Here we go. They are all so excited because the slope of the contagion curve in Italy has become flatter, i.e. the rate of growth of new cases and that of deaths is getting smaller by the day. They are all so excited, We reached the peak, now things are getting better, they say. But, is it true? Once the peak is over we can start hoping to get soon be back to normal? Not so sure. The virus spread and spread fast in the most productive part of Italy, where by definition there was a lot of activity and interpersonal interaction for work reasons. The same area where the health service is more efficient. But the virus will eventually get to the centre and south of Italy, and rural areas which so far have been spared the slaughter. What will happen when it gets there? What will happen in areas with substandard hospitals or very few hospitals? I hope not, but I truly believe the peak story is rubbish. We are going to have a wave shaped curve. We are going to be oserving different lethality rates. It’s going to be a helter skelter until a vaccine is found.
A good friend sent me pictures of the pandemic that affected the world a hundred years ago, the Spanish flu. Please have a look
Even the cat was wearing a mask. They realised the deadliness of the flu, and adviced to take a number of precautions just like now, and everybody seemed to wear face masks.
Then the peak passed, they relaxed restrictions, and after the summer BOOM. It came back with a vengeance.
I am not holding my breath for the end of the lockdown. I know it will happen but if I have a choice I do not think I will rush out. I might drive to the flat in Milan to check the mail, but I will definitely come back here. I suffer from asthma and have absolutely no desire to risk falling ill to a flu which will see me gasping for breath. I very well know the terror and am determined to avoid it … like the plague.
I havent been writing, I know, sorry. I wasn’t well. I developed a sports related injury from possibly too strenuous exercise (in lockdown, you figure), a bursitis on my heel just below the Achilles tendon. It looked like a red walnut sized bump and sore it was too. I took ibuprofen, but then discovered I had some medicated plasters with another anti-inflammatory drug. It must have been very powerful because the soreness and swelling decreased substantially. But at the same time I strarted feeling like a zombie, and believe me when you are alone in a country house this is not funny. I had severe headaches, vertigo and nausea. Initially I thought I must have moved my head too fast and displaced the little bits of stuff in my inner ear, but then realised that this was too persistent a problem to be the otoliths. Eventually I checked the plasters’ potential side effects and there it was: you are going to be a zombie! so I removed it and finally feel much better.
And because I was feeling better and had been inactive for four full days, yesterday I decided I would clean the garden furniture. It took me one hour to assemble all the equipment and start but eventually I managed. I jetsprayed the table and bench, when dried I sanded some bits and hoovered them, then I coated them with teak oil. A truly magnificent work. (Peter would say I write in a pompous way, I know, I do, but only sometimes). Today I helped the neighbours with bits and pieces in their gardens and now I am wandering where to unleash my energy onto next.
And before I say goodbye let me tell you about my goofy experience yesterday. It is now compulsory to wear a face mask anytime you leave the house even if it’s just to take the rubbish to the bins outside the gate.
I needed to go and buy bread and the teak oil for the garden furniture, so I wore mask, gloves and glasses. By the time I got to the car the glasses were all steamed up. So I lower the mask (you are not supposed to do that argh lest you contaminate something) and start driving to the village. Police checkpoint, long queue. It looks like I amthe only diligent driver with a completed form, so when I reach the point I am let go smoothly. I get to the shops. Long queues. By that time the face mask is back on my face again. So steamed glasses. I meditate whether to remove the glasses but decide against because my eyes could be a door to the virus, so I keep them on but fiddle with them. Then a friend sends me a msg to ask how to colour her hair at home (biggest problem for women in lockdown, hair regrowth), so there I am trying to give a tutorial online wearing disposable gloves (iphone does not recognise your fingerprint through latex), steamed glasses for shortsightedness. A spectacle really. When it gets to my turn (one at a time in the shop) I am still at it. I talk to the shop owner asking for teak gel instead of teak oil, I blubber something, then a truly giant great dane advances towards me proceeding to lick my crotch, spreading saliva all over my jeans. I truly had no clue what to do. I am allergic to dogs’ saliva so I couldnt decide whether to push the dog away and in so doing contaminating the gloves with an allergen, then maybe I would start sneezing and people would think I had coronavirus, or what. Before I knew it the shop owner rushed to my rescue with some scottex paper to wipe the stuff away from crotch and legs, with me steamed glasses, blubbering, phone in my hand, in a goofy state to say the least.
Ok I thought I’d let you know that going around like this is really hard (and can be funny too sometimes).
Dinner time. Goodnight xxx
