192. The New Normal

This is going to be a waffle. Be warned, avoid if necessary:

I don’t remember when I first heard someone use the term 'the new normal.’ In fact, I probably read it rather than heard it, but it was after I’d scared myself witless by consulting the evil oracle called Google in order to understand my NPI score and discovered my prognosis was less than great. At the time, it took an intelligent and soothingly logical email from C, my breast care nurse, to help me regain some perspective and, apart from momentary surges of horror that last mere seconds, I have it sorted. Maybe it was C who used it?

Maybe it doesn't matter. What did matter was that everything clicked into place for me. I understood that I needed to find a place in my mind to store additional unpleasant things, this time more tangible thing like memories of the experiences I’ve had, my reactions to my diagnoses, the treatments - and that fact that, confident though I am that I am cancer-free, it may not remain like that for ever. Echoing someone’s wise words, once you’ve heard a cancer diagnosis, it cannot be unheard. Nor can all its implications.

I derived great comfort from this concept of a new normal. Everyone who has had cancer has to work towards it and most succeed in accepting that things can never go back to exactly how they were, no matter how much you may wish it so. Personally, I had no problem. Cancer has its place in my life and I'm pretty confident that, freed from maybe half of these bloody side effects, I'd now be as happy a bunny as I was before - happy but wiser. Life is a precious thing and not to be wasted on regrets and what ifs and if onlys. Just get on with life. Que sera sera.

And I will, as soon as my body allows it.

Why am I waffling? I believed this term was specific to Cancer World. It felt a very special revelation to me so it was a huge blow to hear the Prime Minister urging us all to follow his very precise guidance and accept a new normal. Then Matt used it (I have now accepted that he wishes to be on first name terms and not be known by his formal tile of Secretary of State or whatever). Then suddenly every other person in the newspapers and on the TV was bandying the term about. We mustn’t be complacent and assume everything will return to how it was before Covid-19. We must accept the new normal.

It’s only words but I can’t convey my indignation at having one simple term stolen from me. I feel like a child who doesn’t want to share her toys (in my case, her sweets) in a way. On a more serious note, I feel that something very meaningful which provided me with much solace has been stolen from me. I must share it with all those lucky buggers out there who haven’t had the horrors of living with cancer, have merely had the inconvenience of having to home school their kids, forego a couple of holidays in the sun and wonder how on earth they are ever going to eat all that rice and pasta, let alone use all that toilet paper they’ve stockpiled.

I know it sounds petulant. I’m happy to share it with all those who’ve been unlucky enough to be directly touched in any way by this dreadful virus (with the one exception, of course) but I really don’t want MY reassuring concept to be filched by people in general. Life will be a bit different for most - that‘s not comparable to a diagnosis of cancer, let alone surgical brutality, poisoning and radiation burning. I don’t call having to walk in swerves and wear a sweaty mask anything like comparable to the hovering knowledge that the next hospital visit may be the one that brings bad news and all that awfulness has to start again. There’s no comparison.

So there. I am a petulant, selfish pedant - it’s only a couple of words for god’s sake. But I’m serious when I say I feel something precious has been stolen from me. Let’s face it, I have resisted almost all the clichés of Cancer World. I’ve not talked about journeys and battles. I find the concepts abhorrent. But I did love my little ‘new normal.’   

On a more positive note, I have BEEN SWIMMING. After agonising over a new swimsuit (I settled for buying both a size 14 and a size 12 in the hope I shall burn off some of this ludicrously out of character weight), I went to Cookridge Hall with Joyce and Maureen for a swim. I was reluctant to go on my own as I had serious doubts about getting out of the pool without some assistance so I was delighted when they offered. We had the pool to ourselves so I could swim half a length here, a very slow length there - and I managed to haul myself out without too many problems. The only problem came when I foolishly tried the children’s pool which was too shallow to be useful for leg exercising - till I tried to get out. Not easy. A little embarrassing had I had an audience.  I’m hoping to go twice a week at least and, if it works smoothly, I might try the gym in a month or so. I have to get these leg and arm muscles working better. Dennis asked me today if I would always be walking “like that.” Say no more. Mr Tactful dug his grave by adding he only married me for my walk - and hastily added “and brain.”

