Post Touching Covid Disorder and don’t be talkin’ Bollix...
If I wasn’t for my tablet box, I wouldn’t know which day of the flippin’ week it is. Seriously, since I started working from home, the whole weekday thing is gone a bit sketchy. It’s not that I’m taking it easy. To be quite honest, I’ve been flat out since I took the office home. Sometimes it feels like half the country has had to stop working, so I’m taking up the slack!
It is a little weird though. I’m lucky because I have my own home study for writing anyway, so the dedicated space makes it easier than working from the kitchen table. That and the fact that I have no small children going…Dad…Dad…Dad…Dad…Dad until my head explodes.
We do of course have 3 dogs and one of them is my personal guardian angel, so he won’t leave me alone, and because he comes into the study the second boy has to follow. Our girl doesn’t do needy. She stays where the food is. Clever girl – but as Father Ted might say…”Aren’t you all clever girls.” Please don’t correct me on that one, I know he said something about lovely bottoms, but I’m using licence here.
For the most part, when I’m not working, I’m pretty much doing nothing and waiting for the Bollix. Now in case you are confused, I am not talking about a person here. The Bollix in question is not a person. I am using the noun Bollix as in “He was talking Bollix.” You know it, I know it. When this is all over, we’re all going to have to listen to some colossal amount of shite.
It’s like a guy coming home from a warzone shiteing on about how heroic he was, while at the same time insisting, he doesn’t want to talk about it, despite the fact he never left his job dishing up food in the officers’ mess 100Km from any danger. Yep, that’s what we’ve got to look forward to.
Just you wait, there’ll be some bloke who normally never left his room except to work his shift in the local Londis, telling us all how he risked life and limb on the frontline. There’ll be stories about how; “There was this time right, I swear I was on my knees after working 2 hours straight without a break, down to my last pair of gloves, hands dry from sanitising…bleeding actually … they were bleeding yeah… and I still have a scar from the face mask… you can’t really see it now…it’s faded, but you can see it in the sun… but to be fair I have to avoid direct sunlight now… my body has had to adjust to the trauma of always being inside, protecting and serving cold hams and coleslaw… anyway.. there I was in the soft drinks aisle and this guy…crazy he was… you could see it in his eyes, you know the sort, lethal, a virtual assassin…he was on me before I knew it and he… he came within 2 metres of me.. It was…I…I…I can’t talk about it… I have PTCD… Post Touching Covid Disorder.”
Now don’t get me wrong, I appreciate everyone who has to work through this and there is a risk, but I’m not talking about the silent heroes, just the noisy feckers whose shite we’ll have to listen to afterwards. There are the true heroes on the medical front line in particular, and we all need to appreciate those who care for us in our society. I have already come to respect, admire and thank those in the medical profession, for they have saved my life in the past and without them, I wouldn’t be typing this piece. This crisis has really highlighted just how special they are and let us all say it now and more importantly remember them after this is all over…Thank you. That I mean, from the bottom of my heart.
I know there is a lot of worry and stress out there at the moment, but we do need to keep it in perspective. Ultimately, we can all be or own hero. We can all be heroes for each other. I am reminded of a fellow Irishman, far more talented a writer than I should ever hope to be. From Easter, 1916 by William Butler Yeats…
I have met them at close of day
Coming with vivid faces
From counter or desk among grey
I have passed with a nod of the head
Or polite meaningless words,
Or have lingered awhile and said
Polite meaningless words,
And thought before I had done
Of a mocking tale or a gibe
To please a companion
Around the fire at the club,
Being certain that they and I
But lived where motley is worn:
All changed, changed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.
…And later in the same poem, perhaps something we can all connect with;
Too long a sacrifice
Can make a stone of the heart.
O when may it suffice?
A century later but in a different context, this seems oddly appropriate. Stay safe everyone and remember, don’t be talkin’ Bollix when this is all over…
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