“The writer “is transformed!!
GOING………………….
GOING……….
GONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
March 16
Tag: lockdown
March 13
The Americans are very keen on the aphorism “If life gives you lemons, make lemonade”
My British version is “If life gives you lemons, make lemon curd”
“Lemon tree very pretty and the lemon flower is sweet
But the fruit of the poor lemon is impossible to eat”
I decided the hard, green fruit would be fine in lemon curd as the sour lemon flavour has to fight its way through so much sugar.
I had to make it in three batches as I never know whether a recipe will double or treble and the final yield was a mere three jars. Problem is, it tastes so divine, we will have to battle hard not to spread it on everything!
Trisha and Amy, your jar will be handed over when we next get together.
I had a few rock hard lemons left over and was delighted to find a recipe for “candying” – “for use as snacks or cake decoration” the recipe said.. Well, let me tell you, you’d only snack on them or put them near a cake if you had a dentist in the family – preferably living in the same house, preferably in the same room. “The writer” is always very gallant about my culinary efforts but even he could only manage “Well the middle’s are very nice.” So the only thing they’ll be decorating is the bin.
Today, we met Trish, Tod and Peter in the park-purely by accident, of course- and, by a stroke of luck I happened to have with me their two jars of curd to hand over in exchange for yet more fabulous cheese straws and a nifty tube of hand-sanitiser and hand – cream combined. We chatted for half an hour in the biting wind and then had to concede defeat.
Since then, I’ve had an enthusiastic email from Amy and this from Tod:
I confess I’ve never thought of eating it on cake!
February 5
Our walks in St. James’s Park are regularly punctuated by stops to admire the six pelicans who usually spend their time on the paths where walkers gasp to see the bird with the second-largest wing span in the world strolling companionably beside them. Sometimes, for a change, one of them will Clamber up onto a bench to sit nonchalantly next to a nervous admirer. And on days when they are not feeling gregarious, they may all make do with sunning themselves on their rock in the middle of the lake.
During our past few walks we have seen only one of them – is it Isla, Tiffany, Gargi – or one of the recent additions – Sun, Moon or Star ? We have no idea. But we do know we’re seeing the same one each time – the pinkest one- and we are truly anxious as to what has happened to the others.
We make up tragic stories:
All the others have migrated to the warmth and this one is left alone and pining.
The others have had some devastating accident and this one will have to build a life for itself without its family.
This one has been ostracised by the others – too pink, perhaps – while they make a new home for themselves down the road in the lush gardens of Buckingham Palace.
Generations of pelicans have lived in the park since the Russian Ambassador presented the first birds in 1664 and the idea of their no longer being around is truly upsetting.
Eventually, I can stand the speculation no longer (I have talked in this blog before about the difference between “The Writer”, who would rather have a good story, and me, who would rather know the truth. Fiction versus documentary.)
I ask one of the army of gardeners preparing the park for Spring. (Planting and burgeoning is going on all around us, flower beds being laid out, trees sprouting their first shoots of green and snowdrops dotting the ground.
The true story, of course, turns out to be more prosaic than any of our attempts at High Tragedy: There is a pandemic of Avian ‘flu raging, so the birds have been Locked down in order to avoid infection. They are isolating in a small house on an island in the lake and taking their daily exercise swimming in its small private pool.
So why is this one bird left at the mercy of the virus ?
It turns out our renegade peli. has evaded all attempts at catching him and quarantining him with the other because he, alone of the gang, is able to fly far and fast enough to outwit his keepers. Far from being unhappy and alone as the hero or of our fantasies, he is free to roam the park while the other five are confined to barracks for the foreseeable future, no more to relish the click of camera shutters or preen themselves to star in a thousand selfies.
“The Writer” is right, of course, the stories were better.
But when we discover that the birds turn pink in Spring when they’re ready to mate – and look at the blushing bird remaining at liberty, there is scope for a whole new series of tragedies about the sad pelican who is ready for love but will never, never find it because of lockdown.
