Diary 19

Monday, April 6th

Today Boris Johnson, the Prime Minister of England and an avid follower of Trump’s methods, was taken into intensive care with covid-19.  Johnson was a prime minimiser of the virus’ perils, even saying until as late as yesterday that he just had ‘a temperature’ and could run England from his bed. Intensive Care, in the UK, means you’re really on the edge of survival.

I’ll leave that comment right there.

Meanwhile Trump sent ‘prayers’ to his British Supporter (Johnson), which should be about as effective as the unproven anti-malarial drug hydroxychloroquine

he’s been touting. Actual doctors, like Fauci, have greeted his flagrant sales pitches with something akin to horror. But if that’s the sort of thing that floats your boat then I have a truck load of snake oil here that might interest you.

Fortunately, for the rest of us it was a lovely sunny day here in Mass, and many folks were out doing things in their gardens. It’s not as if anyone could go anywhere, even if they felt like it, so garden tidying is a pretty good option.  As Voltaire famously said: one should cultivate one’s own garden. I think he meant that we should just try to do some good things in the place we are, but we can take it anyway we wish.