Keith Wright's Blog

'Going on holiday is illegal.'

Below is an extract for 10th February 2021 from:

Coronavirus - 2020 Vision.

The Road to Freedom Day.

The complete diary and events of the COVID-19 pandemic.

 

PART 3 – 3rd February 2021 to 19th July 2021.

By Keith Wright

Written during the time of the pandemic. Because people have short memories.

WEDNESDAY 10TH FEBRUARY 2021

Facts and figures.

13,494 new cases.

678 deaths.

The total number of deaths within 28 days of testing: 115,529.

Total coronavirus cases: 3,998,655.

At PMQ’s we learn from Prime Minister Johnson that usually, at this time of year, we have 250,000 people a day arriving in the UK, but the government have got this down to around 20,000.

Author’s note. Around 1,000 nationals are entering per day currently from those 33 countries requiring quarantine next week.

What container could hold every one single coronavirus in the world?

Bath University Maths expert, Kit Yates, has worked out that if you were to gather all of the SARS-CoV-2 in the world together and put it in a container. The container would only need to be the size of a can of Coke.

He worked out there is around two quintillion (which is two billion billion) SARS-CoV-2 particles in the world at any one time. The diameter of SARS-CoV-2 is 100 nanometres, or 100 billionths of a metre and he then figured out the volume of the spherical virus.

Even accounting for the projecting spike proteins, which will leave gaps, the total is still less than in a single 330 millilitre Coke can.

Author’s note. Fascinating stuff. The contents of that Coke can have so far killed 2.34 million people.

 

Daily news.

Holiday hell.

Transport Secretary Grant Shapps is doing the morning media round. He surprised everyone by stating that Britons might not be able to take a holiday in the UK and abroad. Mr Shapps said,

 ‘The truth is we just don’t know how the virus will respond…and therefore, exactly, when we’ll be able to unlock. I’m afraid I can’t give you a definitive “will there or will there not be” the opportunity to take holidays this next year, either at home or abroad.’

He was hopeful that the vaccination programme and restrictions would be successful,

 ‘But I don’t know what the situation will be by the middle of the summer. Nobody can tell from the point where we sit right now.’

‘Vaccination passports.’

Mr Shapps spoke about potential ‘vaccination passports.’  He said that Singapore and the US had been in talks with them to discuss a possible international system to demonstrate someone’s testing or vaccination status when crossing borders. Another possibility is the use of an app to address the issue and free up travel.

Number 10, who has denied planning any sort of vaccine passport, again said,

 ‘There are still no current plans to roll out vaccine passports. Going on holiday is currently illegal.’

Partial admission.

European Commission President Ursula von der Leyen has admitted that the EU was late to authorise COVID-19 vaccines and acknowledged the difficulties they are facing because of it.

 ‘We’re still not where we want to be.’ She said.

When interviewed by the German website Suddeutsche Zeitung, she said that,

 ‘a country on its own can be a speedboat; the EU is more like a tanker. We were late to authorise. We were too optimistic when it came to massive production and perhaps too confident that what we ordered would actually be delivered on time.’

Terribly sorry about the act of hostility.

Ms von der Leyen said she ‘deeply regretted’ the EU threat to restrict vaccines' flow between Ireland and Northern Ireland.

Mapping our future.

The PM said they would do everything they can to get children back to school on the 8th March, but he will be able to say more on Monday and in the week of 22nd February, set out a road map for lifting lockdown restrictions.

With regard to vaccinations, Mr Johnson said,

 ‘I think we’re going to have to get used to the idea of vaccinating and then revaccinating in the autumn, as we come to face these new variants.’

Thumbs up the Over 65’s.

The WHO has recommended the Oxford/AstraZeneca vaccine for adults of all ages. This is another major body dispelling the assertion from some EU countries that over 65’s might not be sufficiently immunised.

 Dr Alejandro Cravioto of the WHO’s Strategic Advisory Group of Experts said,

 ‘The results of the efficacy estimate for persons up to 65 and older had a wide confidence interval, and therefore we feel that the response of this group cannot be any different to groups that are of a younger age…looking at the safety and immunogenicity data…we recommend for the vaccine to be used in people 18 years and above, without an upper age limit. That means people over 65 years of age should be given the vaccination.’

