Snow, sun and coronovirus

So here we are again. Another year, Another ski trip. Four people who are up at the crack of dawn every day, eager to don forty pound boots and enough layers to survive at the North Pole. One person who has to be dragged out of bed just before breakfast and forced to don forty pound boots and the same number of layers. And one person who gets up begrudgingly in order to join the others for breakfast and wave them off into the gloom, before heaving a sigh of relief and going back to bed.

This year will be a little different however. Because we are going to Northern Italy. I know!! A place so bad that I dare not tell anyone about my holiday. If anyone was to find out I would, best outcome, be ostracised, and, worst outcome, be spat upon, verbally abused and maybe even beaten to within an inch of my life. A few days ago, in Superdrug, In Rotherham town centre, (where I had surveyed the clientele from a lofty perch and decided they were all low life scum) a little old lady, on asking if we had hand sanitiser (ha,ha,ha,ha,ha,no) leaned conspiratorially over the counter, looked round, and whispered “I’m going to Italy”. I took a look over her shoulder, behind me, and replied “so am I”. We nodded a goodbye, partners in a crime so heinous that we couldn’t even talk about it aloud. As for my own health, I’m not too worried. As everyone knows I never get anything. And indeed I find myself intrigued by the thought of visiting a coronovirus pod.  Ian and Chris are also pretty healthy, although Chris does tend to end up near to death, so maybe I should be more concerned.  It’s the little ones, kathy and Vicky, that worry me. Kathy who is always weak and nauseous. Vicky who has a perpetual cold. And Alex? Who knows. Could go either way. BUT, we have paid a fortune for this holiday and unless the government ban us from visiting this hotbed of virulation we are going or we won’t get our money back.

As for when we return, Coronovirus in tow, in a weeks time, various things will happen. Wansboroughs solicitors, vickys employer, held an emergency Cobra meeting behind closed doors to discuss her trip. It was decided, in the interest of staff health, to force her to work up North for a two week isolation period on her return. Dyson hoovers, Alex’s firm, asked for minute details of his trip, leading him to believe maybe he would get a fortnight off work (sorry- be asked to work at home) on his return. Kathy had wisely kept her destination a secret until the day of travel, but her work seemed unconcerned, much to her disgust. Keith , Ian’s partner, asked for an emergency Cobra meeting, but Ian was less than enthusiastic. I have pointed out to the Locum co-ordinator for the firm I should be working for that I am going to ground zero. ‘Have a lovely time’ was Geraldine’s reply. I won’t worry about all those old dears with underlying health conditions that I may be putting at risk, or the state of my un-pressure washed back yard that I was hoping to deal with, between making cups of coffee for Vicky, during my isolation period then. 

So it is that we are about to embark on a much anticipated family trip to the resort of Madonna di camipglio, in the Italian Dolomites. Madonna, apparently, is a very chic town. In order to blend in I will need a fur coat, fur moon boots, and a tiny dog. Oh, and a face mask. Alas, the latter is impossible to come by. Nevertheless, after the stress of the last few weeks I am looking forward to some Much needed R and R. Some lazing, eating, drinking, and embroidering. Alas, most of my time will be taken by writing this bloody blog. 

Ciao, ciao