192. Freedom beckons?

Today is a landmark. August 1 2020. Remember that. It’s the day the government’s shielding strategy is “paused” and we Shielded Ones are granted the same freedoms as everyone else. Actually, looking at ‘everyone else,’ I can’t say there’s been that much freedom enjoyed but, of course, stranded at the top of a cul-de-sac on the edge of the village (for now), there may be all sorts of Bacchanalia going on that I know nothing of. It might explain the cheery smiles I’ve encountered.

Just love that gentle prod!

Actually, I confess I pre-empted this by popping to the hairdresser’s on Monday but I was more than satisfied (in fact a bit irritated) by the level of precaution being taken. It was difficult however to rave about a new haircut when I was wearing a mask that prevented me from having much idea of what I looked like till I got home. More than happy once I got a proper look in the mirror.

Back to today. I planned to celebrate by exposing myself to a normal but ever-so-slightly risky foray into the real world. I would collect my own prescriptions. I went online at 1am Wednesday morning to order repeat prescriptions to tie in with the one the pharmacist would receive in the post Wednesday. Thwarted. First the pharmacist personally delivered an embarrassingly large bag on Thursday but the ones I needed urgently (the postal ones) were not there. When I rang, the First Class delivery had taken 4 days to get from one part of Leeds to another. Why am I surprised? But at least it got there. So I said to the pharmacist not to deliver - I’d pick it up on Saturday to mark my liberation. She explained the system and that was sorted. Only Big Dave, who owns the pharmacy, delivered it himself yesterday, depriving me of somewhere to go. That sounds completely ungrateful. I’m not. I’ve either had a volunteer, Sarah (bottle of wine awaiting our next encounter) or the pharmacists deliver all my prescriptions and I am so very grateful because this is something we really struggled with last year, particularly at those scary times for Dennis when he really didn't want to leave me on my own. In fact, I’m proud to say that experience has helped extend the Bramhope Coronavirus Community Support Group (very catchy) so that the list of volunteers will be maintained indefinitely to help members of the community in need.

Back to Freedom. I don’t feel safe enough yet to venture into the supermarket, a garden centre or a pub. The first two would be impossible owing to the mobility problems and what is there in a pub when i) I don’t drink alcohol and ii) we can’t meet up with anyone?  Now... why don’t I feel safe enough? Common sense tells me I will have much-reduced immunity to the usual bugs around - colds and, perish the thought, tummy bugs - so I need to tread carefully, if tread I can. But the main reason is this:

Apologies for deletions but the blog is public access

I may have ranted already that the letter is signed Matt. I know of a Matt who works in Jumbo Records and is like an oracle in this household (Matt says... Matt put it aside for me...Matt didn’t give me my discount!). I think I worked briefly with a Matt who worked for one of the drugs agencies in Leeds. And a Matt did some work for us on the house, maybe the porch, early on. Otherwise I know no Matt. It may show my age but I really object to some jumped-up entitled Tory thinking I will look on his policies (if there are any - read on if you can bear to) more favourably because we’re on first name terms. Sorry Mr Hancock, the greater the distance you are from me, even in Covid-free times, the better. At least Robert Jenrick had the nous to sign his full name. Maybe ‘Matt’ was tired

I digress. The letter tells me that, from today, I may go to work; go outside to buy food, to places of worship and for exercise but I should maintain strict social distancing. I was already able to form a social bubble or meet up to six people outside. Elsewhere, it says I may wish to go to more places and to see more people. I guess there’s nothing contradictory there but it’s getting a bit imprecise. Then he includes the words “ The advice is to stay at home where possible.” Now doesn’t that inspire confidence!

