La Peste

It felt strange at 7am yesterday morning to go down the hill to the post box and then past it for the first time in twelve days. Even in the midst of my isolation I had ventured out to post letters under cover of darkness, slightly on edge in case Sir Chris Whitty or someone were to leap out from a bush and point an accusing finger at me. There was never anyone else around, though, to denounce or to potentially infect. Anyway, on Sunday I left the post box far behind me and went down to the church. At least I remembered where it was. 

There were fewer people at the 10am mass than for ages: in fact, barely half the numbers we had only a month ago when everyone coincidentally turned up at once. Then, and since, I have had a string of reports and emails announcing this or that person has covid or is steering clear of friends and relatives in case they do. One of them is Sylv our Pastoral Assistant, and her being out takes out a range of others as well, not just those she gives lifts to church but also those who were in the home group she took part in last week. So far, though, only one member of the church has had to go to hospital, and he has (praise God) just been released, sorry, discharged. I mention all this just to put my own sickness into the context of a very significant upsurge in cases, and one which is cutting a swathe through the older members of the community. Thankfully, though, none of them are all that ill, generally reporting nothing more serious than a heavy cold and mostly less than that. The great benefit is that really quite large numbers of people will have had covid before Easter and there will be no reason for them not to come. Or not that one, anyway.