Today is blood letting day and my antibodies test.
I was talking to someone on Zoom at the end of the week. They reminded me that during 2019 they wrote a diary for a year. Sometimes their daily entry was pages long. At the end of the year they stopped because after a while they found themselves trying, every day, to provoke a social situation that was sufficiently dynamic and confrontational for them to spend the evening transcribing it. Also, they realised that any publication would incur immediate libel charges.
My own motivation could not be more different although not necessarily as interesting. It seemed to me that entering into lockdown and what has now become our ‘new reality'( from where did such a phrase originate), we found ourselves at sea, a ship of fools, without map, an unreliable captain and an inflatable and omnipotent navigator: a folly a deux who spelt infantile disaster
To begin with I was paralysed by anticipation of ‘Ship Wreck’… Now I am intrigued, although it is scary. Very scary. Today, and every next day, I have no idea whether I will have anything to chronicle tomorrow, in these ‘unprecedented times’ (the phrase sounds banal tripping out of a collective tongue of naive unsophistication.) Unlike the other chronicler I try to leave almost everything that happens each day beyond my work schedule and making our bed to a twist of fate. Today, I am keeping my fingers crossed, if not pricked that Rasputin Cummings will be ship wrecked.