by I was delighted to hear yesterday that my parents had just received their first dose of Pfizer. They didn’t expect it until the end of July, but Dad had to see the doctor in Timaru for something, and they offered both of them their jabs on the spot. That was great news. (I’m lucky to have parents who are so sensible and practical.)
This week Dominic Cummings leaked a bunch of Covid-related text messages from spring 2020, written by him, the prime minister and Matt Hancock. You’re not exactly innocent here either, Dom, but what a joke it would be if it wasn’t so deadly serious. They were worse than clueless. Those damn whiteboard brainstorms reminded me of that blue-sky 360 vision bullshit which might have been OK in the business-as-usual running of an insurance company but not when you’re a running a country in the grip of a deadly disease. It was all “how do we sell this”, as if they were tweaking income tax bands, and 15 months later they still haven’t moved on from that. The political system in the UK (and the US) is hopeless in a situation like this, because it provides all the wrong incentives. Massively restricting travel into the UK was so obviously the right thing to do, but no, it might frighten the horses for a few days.
At this time of year, Timișoara smells. The air is filled with the sweet scent of lime trees in full bloom, the markets are pungent with the smell of strawberries, and the sheer heat provides a certain aroma, even late at night. We’re forecast to reach 32 this afternoon; in the middle of next week we could hit an oppressive 37.
Poker. I tried to make a video of a tournament last night, with limited success. I’ve had some small cashes since I last wrote, and my bankroll is now $746.
