankle.

‘Yes, great news, though I might not be at every meeting, I think it’s time I booked a holiday.’

‘Oh well done Paul, does that mean you’re in remission?’

For a moment he wondered what Barbara was talking about, then remembered he had implied he had Multiple Sclerosis to explain why he had not been on the local outdoor shoots for fit, covid free members. Why had he mentioned holidays, he could have got away with implying he was still CEV, clinically extremely vulnerable. Though last week he had lied that he had just had his fourth vaccination.

‘Lucky you’, said Eddy, the oldest member ‘the only place I’m going is down Memory Lane.’

‘Well we are looking forward to meeting you in person Paul’ urged the chairman ‘and the hall is very disabled friendly, no trouble with your wheelchair and you can bring a carer, even if they are not a member.’

‘Oh thanks, all being well then…’

The only place Paul would be going on holiday was Memory Lane.

He glanced down at his electronic ankle tag, as if it might have miraculously disappeared. Even if he was living in Devon and not hundreds of miles away in a dreary city suburb, his curfew did not allow him out in the evenings.

Twosday – a Tale of Two Tiles

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 35 Comments

Nothing much happens on Tuesdays, except perhaps a special date. Today is 22-2-22, but if I don’t hurry up and post this it will be Wednesday, except in the Americas where it will still be Tuesday, but written 2-22-22.

 The previous few days were more eventful as we had three storms in a row. Since the Met Office started naming storms we seem to have them more often, the aim being to make us take them seriously. On Thursday we were still thinking ‘not a nuther storm coming, up to E already, Eunice…’

But soon we were receiving RED warnings! Yes, just when you thought it was safe to go out again after Covid / chemotherapy / knee operation / kidnap by aliens – delete as appropriate, we were being instructed to stay home again.

‘Yellow, amber and even the most severe red warnings are in place for vast swathes of the United Kingdom – from Inverness to the Isle of Wight – for Friday.’

Our local council announced that almost everything would be closed on Friday. Team H deferred their long weekend visit, just like lockdown again, then cancelled as we heard that Eunice was to be followed by Storm Franklin and perhaps Gladys…

Friday dawned fair…

Friends and families warned each other ( well me ) not to go out to see the sea. I thought I would pop out to the recycling bin, but the front door nearly blew off. The front and side of our house takes the brunt of the prevailing south westerly and a record wind speed of 122 miles per hour was recorded on the Isle of Wight, as the wind wended its way to our house.

Unless you live in solitary splendour in the countryside you are probably very close or joined to your neighbours.  It was our neighbour who alerted us to tiles fallen off our roof, just missing their car. Only two tiles lost and one loose, but up high…

A good while ago it was the neighbours the other side who had major building work done to their house with the scaffolding in our driveway. The builders inadvertently broke one of our tiles, but how lucky was that because they fixed it and had four tiles left over and left them with us. Even luckier, considering I always forget where I put everything, I remembered where the spare tiles were hidden in the potting shed.

My son planned to fix the roof before Eunice took unfair advantage of the weak spot. I didn’t think anyone should be doing anything with ladders. My daughter-in-law was dispatched to Wickes to buy a hook attachment for the ladder and some spongy glue stuff. I didn’t think anyone should be going out.

Luckily we have the ‘right sort of roof’ for the proposed action and with careful checking of wind speeds, yet another thing you can do on the internet and the use of two ladders, the roof was repaired later in the day. We did not have to join the queues of home owners waiting for builders and roofers.

We had of course got off lightly. People had four hundred year old oak trees falling on their house and homes were flooded. Sadly the red warnings were justified as several people were killed by toppling trees.

Really Surreal

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 17 Comments

When you get back into town and nothing is quite how you remembered…

A jolly day out…
…meeting friends…
…for coffee…
Think the weather’s brightening up?
Shopping centre’s changed since I was last here.
Wonder what the new book shop is like.
…or the new department store?
Very nice, but I haven’t seen any human beings yet…

Normal Reality and Real Normality

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 26 Comments

Is getting back to normal life post Covid realistic? Are we Post, what is reality and what is normal life? No, don’t know and goodness knows…

Pandemics, epidemics and natural disasters have been normal for humans since we started wandering around, or at least wandering around in large numbers. Natural disasters were not disastrous before there were human settlements to destroy. Unless you were a dinosaur; even for them, getting back to normal life after a meteorite collision was never going to happen. Even Gaia was probably upset with giant meteors, just when she thought she controlled everything.