December 31
Remembering the hours I used to queue to see Nureyev and Fonteyn dance together at The Royal Opera House, remembering watching them from high up in the Gods, often standing, watching the greatest art I had – or have – ever seen, I couldn’t help feeling he and his sublime partner should be buried side by side. Ridiculous, of course, since Fonteyn was married and lies with her Panamanian husband , Roberto Arias under a modest stone in a garden cemetery overlooking the Panama Canal.
They are in death as they were in life: Rudi the fiery, tempestuous, Russian who flung himself into the arms of a Le Bourget airport policeman seeking sanctuary to avoid going back to Russia and Margot, The Royal Ballet”s most un-diva-like Prima Ballerina Assoluta, quiet Peggy Hookham from Reigate in Surry, galvanised into a dancing renaissance by the spectacular artistry and emotional depth of her flamboyant partner, 19 years her junior.
The last time I saw them dance together was in Romeo and Juliet. Fonteyn danced until she was almost 50 and played the fourteen-year-old Juliet with utter conviction partnered with what seemed like balletic telepathy by Nureyev.
I don’t believe there is a more romantic story than theirs.
January 28
Vaccine wars are under way, with the EU threatening to withhold the Pfizer Vaccine manufactured in Belgium, unless we give them some of the Atrazenica product, made here in the UK. In each new Press Conference, our government quotes the magnificent number of people vaccinated (and it is magnificent) and publishes the planned time-scale for vaccinating the next cohorts, beginning in late February or early March.
They seem to have forgotten completely to factor into their timetable the millions of second doses required by the elderly and vulnerable, which would delay the remaining cohorts by over a month.
I think that, after boasting about its success, the government can’t bear the thought of admitting to the world the reduction in numbers second doses would entail, and it is my suspicion – and fear – that the second doses may never be given. Or, that at twelve weeks , the current time-scale, there may be a shortage of Pfizer Vaccine in this country – one of the concerns raised by the British Medical Association in their recent letter to Matt Hancock.
As far as I can discover, Quebec seems to be the only place to have altered the Pfizer regime in the way we have. I do acknowledge the need to vaccinate as many people as possible as quickly as possible but, unused to and desperately anxious about the lack of control over what is done to my body, I have been looking to see whether other people are as concerned and are protesting in any way that might persuade the government to take notice.
I have already mentioned the campaign by Labour Peer, Joan Bakewell and I have now discovered another, instigated by Dr. Michael Markiewicz, a leading consultant Paediatrician, who is also trying to crowdfund a crack legal team on a Just Giving page.
One cheering thing about having been vaccinated, (Do, PLEASE ,send me your list of “reasons to be cheerful”), is that I’m assuming the redoubtable Dr. Fauci’s insistence that “double masking” is now required against the new Covid strains won’t be necessary post- vaccination, even if one’s second mask does have a fetching penguin colony on it. I have also stopped disinfecting the post (“The Writer” is not happy about that ) and am even wondering whether to stop sanitising incoming shopping (Will be pondering that one for a while).
December 21
The debate about whether the second vaccine doses can safely be delayed is ongoing:
The BBC website https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/health-55734257 maintains that the results of the Israeli study have been taken “Out of context”.
Professor Stephen Evans, of the London School And Tropical medicine says: “The reports that have come from Israel are insufficient to provide any evidence that the current UK policy in regard to delaying the second dose of vaccines is in any way incorrect.”
But publications such as the British Medical Journal Blog; https://blogs.bmj.com/bmj/2021/01/20/revisiting-the-uks-strategy-for-delaying-the-second-dose-of-the-pfizer-covid-19-vaccine/ are far less certain about the wisdom of delaying.
“Public health, medical, and scientific support has been divided. Support for a “finely balanced decision” has come from speciality medical royal colleges, the Academy of Medical Sciences, and the British Society of Immunology. The NHS currently faces enormous pressures from an unrelenting covid-19 pandemic and critical care is in crisis. [3] Therefore vaccinating as many people as possible, and as soon as possible is of great urgency. However, support for delaying the second dose has not always addressed the supply issues and scientific concerns underpinning the case for delaying the second mRNA dose. Some scientists have opposed the delay, especially to the Pfizer vaccine, due to a lack of evidence of effectiveness and potential risks, both personally to individuals vaccinated in this way and to the population at large.
