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Something I’ve learned: neither politicians nor journos care about the social distancing measures they all screech to the public about day in and day out. After seeing hordes of journalists swarming round a police station blatantly undistanced and unmasked, I felt a combination of relief and frank disbelief. As they peddle these fears onto the ever-more-suspecting masses, they themselves enjoy exemption from the so-called rules. Same, we know, as those in power, who flaunt their disregard for the restrictions that they not only forcefully impose but create.
It was cute today to speak to the police officer, saying he really liked sitting in court and listening to all these well-spoken people, with his genuine smile and wry blue eyes. A loveable cop, paired with a clever prosecutor who got me to keep mum about most names in the story. To be honest, I would have done so anyway, though N--- would have squeezed it out of me. But here I had to be firm as I had promised. It seemed truly needless to publish names of people who were victims of a crime and who might become victims of even more serious ones through publication of such information.
Also I enjoyed the Sunday outing to this odd part of Surrey that had a sort of rich gypsy vibe to it, littered with derelict buildings and strange half-houses that are probably expensive but seem shanty-like.
People with flat caps and joyful billy goats and intense black eye make-up, complaining “they’ll blame it all on the travellers, I just know it” and “an explosion!? What about the horses down there? The poor things will have been spooked to death!” - something, I won’t go into what, has put me off horse ladies. They really are slightly mad, and some horses are too fragile, overall useless creatures in our day and age.
And a completely random cozy little pub in the midst of it all, unsuspecting and quaint though not without an unfortunate modern veneer – all but inevitable with modern expectations. The Daily Mail man and I bemoaned the mask that covered the face of an adorable, keen young blonde waitress who was practically shivering with the desire to please and do well.
I suppose the Sun and the Mail aren’t really the ones peddling the fear so much, and they have been the most chilled I’ve met so far. The Sun woman actually shook my hand, which was a real joy to hold and behold. She was called Francine, too!
It is truly time I handed in my social media subscriptions and started to live in the real world. I used to, back in the pub times, now it’s just all about politics until the vomit comes out through my nose.
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