There’s a plot going on in The Archers at the moment which involves Slave Labour. One of the characters who’s a builder, Philip Moss, is using young guys he seems to have rounded up from the streets, to work for him for peanuts and seems to have them absolutely terrified. Now, I was finding this whole plot-line somewhat implausible, well, totally implausible, if I am honest and then, suddenly, yet again, in these crazy days, real life copies art.
There’s a really nice 4 star hotel in Stow-on-the Wold in the Cotswolds and it seems that the owner has been using it as a front for sex slaves. Allegedly ( and I have to say that as he’s only been arrested as yet ) he’s been bringing them into the country, training them up ( the article in The Times didn’t go into details of the training so it could be as barmaids, or cleaners or reception staff for all I know ) but then they’ve been shipped off as “ Working Girls “ into London’s West End. I can’t wait to get back to the Cotswolds and re-visit this hotel for a coffee or whatever else they may have on offer.
That trip seems a long way off. As if I had not been brought to my knees by everybody telling me I am vulnerable I got two texts from NHS yesterday. The first said that I was at “high risk of severe illness if I contracted The Big V ( big shock that and it only took them six weeks to get around to telling me ) and consequently I should remain home until the end of June. Talk about moving the goal posts. I’d worked out that the original 12 week sentence took me to June 8thand I was reckoning I could get that down by a couple of weeks for good behaviour. And then some old boy on the bench puts on his black cap and hands down that Capital sentence .
The good news is that I am going to get that famous, elusive letter I was after when I was trying to get food deliveries. I may well have it already but I leave the post in a box for a few days to let the Big V die off from it. Bet that one’s not hand written like the nice missive from my lovely neighbour, Diane in the Cotswolds. Anyway, hot on the heels of that first text from NHS I got another. This one said I could open a window ( what to jump out of ? ) but don’t go outside your property. I have to ask others to take rubbish to bins and walk any pets. They obviously don’t know me very well. I don’t think I’ve ever taken anything to the bins (rubbish included ) and the only pets I have are the imaginary worms at the end of my fingers ( see earlier episodes for The Worm Family Robinson ) If you can really be bothered.
So, that’s me well and truly shut in. Technically I can’t even go on to my front drive to clap the NHS ( or anybody else who’s random turn has been selected this week ) Mind you, it would have been a muted clap given the length of time it’s taken them to write me this letter of warning. So I am left to write my blogs and my novel and finish “ The Mirror and the Light “ ( up to P 725 now so nearly there ) I am so desperate that I am even thinking of trying Trump’s remedy and injecting myself with Dettol or the like. Or injecting him with Dettol and see if that works for him. Mind you, whenever I spoke out of turn my mother would tell me to wash my mouth out so that goes for Trump as well. Swill Dettol till your heart’s content, Donald. Inject yourself till it is frothing out of your mouth. It will make more sense than most of what comes out of your mouth. His idea makes my suit made out of newspaper positively sane. Do hope the nail bars and the bowling alleys and the hairdressers in Georgia are thriving.
Although my “ Sunscreen “ song has the line , “ Do one thing every day that scares you “ (which probably includes listening to a Trump template speech ) I’ve actually got plenty of non-scary things to do to fill in the time during my incarceration.
I did say a couple of years ago I would go up into my loft once a week and bring down one of the millions of black bags that are up there filled with stuff that seemed important to keep at the time. The only problem is that the time stretches over thirty four years which is the time we have lived in this house. And I think I may well have transferred the stuff from my old house where we lived for another fourteen years because somewhere up there is my wife’s wedding dress. When it went up it still had the same coffee stain it collected after my best man and his then girlfriend drove us back from the wedding and then actually accepted the throw-away invite to come in for a drink ! My wife was so excited to have our first house guests that she spilled her coffee down the front of the dress!
Lofts are a bit like Vegas. What goes up in them stays in them. We were once flying to the States and Sam, who was about five at the time, was looking out of the plane window with me. I pointed out Vegas. He said, “ oh what goes on in Vegas, stays in Vegas. “ Seems his Uncle Nicky may have told him that. So, up in ours, apart from the wedding dress ( used to bring it down on every anniversary but that stopped although after isolation deprivation I reckon my wife could get into it again … if the mice haven’t got to it…. I am sure by the scamperings I hear above our bedroom ceiling at night there is some very interesting wild life living up there) there are all my old theatre and football programmes ( somewhere amidst them is the Arsenal v Manchester United programme from the game before the Munich Air Disaster ( Man U won 5-4 as I recall with a Tommy Taylor hat-trick …. He died at Munich sadly ) and that’s worth a small fortune, there are my sons’ old books ( some have come down and been dusted off and given to Sam who turned his nose up at them a bit as they weren’t Harry Potter, or Maze Runner or anywhere near thick enough for his taste … likes a big book does Sam though I think Hilary Mantel may still be a step or two too far or 800 pages too far to be exact ) lots of lego, toy cars ( also valuable ,many of which have come down and proved great entertainment for Sam for many years ) old editions of comics such as Roy Of the Rovers… got them down too, boxed them up to sell on e-bay and then couldn’t bring myself to do it. Then there are the boys old school books, soft toys, comfort blankets, suitcases, a ski suit (not that I am ever going ski-ing again as the one time I did go I never got off the nursery slope whilst ten year olds ( my younger son included ) were whizzing down the black runs. Mind you they did give me a medal ( out of sympathy I think )
My juvenilia of literary creations are there too ,as is goodness know what else. Anyway, I put expeditions up there on hold after the operation on my foot but I think now may be the time to try that ascent up the rickety ladder once again. As I said, do one thing every day that scares you. Beyond getting out of bed in the morning. I mean those NHS Texts have scared the living daylight out of me . I mean even as I type I’ve had another one telling me to get a single bag ready with key information in case I have to go into hospital Are they having a laugh? I can never go on holiday without taking at least two cases just for my stuff !
And now there’s also live football to watch again. I mean it is coming from the Belarus Premier League. In case you are interested Dynamo Brest played Shakhtar and Shakhtar won 2-0 away which was a surprise as Brest were the League Champions last year. Sorry if you recorded the game and I’ve spoiled it for you. They are talking about the return of cricket on July 1st as well. That might have to be re-thought. Close fielding might be a problem in the face of social distancing. No forward short leg, or silly point or wicket-keeper standing up to the stumps or sledging ( that’s abuse of the batsman by the way by the close fielders, Aussie speciality ) and we could end up with everybody on the boundary . Whatever. Just get it back soon, please. There I am really suffering withdrawal symptoms.
Whoops, run out of space again. Bromance def tomorrow. Have to mow the lawn now so stay safe and have a good day. See you tomorrow if we are spared.