The Sober Life

  The noise of the self isolation sirens are dying away. The seriousness that greeted us at the start of the original lockdown has been replaced by a numb mundanity as we await the start of the endgame. We will disembark the Corona-coaster dazed and confused, the shutters will go up again on the high street, but what will the world be like and more importantly what will we be like? We have been through war style shortages and the good old blitz spirit on our doorsteps. We had false restarts, double standards, corruption, errors and good old human nature which is now bringing us back around nicely to get ready for… for a new age?....a new enlightenment?...a new awareness of the fragility of life?...Or just the pubs to reopen again so we can get slaughtered with our mates and pretend like this was all a bad dream? The government has given us a road map out of lockdown, a road map that reopens everything back to normal three days before Boris Johnson's birthday. As with all road maps...

     You last found me prancing around topiary versions of giant smiling Pacman heads, throwing petals over my shoulder that transformed into butterflies before they hit the ground. I had spent a month and a half off booze and was convinced I would stay this happy forever in the pink cloud. Well you guessed it I didn’t look where I was going and ended up feeling like I had just walked off the side of a cliff. For no reason that I can pinpoint my mood changed and I was outflanked by sadness. The first day after posting th e last blog I felt a little numb. Things weren’t right but things weren’t bad. The second day three lots of exercise had only generated enough endorphin s to fill a gnat’s thimble. HITT training followed by an hour of yoga followed by a 25 mile bike ride. There was nothing. My superstition started to kick in and I thought by posting a Blog about how happy I was I had basically laid down the gauntlet to the universe to do its worse. And thank you the next ...