Eeee-ha! That’s me Covid-vaxxed. Fit a relief.
My jabby was Monday, the appointment an extremely precise 7.34pm. Sez my sarkie loon: “You sure it’s not 7.33?”
So there was me thinking everyone had their very own time slot, until I spoke to my pal roon the corner; her and her man were also lined up for 7.34pm.
They offered me a lift to P&J Live – apparently that kind of car-sharing is allowed if you’re going for a jab. It turned out to be a bit of a Godsend because he’s got a 4×4 and Monday was the snowiest we’ve had in yonks. I spent the whole day frettin’ the drifts would see us scuppered in Sclattie.
Can’t think when last I ventured oot after dark. As I got into their car, here’s me: “Great. Off for a few vino plonkos and a curry.”
Chorus of: “If only…”
Another pal said she felt the same: “I put on jewellery, perfume and some slap to tart me up.”
Me, confused: “But you’d a mid-morning appointment.”
Her: “Just wondered whether it might turn oot to be like speed-dating.”
You’ve got to hand it to her eternal optimism. Treating the Covid vaccination queue like the Palace circa 1967. Certainly it’s a whilie since I spied so many solo men of my age in one place. As it happens, the slap and scent I ladled on was lest my jabber turned oot to be some hunky doc.
Once into the queue, it was all atmospherically hushed. Rows of socially-distanced folkies in masks. Banks of white booths manned by uniformed staff. Big overhead signs: Oxygen. Defibrillator.
My chauffeur was fair carried awa’ wi’ it a’, declaring: “I feel like I’m in a disaster movie. Have you seen Contagion?”
Happily no, sunshine.
We’d 35 minutes to wait, probably mostly our faults because we arrived early.
Through the barrier, led to a booth and my jabber. Wowser. My visioned vaxxer! A lovely gadgie who, under my fierce questioning, revealed he was 30, not only a hospital doctor, but a dentist as well, studying for a PHD. Spik aboot hittin’ the jabby jackpot. If he couldna stick the needle in right, naebody could.
Done and dusted in seconds, me still barragin’ the peer loon wi’ questions, him dootless hugely relieved to get shot of me pronto.
Everything was slowing down, ready for closing at 8pm.
Everyone at the arena deserves huge praise for the work they’re doing and the marvellous, caring, cheerful, helpful manner in which they’re doing it.
Guys and gals, we Golden Oldies are hugely grateful and mightily relieved.
And so, second verse, same as the first, as we were told we’ll be called for our second injections in May. By which time, loadsa younger folk will be lining up for their first.
Let’s hope this wonderful system can cope.
One day we will fly away, just not yet
While there’s a new feeling of optimism for the future, thanks to the ongoing success of the vaccination programme, the immediate future is pretty bleak for prospective travellers. And probably quite right too.
As from Monday, anyone arriving at a Scottish airport from anywhere in the world will have to be quarantined for 10 days in a specified hotel at a personal cost of £1,750. Oucha. And harsh penalties if you lie about your departure destination.
England and Wales are adopting the same system, but only for so-called red-listed countries, which excludes Spain and Italy.
Seems reckless madness to have those loopholes. Scotland’s got it right again.
However, everyone looking forward to maybe, possibly, hopefully taking holidays abroad later in the year – perhaps one cancelled and rebooked from last year – must be wondering how things are going to pan out over the next few months.
I’m especially thinking of families who’ve had such a difficult 12 months with the school closures and seeing their 2020 plans dashed. So many little broken hearts.
Let’s just hope that, thanks to the vaccinations and the current tough restrictions on our movements, the summer might see a major breakthrough in the battle against the virus and thousands of folk will get the chance to finally take off to their dream destinations.
But isn’t it scandalous our airports weren’t the subject of rigid quarantine rules a year ago? How many precious lives might have been saved?
Shoppers to taste victory in price war
Brilliant news for shoppers. Apparently, we’re in the midst of a supermarkets’ price war, where the only winners will be us, the shoppers.
Second-biggest chain Sainsbury’s is set to price-match discounter Aldi on hundreds of items, including slashing flour from 80p to 45p (so how come you were charging so much in the first place?) and rump steak from £2.50 to £2.32 – gee thanks.
It can only get better. Tesco and Asda are taking on my fav Lidl. Let battle commence. By the by, how come the Neest doesn’t have a posho, John Lewis-owned Waitrose? Because they think we’re too mean to pay their prices? Gee’s a chunce.