Before I left England, a thousand years ago, I was beginning to realise that there is a societal covid brain fog thing going on, whether you had had the damn virus or not. Everyone just getting hazy, crazy etc.
Well, from that baseline, I suppose I should be compassionate towards myself, and 11 days without seeing anyone else (if you don’t count the gowned up swabbers on day 1, 5 and 9, or the Lowry-stick figures on Hindley Street, ten floors below).
Yesterday. Um, so long ago I don’t remember. This time 24 hours ago I was finishing off the daily reading from the Introductory Readings in Anthropology (see blog post here).
Breakfast was early because there was another intake of international arrivals (though the cap is getting halved next week, with implications for a) the medi-hotels and b) me getting outa here in September).
I did the blogging for that post, then a Shut Up and Write with my very good friend Heather Smith. I did some more writing, and a bit of plotting of First Day Out Of Quarantine (involves getting a bike serviced – I’d rather be cycling than riding a bus, just in general, but especially now – and also buying a second hand back pack that can cope with 40kg of bricks and weights).
On that – I am not an idiot (well…) and won’t be trying to go straight back to my old distances and weight amounts (I yomp around Alexandra Park with 35 to 40 kgs of weight). However, I want to build up to that fairly quickly, and I’ve mapped out five different routes (including a monster one down to Glenelg and back the long way) that I want to do fairly regularly in my 67 (plus?) days on the outside, because there is still lard to shed, strength to gain and then maintain.
After lunch I thought I’d try to treat myself to some Crap TV. The Crap TV in question was “Fear is the Key” a 1972 action film based on an Alistair MacLean novel. Nice set-up (guy hears his wife and mate machine-gunned by a plane), then an interminable car chase and… yeah, I lost the will to live.
Sorted out meeting up with a friend this Sunday (we will watch Kurosawa’s epic Ran).
No actual exercise – I’d been wellying it with the theraband and my body said “hey, old man, a day off” and I listened.
Um… chat with Dr Termagant on Zoom.
Um… managed to turn up late to a scheduled zoom (see brain fog above). Thanks to Brian and Jane for their understanding. We are in the final stages of agreeing an Exciting Project (nb what I find Exciting is not a universal thing – your mileage may vary).
Went to bed early, having forgotten to blog, with plan to wake up and watch the tennis and do some overdue Climate Emergency Manchester writing (for the impending “Strawberry Snapshot”).
This I did. Mr Federer kept up his end of the bargain by winning in straight sets (the first one was a bit of an epic). For me he will always be the greatest male tennis player. That’s partly due to the elegance of his play, but also the way he conducts himself, the honesty he brings to his interviews, the bloody-mindedness to his recoveries (two knee surgeries last year). Can he get to the final? Can he beat the likely other finalist? Probably not, which is a pity but a) never say never and b) the effort is worth it.
marchudson.net 
Many years ago I read an Alistair MacLean novel, “The Trustee From the Toolroom”; one of the best I have ever read!
Isn’t that a Nevil Shute? Now he was great!
That just shows my memory is rubbish; you are quite right, memory jogged, it was Nevil Shute!