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Well, of course, it had to happen eventually. It’s official, we are now a Covid infected household after my wife tested positive last week. Not quite the Christmas gift I’d been hoping for. I feel I ought to surround the house with Salem-style burning torches or stand at the front door ringing a bell declaring to the world this abode is “unclean, unclean” at the top of my voice.
Yes, that magnified red, blue or green floating spiky balloon that looks so harmless on TV and newspaper Covid graphics has taken a year to travel the 5,500 miles from a Chinese wet market to my Livingston home, killing more than 1.6 million people and infecting 75 million along the way.
But seriously, it’s been quite a shock, although it really shouldn’t be, to discover the cause of such devastation to humanity has set up residency within my own four walls. Even though we are surrounded by minute by minute reports of the latest pandemic developments, it’s sometimes easy to slip into a mindset that “news only happens to others”. But this is persistent, uncompromising and unrelenting – drop your guard and it will take full advantage. It doesn’t care or have a conscience.
Thankfully, my wife’s symptoms have only manifested themselves in the form of a heavy cold, feeling hot and a loss of smell, which for someone with Olympic standard olfactory abilities is quite something. While I count my blessings that myself and our two boys appear to be asymptomatic, I’m also aware it is our good health and others like us that could inadvertently pass a death sentence on less fortunate souls.
Our first reaction to the diagnosis was, ‘how could this have happened?’ We follow the rules, wear our masks, keep our distance, don’t travel outwith our local area. We’re responsible citizens, honest. But somehow, somewhere this invisible menace has found a weak spot, a fleeting lax moment in concentration in Covid precautions and piled in.
So here we are, stuck in the house without stepping foot outside the front door for the past week. Although only my wife has been tested, we have to assume we’ve all got it. Besides observing social distancing rules isn’t exactly realistic when living in such close quarters – the two-metre rule doesn’t really work in a double bed, even if it is a king size one.
The youngest child’s immediate reaction was one of elation – no school, all-day Minecraft. He quickly pulled himself up short, however, when it dawned on him he may pose an infection risk to Santa. Meanwhile, all the ball throwing for the dog is turning the garden into a mud-filled quagmire to rival that of Passchendaele, 1917.
Our three wise men (or women) for our Christmas story come in the form of Amazon, Morrisons and the Royal Mail deliveries, helping to keep food supplies flowing and stockings filled, while the Angel Gabriel, otherwise known as the next door neighbour, really has been a godsend.
So try and stay positive this Christmas, if you can. But let’s just hope not Covid positive.
