People Just Do Nothing
As Coronavirus infections continue to spread and multiply across the globe, the UK has now been on lockdown for nearly a month – with most of us having been confined to our homes and living in isolation for the last 4 weeks. As one of the country’s leading online media influencers, I am duty-bound to record this significant and unchartered time in our history, and keep you all up-to-date on what is happening.
As I write this, Great Britain has just seen it’s largest increase in deaths on a single day – with nearly a 1000 people losing their fight against the disease yesterday alone – and we are still a couple of weeks away from the predicted peak, where we shall hopefully see the climax of this deadly virus (and things will begin to gradually improve maybe). Prime Minister, Boris Johnson, is currently in an intensive care unit surrounded by the sick and the dying; fighting for his breath and unable to get Brexit done. It’s all gone a bit like The World at War hasn’t it?
I’ve always been something of a lone wolf and have lived on my own for the last 11 years or more, so this lockdown has not really posed much of a difficulty to me as yet (thankfully!). My thinking is – if Britain’s most notorious criminal, Charles Bronson, can spend 40 years in solitary confinement, I’m sure I can manage 12 weeks cocooned in my flat.
And as I stand from afar – removed from society like Ian Beale in tramp-mode, contemplating Albert Square from behind an oak tree – I ask myself the question: am I the only one who is secretly enjoying this situation a little bit? After all, it’s quite nice to not have to squeeze myself in with the wankers on the tube in the morning or interact with bastards throughout the course of a usual day.
But what about the rest of you? Those who are not as mentally strong and adaptable as Charles Bronson and myself (and to a lesser extent, Ian Beale). How is everyone else coping with this monumental pandemic that is affecting every nation so savagely?
And the simple answer to this is: by getting on my fucking nerves, that’s how.
For starters, everyone has become obsessed with using Zoom. Before this crisis erupted, I had never used this online conferencing tool (much less wanted to) – whereas now, I seem to be coerced into taking part in some sort of virtual debating panel in which all attendees’ heads appear like the intro to The Brady Bunch, on a near daily occurrence. I am always slightly frightened when connecting to a Zoom meeting that I will be accidentally routed through to Leslie Grantham in his dressing room, vigorously masturbating into a sock. Don’t be dirty, Den! But seeing as he died in 2018, I probably have little need for such concern.
Secondly, people have become obsessed with the need to prove that they are using this secluded time productively; learning some new skill or being creative in some way. I’ve had a glut of pointless examples sent my way including knitting, baking bread or sourdough, keep-fit, painting, yoga or learning a new language.
Such people should be taken outside and hung in public squares (were we able to gather en masse anymore). It is perfectly acceptable during this troubled period, to do fuck-all with your valuable time. Use alcohol as a crutch if you need to.
If you are a worker and you are fortunate enough to be getting paid whilst working from home at the moment – this could be the only time in your life when you’re given a legitimate reason to have a complete holiday from life’s responsibilities and your everyday duties and obligations. So in years to come, do you want to look back at 2020 and tell your grandchildren that it was the year that you learnt to make banana bread? Or would you not rather boast that you sat around the house wanking?
I certainly know what I’ll be doing.
A special place in Hades should be reserved for my next door neighbour, who has decided that now would be a good time to teach himself how to play the violin. From the horrific noises coming through the walls, I can confirm that it will never be a good time for him to learn to play the violin. Haven’t I suffered enough already?
Then there was the man shown recently on the news, who decided that the best way to avoid going mental indoors would be for him to run up and down the stairs until he had covered a distance equivalent to climbing Everest. As if this is in any way a sane activity with which to spend your time. Just sit down mate, and be quiet please.
A resident of Lewisham – an opera singer no less – is performing in her front garden every afternoon, in order to bring joy to her street. Well she sounds like a public nuisance as far as I’m concerned and she should have an ASBO slapped on her. She should stop being a menace and shut her fat trap, allow her neighbours to pass their incarceration with a bit of peace.
At the crux of it, people are desperate to demonstrate how useful they are, and are simply not able to manage in life if they are not constantly bombarding themselves with constant stimuli. Total sensory-overload is not fulfilment. And at the risk of sounding like a smelly hippie, simply be. We do not exist solely to be entertained. We are not noblemen, gathered about the round table in the courts of King Arthur. You are not Henry VIII or P. Diddy. Stop being so fucking decadent.
The fact that you exist at all should be enough to amaze you. The other day I saw some tits from my window. The feathered variety, rather than any of my neighbours doing some nudie topless sunbathing in the communal garden – but I was delighted nonetheless. Thank God for tits!
Categories:Funny, London Life, News, Woe
This is a personal website and the views expressed here are my own (or stolen from other people down the pub). Facts may not be accurate, or could be poorly paraphrased gags borrowed from proper writers - or simply, outright lies.