Wednesday 6th May
BBC reports that Professor Neil Ferguson, a leading epidemiologist who advises the Government, has resigned after his love life caused him to breach the social isolation guidelines. Or to put it another way, it wasn’t his brain that was making decisions at the time. He should have followed the rules, been a good example. But, at a time when difficult decisions are to made “based on science”, can we afford to lose the advice of such a specialist on a point of principle?
A pleasant dog walk in warm sunshine, seeing a hare run across a field in front of us. Tia considers chasing it, but experience has taught her that there is no point, and she turns back after a few meters. On my return Chantal is on the phone to her GP, describing the symptoms of her still painful and swollen ankle after yesterday’s breach of social distancing involving a stair gate. The Doctor notes that Chantal is at an age when bones are not as robust as they once were, and an X-ray is advisable. We visit the Broughton Surgery to collect a referral, the paper work passed through a partly open window overlooking the rear car park, unsettlingly close to a door marked “Red Zone – authorised access only”, presumably the access for potential Covid-19 patients. The journey to A&E in Leicester is similarly unsettling, slowly following a coffin-ladened hearse for miles before it turns right toward the local crematorium. There is no cortege – only a handful of closest relatives can attend a funeral.
Leicester Royal Infirmary has a brand-new shiny Accident and Emergency Department, but this is now
reserved for Covid 19 patients. Chantal must first be triaged for Covid-19 symptoms in a garden shed – even the term “portacabin” is too grand. I am not allowed into the shed, but Chantal eventually emerges from the back door, being pushed in a wheelchair by a porter. The GP had confidently told us how quiet A&E will be, and our visit will be short. The Porter disagrees, and suggests that I go home to wait. Chantal is wheeled past the shiny new A&E building to the “Emergency Department” in a Victorian building, where patients are few, queues are short, and having examined her, a Doctor offers to wheel her to X-ray, as he has no patient waiting. After only 90 minutes I am summonsed back to Leicester to collect Chantal from outside the Victorian building. A broken ankle has been diagnosed, and I find her sitting on a raised wall in the cool wind, her right leg terminating in a large and cumbersome orthopaedic boot.
I am now the sole dog walker, and, to be honest, I am quite happy with this. The dogs and I stroll across the fields behind us, and see a small group of lads gathered on a bridge in the distance. As we approach the bridge along a tree lined path, the lads approach us in ones and twos, two on bikes. Without exception they are polite, wait for us to pass, and thank us for keeping our distance.
Despite the booted ankle Chantal states that she must go to Sainsbury to return some clothes purchased last week. The official reason is that they didn’t fit, but I suspect a couple of XL items were purchased to ensure a reason to return to the store. Unfortunately, this time I must accompany my semi-disabled wife. As expected for early evening, the customers in Sainsbury’s are few and socially distanced, the aisles wide, and “Scan-and-Go” allows simultaneous “Pack-and Go”, without the rushed belt-loading and bag-packing that I detest at Aldi. In fact, shopping would be a pleasure if it wasn’t for my wife’s incurable habit of browsing every selection before purchase. Some aspects of normality remain.
Technically we live in Oaktree House, but sadly the tree had to go.
We now have a thriving Oakstump at the front of the house.
