I think Boris Johnson’s phrase ‘all users of taxis’ meant the customers, not the driver.
I hope so.
I do not want to wear a mask, still less try and concentrate to drive in one. Bus drivers are exempt, because it is supposed to affect their ability to drive, and so I imagine that we will be as well.
I am going to take that as the official position unless I hear otherwise. Also I am going to stop listening to the radio just to make sure I don’t hear otherwise.
I did telephone the local GP in a speculative moment to find out what you had to do to be exempt from mask wearing, in case I happened to be qualified. The receptionist was clearly busy, and not very interested, and explained that mask-exemption has absolutely nothing to do with doctors.
Apparently what you have to do is download a certificate from the mighty Internet, she informed me. You can then wear this on a string around your neck if you wish, or keep it in a drawer in your desk to be brandished at moments of need. You are then officially exempt.
Either way the basic principle appears to be not to trouble your GP who is far too busy doing important things to wish to be involved.
The whole process does not seem too difficult. I think this is fine. I do not at all like going to see the GP anyway. They have a depressing predilection for poking sharp things into you, and they make disapproving noises when you get on the scales.
I was so fed up with the whole thing today that I put a story on my phone to listen to instead. I have downloaded it from the library. You can still get the library to read books to you over your telephone, although they will not lend them to you in person. The locked library door is one of the many sadnesses of our Brave New World.
The book was called ‘Philomena’, and it was actually rather more cheerful than the activities of our beloved leaders. It was the awfully tragic story of a baby taken from its mother in the one of the dreadful Irish Magdalen Laundries and sold to the Americans.
The Catholic Church has not always covered itself in glory during its long history. The shocking thing is that everybody believed that it was right.
It was a gripping, although horrible, story, and occupied me wonderfully during my day’s activity, which was to paint the new living room.
I am quite pleased with this. It is coming along nicely. I have painted light and shade into the pink ribbon around the top, and am now engaged in painting stripes in different shades of blue. I have not taken a photograph yet, maybe tomorrow.
It took me almost all day. I had got lots of time, because Mark had gone off to the farm to saw up firewood, and I had made our picnic for work even before he went. He took Pepper and Roger Poopy with him, leaving me with Roger Poopy’s ancient parent, so I didn’t even need to spend much time emptying him.
We went to the Library Gardens together, where he creaked along slowly, and I breathed in the smells of the dying leaves. It was all very civilised and sedate. When Mark and Pepper and Roger Poopy are not with us, it seems that nobody wishes to rush about jumping in the stream or chasing tennis balls or barking their head off.
I made mayonnaise and painted until it was time to come to work, which of course is where I am now. It is very quiet, probably because everybody has stayed at home to listen to the Prime Minister.
I listened to him as well.
Taxi drivers do not have to wear masks, only customers. This means that I will still have a job from Thursday. I am pleased about this.
The picture is Mark’s day’s work. He has been sawing firewood for the winter.
It is good to know the house will be warm.
We have not saved up enough for a television yet.