So I’m in a position where, it seems, I can interpret the government’s advice in several ways - but which is the safest? Obviously to stay at home. But after over 4 months practically isolated from the real world, I’m antsy. I can’t walk anywhere and the prospect of driving to sit in some car park isn’t alluring but it would be great if there was something I could do. Dennis of course isn’t bothered. Lifting shielding doesn’t make a jot of difference. He’s got out of the habit of visiting record shops, doesn’t miss it thanks to the internet, and really is quite happy to remain as he is. 

The solution lies with Joyce and Maureen who visited my ‘patio’ on Thursday. Next Saturday we will be going to Cookridge Hall to go swimming (someone to hoist me out of the pool - yay!). The only problem is that things are changing rapidly again as another spike is appearing across West Yorkshire and Lancashire. Leeds is safe, with a low infection rate of 4.6 per 100,000 compared to 13.1 across Yorkshire & Humber, but we are a hair’s breadth (or hare’s breath) away from Bradford which is back in lockdown. Joyce, aren’t you glad you made your escape to the Lakes hours before it was announced! I guess it’s wait and see if the poor little starling flops to the ground or finds its wings and soars.

191. Plus ça change encore une fois

I hope my A level French has survived correctly. Regardless, I’m stuck in a gigantic hamster wheel and peddling as fast as my legs will go and getting precisely nowhere.

1. My joint and bone pain is getting worse. I have to be constantly on the move to ensure something doesn’t seize up. But  catch 22 - I don't have the energy to be constantly on the move. Catch 23 - I don't have the energy because of the muscle pain. Answers please on a postcard.... No, don’t bother. I know the answer.

2. My GP thinks Rheumatology is dealing with it. Oncology thinks either my GP or Rheumatology is dealing with it. Rheumatology thinks either Oncology or my GP is dealing with it. Between them, they have created my hamster wheel.

3. I received a summary from Oncology to my GP. Lovely Dr E wrote: ‘Janet has undergone a rheumatology phone assessment and we are appreciative of this. Janet is now utilising Voltarol for her joint discomfort, this hasn’t immediately provided relief however she wishes to persist with this over the next few weeks.’ (Her punctuation). Wtf. Am I meant to bathe in the stuff? Which joint do I focus on for the prescribed daily use of Voltarol? My fingers get a free dose when I’m massaging my knees but there are a lot of joints left without this ineffective treatment.

She then goes on to say that, if it gets worse, ‘we will discuss further with rheumatology whether a steroid injection would be appropriate.’ Another wtf?? Which joint has the dubious privilege because it can be bloody painful. Maybe I’ll get one in each finger joint. 28 joints plus my wrists. To see in writing that the solution to all this seems to be a tube of Voltarol doesn’t quite capture the severity of the problem and I’m back to thinking maybe I’m being a bit of a wuss. Try telling my swellings that.

4. Meantime I do my exercises. I have even planned on going for a swim and have 4 M&S costumes to choose from. I’d forgotten how badly M&S swimsuits are designed, cut up the thighs to elongate the legs and slip neatly between your buttocks. Ugh. That’s two ruled out immediately. That leaves me with the post-surgery swimsuit that’s actually quite nice and cut respectably across the thighs. Do I go for the size 12 I can just about squeeze into and risk my weight creeping up further so I can’t get it off OR do I buy the size 14 that is marginally easier to get off but is too loose around the boobs (or boob - if I had two, I might manage to anchor it but it’s impossible with only one and an aqua knitted knocker).

I have reservations about swimming as it will be only the second thing I do straight out of shielding. Is it safe? Equally important, how do I get out of the pool after I’ve swum a mighty single length (if I’m lucky)? The steps are vertical and you need to rely on hand and arm strength to haul yourself out.  What if I can’t get out lol??




5. Quite early on I promised myself I wouldn’t slip into pity parties. That did not go down well with my therapist! Anyway, this is my pity party so - sorry but tough! As the late and great Lesley Gore sang: ‘It’s my party; I can cry if I want to...’ Where that came from when I can barely remember the title of the last book I read is a mystery but I think Dennis would approve. It was Murder on the River Usk and it was pretty bad; not recommended.

