I’m not a political animal (I’ve never even told my husband who I’ve voted for, even though he professes to know), though like many people I have plenty to say in the privacy of my own home.  I’ve never posted or blogged about anything particularly political. And I couldn’t care less if anyone (other than you, Rory!) goes off and has an affair – including MPs at any ‘normal’ time in our lives. But I now make an exception for a rant over Matt Hancock, who has insulted everyone who has made sacrifices. The people who couldn’t visit their loved ones, even when they were dying. Who couldn’t hold their hands, even in their last moments. Who couldn’t attend their loved one’s funeral because of isolating themselves, or the number attending being limited. Who went through physical and mental hell obeying the rules and staying in isolation. Who waited for permission to hug their grandchildren?

Then we see this MP with a callous disregard for anyone or anything other than his self-gratification, interpreting his own ‘Hands, face, space’ mantra in a very different way. Hands all over his lover’s buttocks, face firmly glued onto hers, no space between them as they ground their groins together. His need for illicit sexual gratification did not give him the licence to do what he liked, when he liked (at work? on taxpayers’ money?), with two fingers up to the rest of the country. And a PM who yet again had the arrogance, toxicity and feeble-mindedness not to take any action over his staff breaking the law. (Cummings still not being far from mind.)

There have been some great things arising from the lockdown. Communal life with a new focus on helping each other; neighbours stepping up to help people to whom they had previously never spoken; our own village Good Neighbours group swinging into action on every front; socially-distanced street parties and orchestras and sing-songs; appreciating the NHS more (that first clapping session was quite emotional); family zoom quizzes and challenges (must post some of ours in this blog); seeing the grandchildren on screen with none of the clearing up to do afterwards; the lucky ones who could work finding ways and means to hold meetings; the NHS staff working to breaking point; the supermarket staff, delivery drivers and postal staff who kept us going with supplies and careful contact; the volunteers like Rotarians who provided the infrastructure for vaccination clinics; the people who trained or refreshed their skills to give the vaccinations; the very best of our British character and spirit making the best of a bad job and a palpable warmth towards others; innovation, creativity and determination to the fore. Children truly suffering to protect older people – one of the grandchildren is in a ridiculously sized bubble of 340 children and therefore is almost never at school (on top of everyone’s lockdown, an additional 18 weeks off school and supposed to just stay in his bedroom) because someone is always testing positive.

National solidarity reflected in all of this, and a sense of us all – from schoolchildren to pensioners – doing our duty.

And then there’s the Cummings and the Hancock types betraying us via selfish individualism. And the impotent (at least in this sense though apparently not in another) Prime Minister unwilling to take action as required of the leader of the country.

Most of the country accepted their moral and social responsibility. Whilst those who set the rules didn’t.

A few days on from the breaking news and I still can’t get over it. It stinks.

Time for a coffee, methinks. Rant over.

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