The news that just keeps delivering.

 The news that just keeps delivering. 

Here we are approaching the end of September and the news just keeps delivering, doesn't it? No sooner have the horrific Covid 19 lockdown restrictions been lifted back in July than autumn came charging around the corner at lightning speed. The news agenda is still fairly morbid, the tone miserably morose and pessimism still lingers in the air like a noxious smell from one of those old fashioned industrial chimneys.

To be honest we knew this was going to be a long, gruelling journey out of those dark underground chambers when the world didn't know whether to laugh or cry. But to all intents and purposes things look much healthier and stable than they were at this time last year. 12 months ago the country was on the precipice, hanging on the edge for grim life. The huge numbers of virus infections had reached a monumental high, the jitters had set in and by the end of last year, the Delta variant had set in with a vengeance and we were stuck in a terrifying rut. 

At the beginning of this year over a thousand people a day were dying because of the coronavirus and the shops that were temporarily open at this time last year were promptly shut again in late November. It was the most horrendous apocalypse for well over a hundred years and nobody had a clue what to do next. But come June time this year we did think we might have been out of the woods. False alarm. No way. It was merely an illusion. So we battened down the hatches yet again and tried to be optimistic. 

Then on July 19 Britain emerged into clear blue sky and a release from isolation, alienation, bemusement, scratching of collective heads before meeting up with family and friends. The last stage of Prime Minister Boris Johnson's road map had been nicely negotiated and we were on the free road, the highway to good times again. The big department shops and shops in the West End of London were open, the restaurants were about to flourish and the tills would be ringing out at vegan cafes, Pret A Manger, Costa and Nero coffee outlets. We'd done it. We were clear to eat and drink within close proximity of each other. Let go of that sigh of relief.  

Finally, after much debate and discussion, torture and torment for London's famous commercial district, the waiting was over. No longer were masks mandatory and you could finally hug again. Ah! Physical interaction had been restored to normal levels and you could actually have a lengthy natter in the post office without feeling as if you were some alien from outer space. You could even book up for Andrew Lloyd's Webber's new and exciting musical Cinderella without any compunction or feeling like some impostor looking for trouble. Theatreland in the West End was alight with back slapping euphoria and the box office was throbbing with hyper activity and handsome profits. We could get used to this again. 

Shortly, the new Bond film  No Time to Die is finally about to hit the cinema screens when we all know that the scheduled date for this major event in the cinema calendar was last March. And we all remembered what happened to that little plan. The world, quite literally, shut down which, if you think about it, sounds like an appropriate title for the next Bond film. Still, when you're a secret agent and a daredevil, all action hero you have to be patient and let perspective take over for a while. 

Poor Daniel Craig. All of those wearisome, tedious months just waiting and waiting and then waiting again for the world to rectify itself and at long last the traffic does seem to be moving. Move that Aston Martin out of the way, Mr Bond. But is he shaken and stirred? Oh no he's not. Craig has now been rewarded for all those unproductive months in a film studio tapping his fingers on tables, itching to see himself on the big screen. It was rather like waiting for the unveiling of some very impressive piece of sculpture outside a famous London landmark. 

Anyway after 18 months of  illness, sadness, helplessness and anguish, we are on the verge of winter. Now according to the latest news bulletins this means that we've all got to hide away in our homes, wrap up warmly, watch the TV and hope that a relapse back into the world of viruses can be avoided. Of course we'll take the flu jabs and if required, the booster for the double vaccine we've all availed ourselves of. But what about the rest of the world and society? Don't forget us. 

Today, the gas and energy companies are panicking like crazy in case there's not enough of it to go around to the elderly, vulnerable and those who keep turning up the central heating. Are those gas suppliers content to see us all shiver when there are five inches of snow outside our doors? They must have a heart and some semblance of compassion. Or maybe not. There are times when you really don't know where the next crisis is coming from. 

Then we've got worry about the environment again. Hasn't somebody told the powers that be that the environment was severely damaged many moons ago, anyway. And yet on the M25, one of Britain's busiest of motorways, another kind of lockdown has been taking place. 'Insulate Britain' the latest eco crusaders have been blocking vast sections of the road with their controversial presence. They've been sitting together in vast multitudes, complaining about the state of the planet, getting all hot under the collar, irritated, militant, immovable and full of stubborn intransigence. We shall not be moved. We shall be not moved. 

Meanwhile today our leader, the UK's leader and Prime Minister Boris Johnston is currently in talks with the fairly new President of the USA Joe Biden. They'll be chatting, joking, laughing, schmoozing and exchanging light hearted pleasantries. Goodness knows whether any of the talks between them will be beneficial and actually tell us something we already probably knew. One of the topics will have to be about global warming and climate change and then Boris will pompously drop in some classic Latin phrases. Then, or so we gather, somebody mentioned the Royal Family. Very interesting. 

Washington has seen some pretty lively action one way or another this year and the lingering memory of the last President Donald Trump still looks like a bleeding gash on the American psyche. Still, Johnson and Biden look very buddy buddy to the impartial observer, masks facing each other as if a putrid smell from the White House kitchen had drifted towards both men. Mr President, can we interest you in some disinfectant from Wall Mart? Donald Trump was convinced of course that bleach was the answer to the coronavirus so we'll have to trust your judgment, Mr Biden. The mask wins again. 

Oh what a world we live in. It's fun and good to be alive of course it is. The constant plopping and dripping of news stories continues to leave us shocked, appalled, horrified, amused at times and then speechless once again. Another winter is imminent if not quite and life either tickles your funny bone or just makes your blood boil over with incandescent rage. But you know what, who cares anyway? We're all together. We'll wake up in the morning, throw open the blinds and do it all over again. Life will always be sweet.