It’s coming home! It’s coming home! Football’s almost coming home…
Well, it’s coming into my garden if nothing else. This week my lawn has been littered with balls flying from all directions. It seems as if the neighbourhood children have nothing better to do all day than kick goals over the fence. But, why aren’t they at school?
‘Testing positive, innit?’ announces Grunting Teen with the authority of one who has checked his student email for a change. ‘The whole of Year 8 is off. It’s a joke.’
But it’s certainly not a joke for Darling Daughter. She’s currently in the ‘at risk’ category and has only just had her first vaccination. So, when not-so-super-in-law comes into contact with a colleague displaying Covid symptoms and is forced to isolate, it’s understandable that she’s anxious. Yet if this were to happen a month later, she and her double-vaxed husband would have no need to quarantine.
Is it the data or the date that makes the difference? I’ve given up trying to understand. But for now, those with two jabs are the summer holiday winners. There’s nothing more I’d love to do than book a break in the sun. My body craves the guaranteed sunshine, sparkling blue sea and cloudless skies of the Med. But our under-18 is, of yet, not eligible to be Pfizered, so for now we’re sticking with a week in Pembrokeshire.
I’ve packed my swimsuit with a tub of goose fat, just in case. And I’ve been reading up on the Welsh rules and regulations. Because although for now we are still a United Kingdom, it appears the virus behaves differently depending on whose soil you’re standing on. The Scots for sure don’t like the Mancunians at the moment although whether that’s to do with the Gallagher brothers or the city’s high infection rates is unclear. What is clear is that Scotland’s spiralling outbreak has been linked to the Euros and that it’s not just football that’s coming home.
On the Wimbledon front it’s a slightly more sedate affair, with beer spilling roars replaced by polite applause. For a moment we believe the Ladies’ Singles trophy might come home too. But we have our in-house commentator on hand to explain why that’s not going to happen. And whilst Grunting Teen glazes over at his father’s detailed analysis of lobs and volleys, I marvel at how the Nearly-Beloved switches between sports with such in-depth knowledge. Who would have believed his expertise covers such a wide range? Or is it just that he has the gift of bewitching us with soundbites?
The latest favourite – ‘We must learn to live with the virus,’ – comes from our ex-Chancellor, who’s accustomed to prioritising the country’s economy. He’s been playing ministerial musical chairs and is now in charge of our health and in favour of lifting all legal curbs on July 19th. It all seems too good to be true. But if it means I’m one step closer to seeing my older son again, then I’m all for it. ‘He’s coming home. He’s coming home’ is the only chant I’m interested in. And any maestro who can magic a long-awaited family reunion from a borders-closed EU top hat wins my vote. It’s just I have this awful feeling that, when it comes to pulling the tablecloth of restrictions out from under the Corona dinner set, things might all just crash and break.
Whilst New South Wales, Australia, with its recently reported 18 Covid cases is locking down, the UK with its 27,000 new additions is opening up. The question is, which of the two countries is the one that’s got it upside down? Does our massive vaccination up-take mean we’ve weakened the chain between infection rates and hospitalisations? Are we kangaroos bounding towards freedom or should we be koalas clambering for safety?
Yes, something’s coming home. It’s coming home. The problem is we’re not yet sure what that something is…
