Dear reader, these are strange times. Perhaps this is the new normal. Still as these diary entries prove, there’ always room for optimism. They arrived by plain paper parcel, neatly tied outside the pcbycp offices. In our frenzy, ( thinking they were the corona virus detection kits we ordered last January) the cover was rudely torn, and pages of foolscap and quarto thrown to the wind. What we have here are but mere fragments.
The anticipated Corona detection kits
Incidentally the Corona detection kits still have not arrived. We wait in hope.
The Corona Diaries. Day 15
Dear reader hot on the re-printing of “Journal of the Plague Year’, we bring you this first from pcbycp, the Corona Diaries.
Day fifteen.
Went to Coles. No use. Queue stretched halfway down the street. After waiting in the queue for half an hour I gained the attention of the person (1.8 metres deemed safe distance) in front of me, to discover that in actual fact I was in the wrong queue. He pointed to the queue of drab-clothed people stretching the full length of the street, looked like a column of Russian prisoners after the first happy days of June 1941. This bloke, he flashed a card, “Brett” (he was playing it safe on vocal communication) signifying the conversation had reached its safe limit. His queue belonged to those intent on purchasing face-masks from the local Chemist. Coles had run out of stock, and now they were putting a restriction on one item per person.
Five hours later only thing left on the shelf at Coles, a dented tin of asparagus spears. Cleary no one knew the prophylactic potential of a well cooked asparagus. My eating requirements were settled for the next few days. Still, I glumly reflected, no toilet paper. Took a circuitous homeward via the Royal Botanical Gardens. The Serrated Patagonian Tussock, (Thelopsepsis Vulgaris) answered to my basic intestinal needs. And a slow dunking of my posterior, (the medical journal warns of skid marks) in the ornamental lake ensured basics of hygiene, were up-kept.
Avoided all possible close contact with humans. To be on the safe side, walked through the parliamentary precinct, and then via the Federal Liberal Party Headquarters.
After dinner last night, learning to be self sufficient, braised possum and vine leaves, washed it down with half cup of Dettol mixed ( lightly stirred) with Brasso. Cleanses the larynx and as instructed keeps the throat dry and free from effluvium.
Our PM
This morning, looked out the window, Quiet as the grave. Nice to see St Kilda road cleansed of people. Reminded me of recent trips to the outer suburbs. Determined not to be broken by the spirit of these times and enjoyed the splendour of the PMs address to the people over the Tannoy in Federation Square. Though the place was deathly quiet, like a funerary shroud cast over the Valley of the Kings he inspired me with his wisdom and far-reaching benediction that ‘thoughts and prayers’ will be our saviour. As in the moment of bushfire crisis he alone stood as a man of resolute principle and imagination. With ideas bold enough to galvanise us all in a will to prevail.
Walked past Coles on my way home. Bolstered by the PMs grasp of the situation, the queue outside Coles had grown into a mad throng. Rioting, seemed imminent. Two overly large women, (to describe them as animated bean-bags would be polite) were fighting over a singular square sheet of toilet paper. All around, the street was littered with fragments of toilet paper, sanitary napkins, and facial masks. It looked like the streets of Dunkirk after the BEF had gone offshore. Grim talismans of these dark times.
The one in tracksuit pants tore at her opponents eyes and face with overlong false fingernails, painted a surreal and luminous deep purple. “You effing effing bitch, that’s moine’!, and then kicking her opponent with a well aimed Nike; ‘and it wouldn’ effing be big enough to whipe your fat effing arse wif anyway’. To whit her opponent screamed, “YOUS can get effed, it was moine, and moine before youse ever got yer stinking hands onto it’!!.
They say the arts had been crushed by this pandemic, street theatre is clearly flourishing.
Sport-minded Australians ensuring a fair go for all.
Shocked at this decline of public morality, I consoled myself with a cup of tea and ABC classic fm. There was a lovely interview with a person of great public standing, Mr Kevan Gosper AM, and he spoke of his life of sacrifice for all sport minded Australians. I reflected if only we were all just a little bit more public spirited like Kevan, what a difference it would make. A profound difference.
Went to bed listening to News 24. More from the Prime Minister. He admonished some amongst us for being “Un-Australian”. I washed my hands again. They had no been washed for several minutes since I last looked at the death count. In Italy they’re up to 686. I looked it up. There’s light at the end of this crisis. 686 is a very lucky number for those of us who consider themselves part of the Chinese community.
A sign surely.
That optimism shall prevail.