International organisations such as the Centre for Disease Control (CDC), the World Health Organization (WHO), and regulatory bodies such as the Food and Drugs Administration (FDA) in the US; and the European Medicines Agency (EMA) have advised that the vaccination schedules, as defined from the published peer reviewed studies from Pfizer/BioNTech and Moderna (the other mRNA vaccine), should be followed (respectively 1/22 day and 1/29 day first/second dose vaccinations). [5] The German and US governments have recently stated that they do not intend to delay the second covid-19 vaccine shot and Pfizer and Moderna do not support the delay strategy.”
Maybe it’s because I’m a slavish adherent to rules that, though I understand the political imperative to get as many people vaccinated as quickly as possible so we can boast about having done it FIRST !!!!, I can’t for the life of me see a legitimate reason why our government should be ignoring the manufacturer’s instructions and making up this most serious medical protocol as they go along. I hope this decision will be revisited FAST.
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This beautiful crop of lemons from the tree on our terrace is now reduced to this far less beautiful jar of lemon curd – yes, just the one jar!
December 20
Well, sadly, my euphoria at having been vaccinated didn’t last long. I made the mistake of putting in some thorough research as to the coverage gained from a single dose of Pfizer Biontech, and the results are extremely depressing.The best information I have found is on the BBC Website “How effective is a single vaccine dose against Covid 19?” It deals comprehensively with the complexities of how each vaccine works and its conclusions, after much detailed analysis, seems to me to be that no-one knows what will happen if the second dose is delayed by 12 weeks, not even whether there will be any protection remaining in those who have had the first.
These are quotes from the article written by Zaria Gorvett.
“According to Pfizer data published in December 2020, the Pfizer-BioNTech vaccine is roughly 52% effective after the first dose. Out of 36,523 participants in the phase three trial – the final stage of testing where people either received two full doses, 21 days apart, or a placebo – who had no evidence of existing infection, 82 people in the placebo group and 39 in the vaccine group developed Covid-19 symptoms.
However, this early protection comes with some important caveats. First, the protection doesn’t kick in until at least day 12 – until then, there was no difference between the two groups. Secondly, one dose is still significantly less protective than two. The latter is 95% effective at preventing the disease after a week”.
Pfizer and BioNTech themselves have already urged caution on the grounds that their data ends at day 21, and “there is no data to demonstrate that protection after the first dose is sustained after 21 days”. It’s possible that the protection people seem to have will suddenly drop off after that point – in fact, this wouldn’t be surprising based on the way the immune system usually works. “
I stress that these are excerpts from a website, https://www.bbc.com/future/article/20210114-covid-19-how-effective-is-a-single-vaccine-dose.
I have no medical knowledge and anyone interested in the full story should research for themselves . However, I would add that in last night’s “Newsnight” on BBC2, it was suggested the latest research shows only 32 per cent protection after one dose.
The fact that there are no data to show that there is ANY protection left if the second shot is left for longer than 21 days has certainly blown away any of the excitement and relief I had gained.
In the meantime, Labour Peer, Joan Bakewell, concerned at the decision to delay the second dose, has crowd -funded legal representation to sue Matt Hancock for the decision. Bakewell, says “Older people are in limbo: they need to know whether delaying the Pfizer Vaccine is both safe and legal. I am bringing this case because I believe the government needs to make this clear.”
Her case is principally concerned with whether the government has the right to flout the conditions under which the vaccine was authorised and as Bakewell says, “there’s a bigger question, too: should medical procedures be overruled by political and social needs. ”
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To end on a more cheerful note:
CHEESE STRAWS!!
Before this latest lockdown began, “The Writer” and I visited Marylebone Farmers’ market.
Our friend, Trish, makes THE BEST cheese straws on the planet and, since food treats have become our single most important reward for everything from a hard day’s work to sewing on a button, we were missing her cheese straws, always plentifully strewn on tables during pre-meal drinks, when we visit for her equally magnificent lunches.
Seeing a stall featuring a rustic basket of cheese straws nestled in red gingham that look OK – not up to Trish’s standard, but then that would be like happening upon a unicorn tethered to a Marylebone lamppost – we buy a mass of them at insane urban farmers’ market prices and scurry home.