190. The comfort of chocolate

As the 10 stone mark creeps ever closer, AND I have just ordered a new swimsuit online in size 14 as there is no chance of getting my size 8 cossie over one thigh, I decided to fill my time with investigating suitable exercises that might flatten a tummy. Armed with a Cadbury’s Time Out (I thought the name appropriate) and having been instructed to put aside any ‘sodas’ or ‘fries’ but not chocolate (I like this lady, or am I missing her point?) I watched, slightly appalled at what might be expected of me. The exercises involving pressure on the hands are out. The exercises involving bending the feet are out. Anything lying on a mat is out - I shan’t be able to get up again. She completely lost me when she described pain as “motivating.” To what? Reach for the Voltarol? Anyway, I have concluded there is one twisting exercise I can do standing up. You are meant to keep your feet together but I’d topple so I can stand feet apart and, arms stretched out at shoulder height, twist sideways repeatedly.

It’s a start. The gym opens next week and I don’t want to give up my membership. So long as I can drive and it’s safe to hobble to the pool. Maybe I can go swimming a few times a week. Maybe....

I survived Monday intact. Just a bump on the back of my hand where attempt #1 failed to cannulate me. The hospital wasn’t buzzing but it wasn’t much less busy than pre-pandemic. Everyone was masked though I saw no signs to instruct us, In fact, I did see one young woman sitting maskless but no one was going anywhere near her - maybe that was her purpose. Things were marked out clearly and there were signs not to enter particular spaces and I watched staff in the corridors step aside to allow people to pass without encroaching on these areas (mostly round the reception areas and nurses’ stations).

Emma drove me there, a somewhat circuitous route but she knew what she was doing so I kept quiet. What did I care? I’d taken my lorazepam lol. Only 1 this time. The 30 minute treatment took 70 minutes but that was the nurses faffing around. They are lovely and I would never dream of criticising them but timekeeping isn’t a strength.

The sandwich lady appeared, followed by a tea lady who made my first drinkable St James’s tea. Challenge: how to consume either when masked. I tried lifting my mask above my nose but was blinded by that so I resorted to hooking it under my chin. As a result, much of the interaction with the nurse was with me mask-free But I reckon she was confident I was a safe bet as I’ve been shielding.The other problem was how to reach my ‘lunch’ when it was on my right and I mustn’t move my right hand. Hmm.

And here it is. A little bag of pure acid dripping into my veins. I wonder if it would strip the floor tiles. When it goes in, you can feel it flowing through the lower arm because it’s cold, but not beyond the elbow. Maybe it’s warmed up by then.

Tuesday I felt fine. Wednesday I just wanted to sleep. Thursday I noticed my joints are much worse, especially my hands. I hope it’s not back to square 1. I’ll be cross. However, to compensate, the sun came out so I sat in a windy garden, plugged into my iPod but still plagued by construction noise. It’s hardly surprising when they are this close, maybe 10 metres away on two sides. Big sigh..

Their weeds. Ours aren’t quite so high.

Rapid progress. They seem to be an awful lot closer as they gain a bit of height!

However, with the gym open, and after 1 August, at least I’ll be free to get away from the noise for part of the time. Roll on August. Why August 1? It makes no sense. 6 July for the country. 1 August for the shielded. Are they leaving nearly 4 weeks to make sure all those people flocking out of their homes don’t infect themselves again? I decided I’d break ranks and I’ve booked a hair appointment for the 27th! Oooh, what a rebel.

189. Hospital looming

I think regularity and familiarity don’t breed contempt so much as a sense of resignation - ‘ok, I did it last week, I can do it again.’ Have a 6 month break and things change. Having struggled my way through chemo and sundry other treatments off the oncology menu, I face my 4th zometa infusion on Monday and I feel a bit like I’m starting all over again: hollow feeling at the pit of my stomach, surges of anxiety, a sense of dread. The only thing I don’t have is the accompanying loosening of the bowel. Living in a state of perpetual constipation, that’s one symptom I’d fairly happily put up with.

