Bill Taylor's latest coronavirus chronicle from Canada brings us one of the best gags I have come across in this otherwise mostly grim crisis. I foresee you'll agree. Check out the series as a whole at this link ...
Guaranteed freshest notes from the trenches:
An admonition from the Toronto Star: “You may notice in the next couple of weeks that our horoscopes might include some suggestions that are contrary to the advice to socially distance or self-quarantine…
“That is because these horoscopes were written a few weeks ago, before these warnings were issued.”
So the astrologer didn’t see this coming? Just asking.
“Have a good day/night” is beginning to be replaced as a casual parting by, “stay well.” Better than “happy coronavirus”, which apparently is not unknown. It should be.
I’m noticing people on quiet streets walking down the middle, presumably to avoid other pedestrians and any noisome little droplets that may be hovering over the sidewalks. Can’t say I blame them. Just don’t trip over the speed bumps.
It’s still March but I’m chafing not only to be able to barbecue but to eat outside, too. Without having to wear a parka. Dream on, Bill.
When I was young, my mother used to say, “Don’t wish your life away.”
Now that I’m not young, I’m torn between wanting to fast-forward however many months it takes to get this horror story over with and trying to find something to savour in every passing day (pause to insert the Hallmark moment of your choice here).
Twice a week I get a reminder from the gym that I have a training session scheduled. No, I don’t!
But I’ve just done my first-ever yoga class, courtesy of my hiking partner Evangeline Moffat, who runs a yoga studio.
Now that her physical classes are on hold, she’s gone on-line to cater to varying levels of energy/expertise/flexibility – none of which I possess in any great degree. I managed well enough, though, and felt much better for it. I shall be back for more. May I suggest (this is a totally unsolicited testimonial) that you take a look – https://www.facebook.com/groups/520755552152807/
When I’m not bending and stretching and breathing in and out through the nostrils, YouTube continues not to disappoint.
My friend Malcolm is working his way through the old Highway Patrol TV series from the 1950s when men could only talk through the sides of their mouths and police cars handled like ocean liners.
I’m dipping into a very mixed bag of old British World War II movies, featuring a slew of youthful actors who went on to become household names.
Yesterday’s was made in 1944 (when its star, David Niven, also saw genuine active service in France as a commando), featuring a boyish Peter Ustinov, who co-wrote the script, and Trevor Howard in an uncredited bit-part.
I have another lined up that brings together an unlikely trio – Ian Carmichael, Tommy Steele and Benny Hill. Eclectic casting, if nothing else.
“Wow” seems to have become my new go-to word. There are heroes all over the world, everywhere you look. One I’ve just seen is an Italian doctor, exhausted at the end of an inhumanly long shift, the lines from his mask etched into his face, shooting a selfie to show his infant daughter in years to come.
Anything more eloquent would still be inadequate, so let “wow” suffice.
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