Four days ago I had the AstraZeneca vaccine. I didn’t hesitate one second when I got the text from our medical practice and booked the first available (day-time) appointment in two days’ time. The Brighton Race Course is not a place one would associate with medical activity (except maybe heart attacks) but there it is, fitted out with desks and cubicles and an ‘observation area’ where you are required to sit for 15 minutes after the jab.
The parking arrangements are not immediately obvious nor is the one-way system of getting people into the ‘production lines’ and the howling wind and rain didn’t help. We didn’t go up the right road the first time but I was anxious to not be late so my husband dropped me and I squeezed myself around a gate and through an unavoidable puddle and ran the last 100 metres. There were people directing you at every junction – even outside.
When I clocked in I asked the woman at the desk if she was a volunteer. “Oh, we all are, dear! Every single person here.” So mostly because I wanted to thank people who were giving their time like this but also because I was interested – and sure enough, every one told me they were volunteering. Doctors, nurses, secretaries, every kind of person taking on even the most menial tasks. Not much fun standing outside in that foul weather and directing people, not much fun scrubbing down the seats and tables, not much fun filling in the same forms over and over again, not much fun plunging needle after needle into arm after arm – yet every single one said things like “what else could I be doing that is more important?” or “the least I can do” or “much more cheerful here than stuck at home by myself” or “there is such a good spirit here that I enjoy it all very much” (nurse who works full-time at our practice and has a family but still gives two of her three days off to this exercise) or “best thing I could do with my days off” (doctor). As of today 10 million people have been vaccinated in the UK and counting. Extraordinary.
When my husband found a parking place he was worried as to how he would find me and asked one of the parking attendants. She said not to worry because there was a one way system and he couldn’t miss me in the observation area. And so it came to be. When we were leaving James leaned out of the window to thank her for her help and she said “I am sorry to see you found your wife!” Hilarious laughter followed – even from me – but I couldn’t help wondering what he had told her. He is not to be drawn!
The last few days since the vaccine have not been easy. 24 hours after the jab I felt as if lead had been injected into my limbs. I could hardly move and felt dizzy and nauseous. As if that were not enough, I cannot sleep. The doctor tells me it will wear off in a week.
Then I will see if I can volunteer myself to do something useful in this national endeavour. Inside the building – not outside.
12 June. It was instilled into me at a young age that you don’t leave litter. I don’t recall so many public bins back in the 60’s and the message was clear – pack up your rubbish, take it home and bin it. On the face of it not difficult to understand or to execute so why has litter been a thorn in our side for as long as I can remember?. Yesterday evening in a local park was an overflowing bin and litter strewn all around – a small vignette of a much bigger problem. One hot weekend last summer 23 tons of rubbish were collected off the Brighton and Hove beaches and the Council planned for a further 300 new bins over a stretch of about eight miles along the sea front. This included recycling so blue for plastic bottles and cans, maroon for glass and black for ordinary rubbish. Again I’d ask, what could be simpler? But there’s a sense of deja vu with the recent burst of hot weather and the beach near the pier had an ugly coating of nappies, wipes, takeaway items, cans and drinks bottles aplenty. Enough in fact for volunteers to fill twenty five bags of 5 Litre volume over about a three mile stretch. And it’s not just the beaches but also the parks. Preston Park, Brighton’s largest, might take park attendant Bill at least a couple of hours to clear after a hot day he tells us on the local radio. And last spring 500 bags of rubbish were collected from two of the main roads in Sussex the A27 and A23 – some may have blown in but the majority probably expelled from drivers’ windows. Yet go up on the nearby Downs and litter is practically non-existent as witnessed by a ten mile cycle this week and spotting one item. Perhaps this simply reflects a far lower number of people but I suspect also a different mentality. And maybe if you see no rubbish it induces you to follow suit, positive reinforcement even if there is no tangible reward.. I try to understand why people leave so much rubbish. Is it simply laziness or lack of facilities? Often bins are overflowing but isn’t the appropriate response to find another even if that means taking it home? Is it a perception that it’s somebody else’s responsibility to sort – “that’s what they’re paid for”, except that they aren’t and a lot of the clearing rests with volunteers? A lack of any civic pride – maybe it’s the band of London day-trippers who are solely responsible but I doubt it. Or just a lack of self-discipline, perhaps exacerbated by the restrictions of lockdown and the new-found freedoms nurturing a low-level anomie? But last summer’s findings predate Covid and imply a more chronic problem. Or maybe it’s quite simply the absence of any consequence – identifying culprits is practically impossible. Politicians repeatedly praise the adherence of the general public to the lockdown so the principles of self-discipline are well understood but regardless of rules and directives from on high arguably the biggest incentive there is avoiding a potentially life-threatening disease. No one dies from leaving a bit of litter………but fauna might. The plastic pollution of the oceans and its consequences have been highlighted in the last couple of years. Recently there have been reports of micro-plastics in rivers and affecting the bird life, not all of it from litter but it may contribute. And better still for the miscreant is the difficulty of policing litter louts – last year Brighton introduced a team of “litter cops” and the threat of a £300 fine but how can they effectively patrol a large area 24/7 although the threat might be a subliminal deterrent to some? After a leave of absence the enforcement officers re-emerged last week so I’m hoping for a cleaner city as the summer progresses but won’t hold my breath and I still question why such a measure is needed. Education and Public Information Films have been tried – going back to the 60’s Roy Hudd did one. Then there was that catchy slogan “Find a Bin To Put It In” so I fear this may be as difficult to unravel as the Gordian knot and will remain an issue in another fifty years time. But it’s not all bad. Back to the 60’s and the footpaths were littered with faeces (usually canine) but no longer. An eighty quid fine surely helps to focus the attention but again I suspect the mindset and understanding the rationale is the most important thing. Again it begs the question as to how people generally comply with this but not so well with garbage disposal.
In my local town of Tadcaster one of the three breweries has a fine pair of white shire horses, usually used to take barrels to pubs in the town. Now they are loaded up with bottled beer orders from the beer starved locals and the horses clop around the housing estates that fringe the town. Tadcaster has form as far as beer is concerned; in 1840 there was one pub for every 70 people. Nowadays not only has it got three breweries for a population of 6,000, but also as many as twelve pubs adorn its streets. This is despite the workers at the breweries getting free allocations of beer. Now the pubs are all closed, no wonder the shire deliveries are in high demand.
The crisis has divided us all elderly people into deliverers and deliverees. The latter are in two categories – those that do not pay for delivery, receiving food and essentials from wonderful volunteers – and those like my wife and myself who pay for a milkman, a vegetable box delivery and parcels of meat from a local farmer. My wife is now sourcing supplies of fish from the poor fishermen of Whitby and Grimsby, whose markets are closed.
The social mix of deliverers is changing; our last two parcels were delivered by well dressed people from the boot of their Mercedes or Volvo. There are still the usual courier companies working at a colossal rate. Our last delivery man gave us forewarning of his arrival via a clever tracking system which showed him working his way through the 130 deliveries for the day and snaking along little country lanes between us and York where he started. Amazon still remains a wonder that it can honour next day delivery promises when many of its Fulfilment Associates (what a horrible term) must be off work and self isolating. This challenge has forced the company to pay them well with hourly day rates from £11.50 to £12.50 per hour.
When it is all over what will the picture be? The Volvo and Mercedes owners will have gone back to their old jobs (we hope), but there will remain a vast new infrastructure of volunteers and paid for deliverers enabling us old folks to stay at home – for an indefinite period, as seems likely.