Thinking ahead and wishing to reduce my time in the hospital to the minimum, I’ve been to my medical centre for my blood test. I made sure I got the paperwork 6 months ago after that disastrous effort to get blood out of me that involved almost 4 hours for a 30 minute treatment. Not again. This will run smooth as clockwork. Blood results on screen, no delay in setting up treatment, in with the cannula and away we go. Out in 40 minutes. That’s the theory. Let’s see what happens.

Martin Mucklowe in creepy character

In the meantime, I got a delightful shock on Friday to receive a personal message from Martin Mucklowe. If you’re a fan of the brilliantly-understated comedy “This Country,” you’ll recognise the name - the appalling father Kerry adores and makes excuses for. He comes out of prison and she has such dreams of a life with him; but he just gets her into trouble and lets her down. Not a nice character. He’s played by ‘Kerry’ the writer’s real father, Paul Cooper, and Trina follows all of the Coopers on Instagram.

Paul Cooper, normal human being

She’d asked if they’d send me a message to buck up my spirits before Monday’s treatment - and they did!! I got a 2-minute video from Martin Mucklowe, the first minute wishing me well and boosting my morale, the second minute slipping into the salacious which was very funny but a bit creepy. Once I’d got my jaw back from the sudden drop, I laughed so much. Then he and Daisy-May were on Celebrity Gogglebox last night and it was just such a relief to hear his well-educated voice with its distinct West Country accent rather than the seedy Martin voice! I’d love to post it here but the language is a bit iffy to say the least but here’s the proof of his kindness:

Some people remain unaffected by celebrity culture and are normal and generous human beings. I absolutely loved it. Thank you Paul and thank you yet again, Trina. How you work these little miracles is beyond me.

Visiting the medical centre was my first time actually entering any premises since mid-March. Apart from the fact that the car wouldn’t start in the car park, it all ran smoothly. But it struck me that those of us who have been shielded have missed out on one essential - we don’t instinctively maintain that social distance. I entered the entrance to the centre where a woman was on the only seat, playing with her phone. I started to read the large notices about what to do but there was nothing about reporting arrival so we struck up a conversation. I asked about masks (yes, they were required) at which point the woman raised her mask and I put mine on but wherever I stood, I set off the bloody alarms again or opened the automatic doors. It was like a comedy. I should have just stood outside but it was cold. When the nurse came for me I was at the car, ringing the garage to find out why the car wouldn’t start (I had it in Drive, not Park - I was mortified but I am so out of practice). So I shot back in and after that just followed. Mask on, hands gelled, no touching any doors, three attempts to find a vein and three lots of blood taken, then follow the nurse out, again not touching any doors. If a GP practice is like that, what will the hospital be like??

I am doing my exercises when I remember, but it usually works out at twice a day, as instructed. What I don’t manage is the anti-inflammatory gel three times a day, possibly because it feels like I’m using way too much. Even at twice a day, I went through a whole tube in under a week. I’m overdosing on Voltarol! However, I have noticed that it’s taking less time to get my fingers into working mode in the mornings so something is improving.

Last Sunday, I opened Cafe le Brun and entertained Marilyn and Kiera inside my double garage. It was bloody freezing and, once it started raining, it became way too cold. I must dig out an electric heater for my next entertainment. It was great to meet up with friends, more for the different faces than anything, and very strange not to hug. We dutifully maintained social distance over Jamaican ginger cake (thanks to Marilyn) and hot drinks but, when we were admiring photographs, we just forgot about the 2 metre rule! I think the problem is just not having these things built into our social behaviour by months of practice. It’s certainly not a cavalier attitude. We’re way too old to flout the rules lol.

