Tuesday, December 15, 2020
Supermarket of Dreams
I see that the Electoral College has made Joe Biden's win official, as expected, and with no drama. Thank goodness. Now we move on to Congressional certification of the results in early January, which will no doubt be a circus sideshow that won't change anything. We're getting closer and closer to restoring sanity to American politics.
Meanwhile, here in London, we're moving to Tier 3 of our Coronavirus restrictions, which means a tighter lockdown. As I've said, I don't think that will change our lives much, but it's going to make things much harder for restaurants and shop owners who had hoped to make some money off the Christmas season. And have you seen that there's apparently a new strain of the virus out there? That's an extra little bit of excitement in the mix.
On our walk to work yesterday, we passed the swallow dresser, still sitting out on the sidewalk. I made a pitch to Dave to help me rescue it -- I said we could put it in the foyer and use it to store towels and stuff. But he held firm against it and said it would make the space look like "a baby's diaper-changing room." Whatever that means.
And then, on the walk home, I saw that the dresser was gone. I think the trash guys collected it. Oh well.
I made an appointment to see a doctor on Thursday. As expected, I was unable to make an appointment with our own GP, so I'm paying to go straight to a specialist. My Christmas present to myself! So festive!
Some of you suggested I get a Covid test, but my malaise definitely isn't due to Covid. It's lasted far too long and I don't have any Covid symptoms except a recurrent cough -- and that's been around for literally years. No, if this is anything at all, it's something physiological, not infectious.
(Photo: St. John's Wood, the weekend before last.)