Coming out the other side - In the name of Thiago - Day 121



This of course is the question that many people want to know the answer to as in when will it happen?

Intriguingly though, I am becoming less and less concerned with this at the moment. Sure there are times when I wish I could get out the tennis racquet and go and smash a few at Draycott Tennis Club but as we start our seventh week of lockdown, I’ve bizarrely found myself to be less agitated than I was say three weeks ago.

So I’ve not really been paying attention to what’s going to be happening on the Isle of Wight for the next few days in relation to monitoring the spread of Covid-19 because I’m simply not demanding news in the way I once might have done. It’s just not the world that I need to inhabit at the moment.



That’s not to say that I’m not interested in anything relating to a lockdown as my latest reading choice indicates. But this is fiction so that’s ok, albeit a piece of fiction written 15 years ago, which uncannily represents the situation we are facing now.

It’s not quite as fast paced as the crime thrillers of Chris Brookmyre or Carl Hiaasen, who are certainly two of the authors that I am most drawn to, but I’ll stick with it as there’s not going to be a better time to read it. At least you’d bloody hope not.



This is me sat in the summerhouse the other day wearing my special Anglo-Brazilian felt heart produced with painstaking attention to detail by the remarkable Gemma Smith. I try to wear it all the time. It brings me comfort to know that a little memory of Thiago is always  close to me, sat proudly on my heart where he should be.

I’ve just had to abort the blog for half an hour there to have another very tearful moment. I was searching for a picture of the magnificent tattoo that my good friend Jamie Hickey has on his arm with Thiago’s name on and the Brazilian flag but alas I couldn’t find it. Ah well, another time.

I mention Jamie as I so often do because it’s the old bastard’s birthday today. I sent him come cake and pastry items, which I trust he shall polish off with a minimum of fuss and I know of another friend who is sorting him some beer vouchers. Yes, actual beer vouchers.



Finally this evening - before my usual plea for your financial support of my charity memorial walk -
I thought I’d reached the end of the road with the £50 cooker story from Friday. Good God no, this gift just keeps giving. My sister Holly overheard my Dad offering the sellers of the property £100 for it this morning. Yes that’s twice what they were asking for, which even by my father's remarkable instinct for a deal is a fairly extraordinary negotiation. 

He’s also made a donation to the charity for that amount today which he insisted should include mention of the two ladies that are selling to him. The £100 offer today has come about because apparently Angelica really needs the cooker. Yes that’s right the cooker which we have absolutely no use for whatsoever. Confused? Yes, me too!


Right you lot, here it comes then. All donations gratefully received unless you’re going to make me buy a cooker I don’t need. Help me to get to that £10,000 target for the NHS please folks. They are there for all of us.   

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