But for those of us who thought we were leading a privileged, or at least comfortable safe life before Covid, getting back to normal is what we both crave and fear. Some of us cannot have our old life back, while others are glad of the opportunity to start a new normal. Few of us believe our leaders have handled the crisis well all the way along. Every nation and state seems to have had different rules and while England is rapidly dispensing with restrictions ( I think, unless it’s all changed again ), on the other side of the world ‘Saint Mark’, Premier of Western Australia Mark McGowan, continues to try to protect the citizens of the Hermit Kingdom from Covid and the outside world.

‘In Western Australia, where there has never been a major Covid outbreak, Mr McGowan warned WA residents more restrictions could be implemented as new infections rise. With the state’s grand February 5 reopening now shelved indefinitely, tourism companies on the west coast will be unable to benefit when the rest of Australia flings open their doors to foreign tourists on February 21.’

https://www.wa.gov.au/government/covid-19-coronavirus

Of course it helps when your state is bordered by ocean and desert with only two roads in. Life has carried on more or less as normal. I don’t think people have been prevented from leaving, but they might not be able to get back in.

So where is normal life happening? The fewer restrictions the more worried are the hierarchy of the vulnerable. Clinically Extremely Vulnerable at the top perhaps, CEV a term to distinguish from those merely immunocompromised? However people are classified and however many jabs they have had – we’re up to four now – those worried about their health or their loved one’s health are still sticking to Zoom meetings, shopping on line and isolating.

But going back to normal is not good for the planet. However heart breaking this pandemic has been, Covid will not reduce the population enough to save Gaia, or rather keep her safe for us to live on. Have most of us forgotten we are meant to be saving the planet, have we forgotten how sweet the air was during that first world lock down, when streets were empty of polluting vehicles and people saw mountains from their city windows for the first time?

The new normal is unlikely to be a return to the simple life, or a rapid scientific breakthrough to heal Gaia while keeping our lifestyles. So it’s back to reality, unless you want to hide from reality with all the new skills you learnt during lockdowns. Have a pyjama day and hide under your duvet watching Netflix and ordering delicious meals from Deliveroo.

Farewell to Varian

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 37 Comments

My last radiotherapy session was on Tuesday. On Monday there was a phone call from the radiotherapy department; I wondered if they were ringing to say there had been a terrible mistake that morning and I had been given ten times the right dose. Not just double; it’s more likely a decimal point or zero might get misplaced… actually they just wanted to ask if I would mind coming in later as the engineer was coming to fix the machine… hmm wonder if it WAS working properly in the morning?

It was rather sad saying farewell to the lovely staff, though on the previous Friday I thought I might stay there forever. I had breezed out of the main waiting room after my treatment, yay it’s the weekend ( Not that there was anything special happening at the weekend except not going to radiotherapy ) saying farewell to the chaps drinking water getting ready for their prostate treatment. I sauntered up the corridor only to find the double doors closed and locked. This had happened to me once before. That time I had been relieved to hear voices behind me; some of the staff were going for their coffee break and swiped a card on a box. This time there was not a soul in sight or sound.

The welcome sight of open doors.

I returned to the waiting room, but there was nobody on the desk. Who to ask, who to find? One can hardly go barging into treatment rooms, or disturb radiologists in the control room when their patient is being irradiated. I could only hover by the changing cubicles hoping to catch someone collecting their patient. Fortunately, from another set of double doors that said Staff Only emerged a chap in plain clothes, one of the numerous persons, with lanyards and ID cards to distinguish them from patients, who stride purposefully up and down corridors and stairs. I alerted him to my plight.

‘This always happens on Fridays when they test the fire alarms.’

He went into detail about magnetic doors as we marched up the corridor. As we reached the doors he said

‘Hmm, let’s hope this works.’

I had assumed it would. Luckily it did.

Meanwhile back to my last session… The third zap above my collar bone, targeting lymph nodes, has been the only one where I can look up and see the square screen through which invisible rays are emitted. Strange shutters above the glass move in and out, up and down, but it is usually quick. This time things seemed to come to a halt. I waited for the familiar buzz, wondering if the machine had broken down and when no one spoke over the intercom, fearing they had all gone home. I was tempted to move my arm as my shoulder felt sore and I began to imagine the horrors of the rack or crucifixion. Then the buzzing started.

I was given a help sheet to add to my collection. The effects of the accumulated radiation carry on for another couple of weeks, not that I had had any bad effects.  I do now have a big square and a smaller square that look like sunburn. I had imagined the target areas being round. I was told to keep the area protected from the sun. ‘For how long?’ I asked. ‘Forever’ was the reply.

Remember to keep covered up at the beach hut.