Taking precautions

Sometimes there is an incongruity about the things we do in public. Take worship, in these times of pestilence. An edict was spread abroad some weeks ago about how to conduct public worship if a pandemic should be declared (I'm aware of writing in a cod-mediaeval style here: must be the subject-matter which has affected me) and we noted the contents, smiled and let the files languish on our hard-drives. (Nothing mediaeval about our communications, I assure you)

But of course we now have a pandemic, and Dunoon was, until very recently, a hotspot. And so it came to pass that we unearthed the prescribed precautions and applied them. Communion in one kind only, or by intinction. No physical contact during the Peace. And antibacterial handwash everywhere you turn. This morning we bowed, smiled sweetly at one another, fended off the ignorant, and obediently dipped our wafers in the proffered cup. (Incidentally, this leaves a great deal of unconsumed wine in the chalice - just as well the visiting cleric didn't have to drive afterwards)

And what made me smile was the sight of this congregation, almost all of whom are old enough to fall into the category of those who seem not to be at risk. Young people may be falling like flies, but we don't see enough of them to know. We'll go on doing as we're told, however. Peace, peace.

Rampant hypochondria?

It’s strange what a mix of hypochondria, selfishness and what might pass for common sense under the circumstances does to one’s life. Living in swine-flu mecca Dunoon and with trips to London and Tuscany in the next few weeks, I would prefer not to be ill – not till the holidays have been taken and enjoyed. So I find myself shopping anywhere but the worthy Dunoon Co-op – because it is currently the only supermarket until you get to Greenock (east) or Lochgilphead (north, and then down a bit) because Somerfield is undergoing a lengthy gestation as Morrison’s and won’t be open for over a month. As the Co-op is somewhat small, it tends to be hideously crowded, bringing about an unsought intimacy between customers – so I avoid it like the plague with which I imagine it overflowing.

And it’s as well it’s been fine weather, for we have been able to disport ourselves in the great outdoors where the bugs, presumably, are dissipated in the ether. Today, f’rinstance, we walked along Loch Striven for a couple of hours without meeting a soul – and only one car, miraculously. We continue to hope, of course, in the purity and standoffishness of Episcopalians, whom we expect to be bug-free because of not mixing with football supporters and their rellies, though in these egalitarian days you can never tell. Choir practice for tonight was cancelled, because we reckoned that if one of our choristers had newly had the flu and others were connected with schools that had been closed because of the bug, it was silly to meet when we didn’t have to.

In fact, it’s all been a bit anti-social. However, if I can get off to London for a visit in the next coupla days, and if we can all go on our Italian holiday in July, it will have been worth it. Then, maybe, a party. With the afflicted and their loved ones. A cough-in, in fact. Cheers!

Sweltering and swine flu

Well, well. Or, if you like: ill, ill. Swine flu has arrived in Dunoon, not in single spies but in battalions. Ok. I exaggerate. 18 Dunoonites do not a battalion make. But it's a fact that Dunoon hit the ten o'clock news tonight in a way it hasn't since the American navy left. It looked lovely, actually - nice shot of Kirn under a Mediterranean sky, the Western Ferry ploughing bravely across bringing reinforcements for the Royal Bank so that it could open again. I was interested to realise the subconscious calculations going on - that queue outside the surgery when I passed this morning: were they ill, or frightened - and did I pass too close to any of them? Shall I do my shopping in Edinburgh this week instead of the over-crowded Co-op in Dunoon? (our other supermarket is closed for renovation)... and so on. And of course there's the hypochondria: is my throat sore? or is it simply hayfever? (the Met Office man with the whimsical manner said the pollen count was affecting him ...)

But actually the weather is too good to worry for long. It's hard to feel threatened when you can spend the afternoon sitting on one of the world's most wonderful beaches, paddling in warm sea as it slides over the hot sand, then exploring a hitherto unknown track and finding the beautiful bay in the photo. The car thermometer - sitting in the sun - read 31º at 6.20pm, and even in the shade it was 23º by the time we were home again. The promised cold air is going to feel arctic on the sunburn, but the S3 pupils who were sent home for a week to prevent the spread of infection have certainly chosen a good time for it.

Except that now they're spreading themselves over Dunoon ......