Only when we take them out of their bag, do we realise that what had looked crisp, knobbly and inviting in the basket are actually flaccid fingers of lumpen dough. We are so disappointed that, in an effort to cheer us up, “The Writer” suggests putting them in the oven to crisp. We wait in anticipation as the smell of cheese wafts through the kitchen – but when they come out of the oven they are transformed only into flaccid fingers of warm lumpen dough.
Sadly, we throw them in the bin and tell ourselves we must be content with the memory of a perfect cheese straw. We reminisce about our last lunch at Trish and Tod’s , the succulence of the roast chicken, the piquancy of the red cabbage, the fluffy crunch of her roast potatoes -and, Oh the cheese straws! We even tell Trish at our weekly Zoom of our disappointing purchase.
And yesterday the cheese straw cavalry arrived! Touched by our tale of woe, Trish laboured all day in her kitchen, made a massive batch of perfect cheese straws and drove them over, sirens wailing as I imagine it, to us and to Amy and Peter.
And here they are – crisp, brittle and flaky, studded with succulent knobs of tangy cheese- some – the most sought-after – even frilled with extra cheese around the edges. We ration ourselves to two with morning coffee in order not to eat the lot at one go, and agree only to indulge if we are both present to ensure equity. Nevertheless, during the following days, the contents of the tin mysteriously diminish. It’s as as though one of us is sneaking into the kitchen and snaffling a cheese straw when the other hasn’t been consulted and isn’t looking.
Could it be me?
January 14 VACCINATION DAY!!!!!!
This afternoon we went to Lord’s Cricket Ground, not to see a match but to be vaccinated against Covid-19. A phone call from our GP surgery yesterday evening at 5pm allocated us appointments at 2:35pm and 2:40 pm today. After a small celebration dance around the kitchen together, the first thing “The Writer” did was to consult the weather forecast. It predicted heavy rain all day and ,as usual, he trawled through every App on every device ,hoping for one that might suggest, if not sunshine, at least dryness. But it was not to be. Rain all day. There followed an agonised discussion as to whether we could face walking the two and a half miles each way to Lord’s in the rain or should we take our biggest risk since March and go by taxi. We debate this all evening and most of this morning, in the end agreeing to walk to Marylebone High St. – about half way – and see how wet it is. In the event, it’s not too bad and we make it on foot to St. John’s Wood, home to Lord’s, in good time. Since we have appointments, we assume that we will saunter into the building and get jabbed straight away.
The first thing alerting us that this might not be the case, is a cluster of umbrellas in the distance.
As we draw nearer, we see the queue snaking round the building with no end in sight. We tell one of the stewards we have an appointment. He apologises with charm and tells us to join the queue.
We take up our positions, watching the very elderly being helped on their sticks to The terrace of The Lord’s Tavern, where there are some seats for those who can barely stand. The stewards are polite and helpful and it’s sad to hear one young woman complain to her friend “Can you believe it, I’ve just been abused!”
After about 20 minutes, we are ushered up the steps into The Thomas Lord Suite which advertises itself as “The ideal venue for weddings, Barmitzvah’s, Christmas parties, cabaret and dinner dances”.
Judging from the way we all look as we trudge up the steps, the dress code on the invitation for this event must have been ‘Vaccine Grunge’
Inside the crowded room- the closest we have been to any other human being since March –“The Writer” muses in on the likelihood of our catching the virus in the vaccination queue- an irony he would appreciate in fiction but which we agree we could do without in fact. We are asked to sanitise our hands then give our names to staff at a long table, who find it hard to hear either of us, as we are wearing face masks and visors, the visors misted with condensation from the rain and the masks sodden. Our names are written on a slip of paper. which we take with us as we join a line of five chairs to see the doctor. When I get to the front, Dr.Abt. asks three questions: (There may have been a couple more that I was too excited to remember)
Do you have any illness at present?
Have you had a vaccine in the past seven days?
Are you on blood thinners?
I tell him about my severe allergy to oysters, which he ignores as soon as he has ascertained I haven’t been prescribed an epipen.
