A can on my doorstep

Sunday 3 May 2020

 

It is difficult to be excited about a can of Coca-Cola on a doorstep, unless you realise that it got there in the middle of lockdown. I had decided to take an even earlier stagger-stumble and crept from my front door when dawn was just appearing.

I missed the can at first, nearly kicked it and sent it flying, and then I thought. It was bright red and lonely, by the look of it largely undrunk, but the only way it would have got there was if someone had illicitly broken lockdown. Had I kicked it by mistake, there would have been a crash-clunk-clatter, and an otherwise silent street would have awoken, and I would have been blamed for the din. I left the can in the end and went for my stagger-stumble, so early that I passed only two people. One was an elderly man and his dog who kept a good 50 metres from me. The dog was hobbling, the man was hobbling, but the dog was hobbling faster.

“Morning!” he shouted with a lazy wave of his right arm. Lockdown has done that. We did not know each other, but these days in the centre of the capital it is now acceptable to greet a stranger.

“Morning!” I replied, and stagger-stumbled on my way.

Ten minutes further I came across a figure in the shadows, emerging from Marble Arch underground. I had not realised it was open, especially on a Sunday. The figure was hooded, looked like the Grim Reaper, and was walking rapidly away from me. Then, unexpectedly, the figure spat. He was only 20 metres away.

“Oi!” I shouted. It came out reflexly and one day will get me in trouble. Yet with the Grim Reaper it seemed the right thing.

The shadow did not turn. The man, at least I think it was a man, pulled his hood further over his forehead, rounded his shoulders, and then lifted his right arm high over his head as he scurried away. It was the only acknowledgement I received, and I was unsure if it was an apology.

By the time I made it back to my apartment after an hour’s stagger-stumble, I felt sad for my country. Around me were signs of lockdown being broken, which bodes badly for a second pandemic wave. As sure as night follows day, a second wave will come. The Coca-Cola was still on my doorstep to greet me. I had no clue how long it had been there, who had touched it, what it contained, but I had to move it on. Streetcleaners, who are definitely essential workers, do pavements but not doorsteps. My steps are up to me.

I am wary of touching strange objects these days, and normally wear gloves if I do. This time I used a plastic supermarket bag, and in moments the can was in the bin. I then spent the next ten minutes scrubbing my hands and forearms with soap and warm water, in case the Coca-Cola was more than it seemed.

Care homes are back in the spotlight today with a report that although the number of people dying in hospital might have peaked, those dying in care homes has not. One expert has commented that in light of the low occupancy of the new Nightingale hospitals, all healthcare focus should now turn to nursing homes. The expert has a point.

Going into hospital is also no guarantee of survival as a recent study from Liverpool, not as yet peer-reviewed, has shown. Apparently, up to a third of Covid-hospitalised patients may die. The study was large and looked at 16,749 patients in 166 UK hospitals over slightly more than two months.

Overall, the findings showed that 49% of patients were discharged alive, 33% died and 17% were still receiving care at the time the paper was published. I realise the numbers do not add up to one hundred. Of those who were admitted to intensive care units, 31% were discharged alive, 45% died and 24% were still receiving care at the time the research was completed. It was not good to be male and certainly not good to be fat.

That puts me in a difficult position. I cannot change being male, but I still adore chocolate. Do I want to increase my chances of survival by giving up chocolate? Or, do I say, “What the Hell,” and guzzle a bar when I see one? I confess that a single bar of the chocolate I love contains 611 kilocalories. That is my dilemma.

This Liverpool study does emphasise the Prime Minister’s description of his own experiences as a patient on an intensive care unit in London. Featured in The Sun newspaper, the saga is written well. It was an unquestionable near miss for Boris Johnson and the country. Contingency plans were in place, in case he did not make it. If nothing else makes the lockdown avoiders sit up and take note, just read of the Prime Minister’s experiences. There will be very few leaders worldwide, if any at all, who have physically had the disease. Boris Johnson may believe in first-hand experience, but he nearly took it too far.

The world’s economy continues to fall apart, emphasised by today’s announcement that Warren Buffet’s company has sold all its shares in US airlines. His organisation, Berkshire Hathaway, has made a record near US$50 billion loss in the first quarter of 2020. That compares with a US$21 billion gain in the first quarter of 2019. Dear me, what is happening?

Travel is manifestly changing, as presently we cannot do it anyway. Many will be suspicious of travelling any great distance for some time in the future. From a solely personal view, I find it hard to imagine I will be flying again for the rest of this year, and possibly even into 2021. There will be many others thinking the same, which does not bode well for the travel industry.

Countries are trying to show they are reacting, to make travel seem safer. For example, Hong Kong Airport is presently trialling a whole-body disinfection device, Emirates Airlines is offering rapid Covid-19 blood tests before boarding at Dubai, and flight attendants will most likely wear masks. Meanwhile the Italians are investigating the use of Plexiglass barriers between beach sun loungers, while its restaurants will be halving their number of tables. Travel may also become much more expensive.

As a travel writer in my other life, the future has many challenges.