In the middle of the night I woke up feeling nauseous. It went off in a couple of minutes, and I returned to sleep. Then on getting up I discovered I had a bit of a headache, which isn’t the most unusual experience in the world. I would normally have taken a covid test, and did so, and as I rather dreaded, the second little red line appeared. At least it proved I’ve probably been doing it right all those times it didn’t.
Church Club at school had to be
cancelled toute de suite and the parents informed, and I set about
trying to think who might fill in for the services and two baptisms this weekend
– retired hospital chaplain Duncan offered to do the lot, for which he will win
the Rector’s Gold Star and Bar did such a thing exist. I have a slight tremor of
fear lest Duncan succumb as well (he was with us at Morning Prayer yesterday),
and there isn’t much sign of a Plan C in evidence, but he will test himself
too. Then there is Trevor, who I took for a haircut yesterday: he may soon have
something actually to complain about in place of his usual imaginary ailments.
It wasn’t just Church Club that had to be cancelled: the Singing Club at school wasn’t running because of a covid case, and when Sandra who is the Church Club supremo got to prison where she was supposed to be taking part in a parenting course, that had been stopped as well. There is, as they say, a lot of it about. Dr Abacus has persuaded me to sign up for the molnupiravir trial to do my bit for society. I will have a bit of time on my hands until Monday at the very least.
Still, it means I shall be all right for Easter! He says, rashly.
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