So very tenuous are my contacts with the Real World that I felt a strange euphoria on going along for my first Covid jab at Ealing Town Hall—almost as if I was being injected with some other substance, like reading Patricia Lockwood (suitable soundtrack, yet again: You’re my thrill).
While I’ve only been able to imagine the terrible sufferings of patients and NHS staff from the distance of the media—“our” NHS, that possessive mainly the prerogative of mendacious politicians (see note here)—I was much encouraged by the cheery, efficient volunteers, even if the scene didn’t entirely resemble that in the painting above.
From this article.
What’s more, I’ve just renewed my passport—more as a souvenir than as a prelude to exotic adventures in far-flung climes, obvs. I see that only 42% of US citizens have a passport—up from 3% in 1989!?! * “I mean, what is there in Greece?” (cf. The English, home and abroad).
Anyway, I take personally both my passport renewal and the invitation to get vaccinated, as if I have been singled out for an MBE in special recognition of my services to International Cultural Exchange (takes modest bow, and virtuously declines the award).
Heady times, eh. Still, this sense of belonging is fleeting and illusory—back to my reclusive pursuits, punctuated only by pottering down to the corner shop every few days.