Speaking of ginger cake, my weight creeps ever closer to 10 stone. Two years ago, I would never have dreamt this would be possible. I’m three and a half stone heavier than I was during chemotherapy! So this week, I faced with heavy heart the need to order SIZE FOURTEEN jeans!!!! There’s no escaping the fact that I am distinctly matronly now. I ordered 12 and 14 and I could just do the button up with the side 12. They weren’t uncomfortable but I wouldn't be able to sit unaware of my tight jeans. The 14 was a bit loose but, if my weight continues to creep up, I will grow into them so - I’ve decided I’d better keep both pairs. My first ever size 14 clothes, apart from pjs when I always order a 14 as I don’t like feeling constricted by nightwear. Dear lord. I’ll have to buy 16 in pjs next! Another first for me. WeightWatchers here I come. The problem is, I simply don’t understand or care about calories. I’ve never had to. Lucky, wasn’t I. Or maybe not. If I’d had some fat to lose, I might not have ended up with this mess of joint and muscle pain. Heigh ho. Swings and roundabouts.

188. Oh dear...

I am slightly mortified to have to say that today I received my first Government Support Package. Dennis had strict instructions to thank the deliverer and ask them to take it back but he forgot till it was too late.

I’m now the proud possessor of enough shower gel for 2 showers, a toilet roll, enough carrots for 6 months and various canned goods, including Baxter’s Chicken Broth which I’m tempted to try. It’s not a very healthy diet. Down the bottom, I discovered a Fray Bentos tinned pie but it’s cheese and onion - ugh. I’d forgotten all about these staples of my student days and, had it been a steak pie, I might well have given that a try just to reminisce.

It’s impossible to stop the parcels unless I reregister (third time) on the government website and tick the box saying I am able to access food. But if I do that, I lose my priority slot with Sainsbury’s. I’ve rung the council coronavirus helpline and they say it will be ok but it was their email that instructed shielded people to go back and reregister to make sure we retained our place on the vulnerable people list the supermarkets use. Huge sigh. Meantime, I’m trying to get someone local to pick it up for the Otley Food Bank, though I might keep the soup!

I had a lengthy consultation at last with Dr W, a consultant Rheumatologist at Chapel Allerton Hospital. I think the oncologist must have given them a prod and she was very reassuring and pretty certain of her diagnosis, after loads of questions. She said that most people my age have a level of osteoarthritis which is disguised by their general level of fitness but that chemotherapy will have taken its toll on my body, particularly because of my very low weight. Ok, it did go down to 6 stone 3 but she said I am “a tiny little thing” and had little enough muscle mass before chemo started. Basically, I’ve lost something or other in my tendons (some kind of -poenia) which has left my joints overly exposed and that’s why I’m suffering. I can’t tell you what a relief it was to know it is REAL. It’s a vestige of my childhood. I can hear my mum saying things about me ‘putting it on’ and, deep down, I still feel like a performer, a whinger or a hypochondriac if I express any pain or mention my symptoms. So I kind of feel vindicated - I’m not putting it on when I say there are times in the day when I cannot use my fingers, when my knees will give way etc etc.

I can safely have my next zometa infusion, which is a relief because it’s a treatment I really need to prevent any cancer spreading to my bone marrow. That’s Monday 13th and I’ve already checked - I have some lorazepam left! It will be strange being on my own and, even worse, I must wear a mask at all times. I’ve practised and 1. My glasses steamed up every time I exhaled and 2. I feel claustrophobic and a bit panicky. However 3. I shall have taken a lorazepam so I shan’t care :)

Back to Dr W. Once the hospitals lift their lockdown, I shall need to see a physiotherapist and an occupational therapist (that was one career I seriously considered at one point at school lol. Me!!). Meantime, I have to douse my feet, knees and hands in anti-inflammatory gel three times a day. If I don’t notice an improvement in 2-3 weeks, I need to try a different type until I find the one that suits me and she ‘promised’ I will find one. I also have hand exercises for 3 times a day and leg exercises which are very gentle but leave me utterly exhausted and with back ache! I am laughing as I type this, by the way. Oh, it won’t go away completely so I won’t recover my former level of fitness (A few people might laugh at that idea) but I should be able to get back to tai chi. Just no marathons from now on. Shame :)

Yesterday, I very slightly infringed regulations by entertaining Anne to a cuppa and cake socially distanced in my empty garage (the car’s not back from the repair shop yet). It was drizzling and windy, plus quite noisy so impossible to sit outside. On Sunday, the day before I’m allowed, I shall be entertaining the three Cake Eaters socially distanced in my garden (or in my garage again) so my head will be spinning with all this social contact.

