OYSTERHOOD is reclusiveness or solitude, or an overwhelming desire to stay at home.
Our friend is in there somewhere, awaiting a life-saving operation. It was good to see him and to bring him books, but also so depressing because he is locked up in a ward with no proper visiting allowed – one can only wave and speak at the gate (“It’s Covid, dude!” he explained in his typical fashion and made me laugh). But he also assured me that he is well taken care of. One thing is certain: his wonderful sense of humour is 100% intact.
I did not write yesterday because, apart from the visit to the hospital (and, typically me, I first went to the wrong one!), a walk and meals, I worked from seven a.m. to one a.m. the next day and was so tired at the end of it that I could not fall asleep. And when I finally did, it was only for just over four hours …
Coffee and Salieri helped me to recover from the zombie state. And the work continued until this afternoon. But the thing I had to finish early this month is DONE. Finally.
Only two days and the world has changed completely: Zandile Mafe, Ray Zondo, the Bogdanoff twins and Novax Djocovid making headlines. The truth will set you free in all cases: show us the Parliament video surveillance; prosecute the state capture crooks; trust the science, get vaccinated and don’t die; and, be strong, Australia, and send the antivaxxer home.
I know that Rafa is in Australia and fit to play at the Open, but I am not sure I want to watch and support a tournament that is so reluctant to set a life-saving example to the world.
Something to celebrate: Sloane Stephens got married on the first day of the year, and today is Siphokazi Jones’s birthday.
And I am going to lie on my TV couch tonight and do nothing but lift a glass of lovely red wine to my lips. My eyes hurt after all the computer work and I am totally monstrual.
Be kind. Wear a mask. Support local. Get vaccinated, please. Live.
“Physical distancing remains one of the key strategies to curb this pandemic.”