So as we approach, or have reached, depending on the method of calculation used, 100,000 dead from Covid and incompetence, I reflect on the fact that I live in Worthing a town with a population of around 100,000.
That's an entire town with all it's people gone.
No daytrippers on the promenade, or walking on the pier to watch the fishermen land their catch. No chips purchased only to be stolen by those vicious masters of the sky, seagulls. The roads unused and uncared for with weeds cracking the surface of the tarmac. The shops shuttered up forever with no chance of a Mike Ashley takeover bid.
No stray enthusiasts searching for blue plaques relating to Jane Austen, Harold Pinter or Alma Cogan. No one to enjoy the wonderful sunrises over the English channel. No one to marvel at the ever changing moods of the sea.
Fanciful you say? Perhaps, but this is what is happening in a fragmented fashion across our lands.
And I feel so angry, and so sad. And all I can do is sit here, follow the rules and hope that it gets better.
Writing to my MP makes no difference. He defends the party line every time, and despite all evidence to the contrary, claims that the government are doing their very best in an unprecedented situation.
All I want to say is "very best" MY ARSE in my best Jim Royle impersonation. If you were even doing just average work you should have realised your mistakes from the first wave and not repeated them again and again.
I do not understand why heads are not on spikes.