Talking of noise, I was a bit taken aback to look in a different direction out of the bedroom window and see how close the building is now. This young man is building at the back of my neighbour’s garden, the houses being about 7 metres from her fence so this is the tree outside our bedroom and then the conifer which is part of our boundary - there’s no sense of perspective but he’s about 16 metres from us. Convert him into bedroom windows and it’s so bloody depressing. Then I look the other way and see this: a roof has gone up on one of the houses further away. They will get closer and closer. Aaaargh!

187. More frustrations

Rant #1

1. Rheumatology aren’t accepting any routine referrals at present. Ok but this is not necessarily routine.
2. My GP practice has tried to contact both the Rheumatology service and the Rheumatology Manager and has had to leave voicemails. Of course there have been no responses.
3. Rheumatology is unlikely to have gone on holiday.
4. The referral says “as the patient would like to speak to someone before her oncology appointment.” No, it’s not patient-led. Oncology expects me to have been seen by Rheumatology by Friday 10 July. There is no chance of being ‘seen’ but spoken with might be helpful. However, it’s getting too late now for anything constructive to arise from it (if it’s needed).
5. UPDATE: I’ve rung and spoken to the Oncology secretary and she’s going to give it a push. “It sounds like someone medical needs to intervene.” Fingers crossed. One rant may be removed but I’m never going to be popular with Rheumatology from now, am I? Why do I always need to be liked???

Rant #2

I received a letter from the DOHSC outlining the plans for The Shielded Ones. They seem to be purely random dates. From 6 July, I am free to go outside for exercise as much as I like. That would be fun if I could walk, painfree, without looking like I’m wearing flippers. I may also form ONE social bubble. Well that’s great considering that everyone else has already set up their requisite number of bubbles (obviously family first) and there’s no one left to bubble with unless they break the rules. And I’ve no wish to bubble with anyone breaking the rules (oh this sounds self-righteous) - the rules are aimed to keep control of the number of contacts and therefore the risk of spreading the virus more widely. Yes we all know that but... it can’t apply to me surely? One extra contact won’t matter. A trip to the seaside won’t do any harm - tell Bournemouth residents that!

BBC News - utter madness? Protection from the sun but not the coronavirus. Ok, makes sense...

From 1 August, shielding is paused and I am free to do as much shopping as I wish, I may go to work as long as it’s safe to do so (what do they mean? Either it’s safe to lift shielding or it isn’t, full stop). I must maintain social distancing and remain cautious - so the advice is “to stay at home where possible.” Really, isn’t that just going round in circles? You can now do this, that and the other but really it’s not that safe and you’re still at risk of severe illness, so try not to! I despair.

It does make me wonder whether the government has the slightest idea of the risks behind their decisions. The virus is still around. The R numbers are not at comfortably safe levels (and probably will soon soar in Bournemouth) but we are all champing at the bit, hankering after our freedom, and they feel they must give it to us. But only on those dates. So if I go to Morrison’s on 31 July, I’m breaking the regulations and I am taking my life in my hands. A few hours later, it will be safe. Ish. Well, maybe. Probably. But just in case... yes, you can go out, but don’t. That’s how I’d rewrite that letter.

Then of course there’s the fact that 2 million poor souls will burst out from confinement only to catch every bug going, apart from the coronavirus I hope, because we’ve zero immunity to the current climate. That should be fun.