And then it’s done! I am the proud possessor of a muscle full of Pfizer Biontech and a card telling me the batch number and the date on which I had it. The section for the date of the second dose is blank.
“The Writer” is next in the queue and we then sit for a while to make sure we have no allergic reaction.
Outside in the drizzle, we do a little dance of glee, indulge in a brief hug and then, to fortify ourselves for the walk back, sit on the window sill of The Danubius Hotel and drink tea from the thermos I have carried in the rucksack on my back .
The walk home is wet and windy but we are euphoric. Three more weeks of hiding from the world till the vaccine takes effect then we are free – To do what, I’m not sure, since the world will still be locked down, but we are too thrilled to care.
January 13
Today, we re-entered the 1950’s and I discovered skills I never knew “The Writer” had.
Yesterday, while we are drinking our morning cups of tea in bed, I hear an ominous, rhythmic, bleeping sound coming from the kitchen. On investigation, I discover that it is being emitted by the dishwasher, running so cups and saucers would be ready for breakfast. When I open the door of the machine,I am greeted by a light display worthy of Blackpool illuminations. Every single light is on and the display panel of the machine looks like an aircraft cockpit. We have had problems with this machine before during lockdown and have felt proud of ourselves for repairing the inlet drain and cleaning the impeller, courtesy of YouTube tutorials. (Notice the casual use of technical terms here). I rush to the computer to find a solution to this breakdown, only to discover that “all dishwasher programme lights on” ” appears to be a fault never suffered by any other machine at any time and Google is silent on the subject.
I phone the manufacturer, where a young girl, obviously working from home, sips her tea while riffling through pages of the service manual – the same one I have been combing for the past hour- and finally suggests turning it off and then on again, a piece of advice reiterated weekly as a joke in “The IT Crowd”, a sitcom of recent years and a suggestion I have always found invaluable . Unfortunately, this time it doesn’t yield and we are left having to drain all the water out of the machine for the fourth or fifth time with a basting syringe. (I always knew it would come in handy for something).
I spend the afternoon on the Amazon website …….Yes, yes, of course I should have shopped at John Lewis, which is struggling and threatening to close down half its Oxford St. Shop, something that would greatly impoverish our life…….But I want it straight away to avoid scratch marks on the sink so I give in and fill Jeff Beszos’s coffers even fuller.
This morning, I unwrap an black washing up bowl and a black dish drainer, the smartest I could find to ornament our newish kitchen, and, after breakfast, I am astounded when “The Writer” leaps to the sink, flourishing a tea towel and commanding, “Leave it to me”!
I put up the least resistance to his suggestion you can imagine and watch while he polishes off a load of washing – up in seconds, folds the tea towel, upends the bowl to drain and sits down. Then I remember that in a previous life he was part-owner of a restaurant and, though he was meant to be front of house, he was more often than not relegated to the role of pot -washer, having drunk the house wine, misbehaved and whispered inappropriate suggestions in the ears of customers. (That’s how he tells it, anyway.)
Whatever the truth of this, he is obviously a willing, practiced and even enthusiastic washer-up, I’m delighted with this hitherto undiscovered talent and will be exploiting it to the full until we are prepared to risk a service engineer visit.
This is a first-world saga, I know, but there are some luxuries we come to take for granted.
January 7
Having to skirt round yet another anti-lockdown protest during our most recent walk, and waking to the news that one in thirty Londoners has the virus and London NHS hospitals are two weeks from being overwhelmed, we have decided to keep off the streets until we are vaccinated. That means retreating to our terrace for exercise as we did in March last year.
I must admit, the prospect filled me with dread – not being able to stretch one’s legs properly and having no wildlife to enjoy – that is until I looked at our lemon tree for the first time since the Summer.
“The writer” is more cheerful pounding up and down our small, empty space than he has been lately walking gingerly in the park and so much of our time at the moment is spent glued to CNN and the goings on in the U.S., exercise anywhere is the last thing on our minds, as we sit, aghast, in front of the TV.
All I need now is a recipe for what to do with unripe lemons, as there are masses on the tree that I assume won’t get enough light to ripen. If anyone has a (polite) suggestion, please add it to the comment box.
Locked down in London 