I’ve also had to reregister as a vulnerable person because I made the mistake when I first registered of saying I had a means of obtaining food. I did. I have an annual delivery contract with Sainsbury’s and we always get a weekly shop. Apparently that doesn’t work any more. The local council has advised me to reregister and say no, I have no means of shopping. Unfortunately it does mean I shall now receive a government food parcel each week - but I can send it back with the driver. What a waste. Why not just have a tick box ‘I do not require a food parcel?’ But if I don’t comply, I will lose my place on Sainsbury’s priority list. Thinking back to my hysterics over the lack of a small loaf of bread in the early days of lockdown, I believe it’s wiser to follow all these stupid little games.

Rant #3

Sainsbury’s has this rule you can’t get round - only one shopping slot per week. That’s fair at the moment. We lost our regular Friday slot early on when it was impossible to book anything so I grabbed a late Saturday slot. Then the one-a-week rule came in so we were stuck with Saturday. We prefer Friday (please don’t ask - it involves my husband’s very fixed routines) so each week, I click on Friday hopefully - but a red box comes up saying only one delivery a week, so Saturday it is.

On Monday, I routinely checked for Friday. Up came the red box so I selected Saturday. I then did a random shop over £25 to secure the slot, paid and left it, knowing I could go back any time till 11 tonight and do a proper shop. This morning at 9am our shopping arrived, including a £7 fee for delivery. I checked - no text yesterday to alert us about payment, no email apologising for substitutes, nothing except last Monday’s confirmation. And bugger me if it didn’t say Friday!

Sainsbury’s telephone customer services are always helpful so I rang them. What had gone wrong? I got an obdurate woman who simply kept repeating we sent you a confirmation email and it’s your responsibility to check this. No ‘oh I’m surprised that happened - leave it with me and I’ll check.’ No ‘that must be frustrating. I’m not sure anything can be done now but I’ll check.’ She was repetitively polite to the point of rudeness, with long silences where I could hear her thinking ‘how can I get rid of this woman?’

I asked for an address so I could put my dissatisfaction in writing. There is none. I pointed out that early on in the crisis Sainsbury’s removed their email contact, which I thought was poor customer service (in fact all the businesses linked to Sainsbury’s have done the same, places like either Comet or Argos - I forget which) but there must be an address. No, just the telephone service. So, to take my complaint further, I need to ring this number and possibly speak to you again? Yes, that is correct. I said this was the most unsatisfactory service I’ve received from Sainsbury’s, at which point she informed me she had noted all the details to pass to her manager. I pointed out that, had she made that comment at the start, I would have been satisfied and ended the conversation.

So we have a ready-made meal for Dennis (but on Saturdays he always has X, Y and Z), we have an X but no Y or Z, we have Dennis’s milk but not mine, no bread (got some on the freezer ;) ), no vegetables, salad or fruit, apart from the red grapes we didn't really need. I now need to unwind from that bloody patronising woman and a stupid website that - wait for it - has now removed the red box. I think I will order £40 worth of stuff every day next week out of pettiness. Maybe not as the delivery men will bear the brunt of my pettiness - but I must get some bread and milk. Plus another £35 worth of stuff to avoid another delivery charge.

Rant #4

The patio door stuck yesterday. Why not? Join all the other hiccups that cause frustration. I have learnt a harsh lesson - your home emergency insurance doesn’t cover anything not arranged by them so I dutifully rang and they said no problem, they would arrange for someone to come out that day. I got a phone call from the firm confirming the arrangement and was told to expect a call 30 minutes before arrival. They came at 5 minutes to midnight. It was all fixed by half past midnight but... let’s just say someone was NOT happy (routines again) but he broke it so... Suffice to say, we are advised to get a new door. I wonder if that’s covered by our insurance because it will cost a bomb. It’s not UPVC and the whole thing will need redoing. Oh well, more into the money pit we call home.

A nice distraction from my cancer-related woes. And so good to be able to rant it out of my system. Just hard luck only any reader who unfortunately has to take this. Apologies. I hope you are having a chuckle at my expense - it’s the very least I can offer.