UK’s gap is best.

Dr Cravioto also supported the UK’s approach to gapping between the two doses saying that eight to 12 weeks between the first and second doses was best. It provided ‘a much better immune response.’

Duchy courage.

Prince Charles and Camilla have been given their first doses of the COVID-19 vaccine. The Prince is 72, and the Duchess of Cornwall is 73.

 

5 pm Press Briefing.

Prime Minister Boris Johnson and Professor Sir Patrick Valance:

Sliding down.

The good news is that we can see from the slides that infections, hospitalisations, and deaths are coming down. They are still frighteningly high and higher than at the first wave peak in April.

Long and hard.

The Prime Minister urged 2 million people who are not yet vaccinated from the first four categories of the most vulnerable to now come forward for the vaccine. He said it was nothing to do with reaching the government target for the 15th February but to,

 ‘save lives, prevent serious illness and so the whole country can take another step on the long and hard road back to normality.’

Cautious release.

Both the Prime Minister and Sir Patrick said they needed to take a cautious approach to release the lockdown. They would give no clues as to what that release might be.

It was quite a short briefing with the key points that one in four adults in England had so far had the vaccination.

90% of over 70s have had the jab.

There is a new variant – the Bristol variant- emanating from the South African variant, and which appears very similar.

And it is too early to think about summer holidays in the UK or abroad.

Beneficial to all.

There is no evidence to suggest that the vaccines are not beneficial to all variants, and

 ‘we should be getting ready for a world in which we do have booster jabs against new variants in the autumn.’

 

Family life.

Criminal shop gang on loose.

I had to go to the chemist and supermarket today. Jackie was thinking about coming along, but then we realised it would be against the law to shop together. Weird.

Jitters.

I do understand the reticence about vaccination. I sometimes get the jitters about having it.

I have to trawl the depths of the internet for this diary, and I see a lot of video footage of people allegedly having adverse reactions to it. They have seizures, die, and suffer all sorts of calamities.

It does not help that the government stopped the ONS from publishing the number of deaths after having the vaccine. I can see why some people would be convinced.

I will still have it, on balance, it makes sense, but it adds to the uncertainty.

Expensive good deed.

Family friend Lottie contacted me; she works at a Children’s home and stays overnight. They had suffered a flood and were asking if they could use our carpet cleaner. Lottie said they were desperate. The staff and kids were all self-isolating due to contact tracing, so I said I would take it over. On the way, I had a feeling that a mobile speed camera might have snapped me. It could be an expensive good deed.

 Author’s retrospective note. It was. £90 for a speed awareness course.

Quote of the day.

‘It is not the size of a seed, but the size of what rises from it.’ – Matshona Dhiliwayo.

*Available on Kindle, Kindle Unlimited, Audible, and Amazon paperback.

MONDAY 23RD MARCH 202046 deaths making the total 335.There are a total of 6,650 people with COVID 19. The usual 5 pm briefing by the Prime Minister has been postponed as they are having a COBRA meeting. (COBRA stands for Cabinet Office Briefing Room A) it is a euphemism for a top-level security briefing and is used for war meetings and the like by the British Government Cabinet members. There is to be an announcement by the P.M. at 8.30 pm. 8.30 pm Announcement to the Nation by the Prime Minister:‘This is a national emergency.’ Mr. Johnson declares.Emergency measures are to be put in place.It will require a substantial national effort. If too many people become unwell at the same time, the NHS can’t cope.There are new emergency measures which will be enforced:1)      Requiring people to stay at home, except for very limited purposes.2)      Closing non-essential shops and community spaces3)      Stopping all gatherings of more than two people in public. These measures are effective immediately. They will be reviewed after three weeks.STAYING AT HOMEPeople must stay at home apart from the following reasons when they can be in a public place:·       Shopping for basic necessities, for example, food and medicine, which must be as infrequent as possible.·       One form of exercise a day, for example, a run, walk, or cycle – alone or with members of your household.·       A medical need, or to provide care or to help a vulnerable person.·       Travelling to and from work, but only where this absolutely cannot be done from home. CLOSING NON-ESSENTIAL SHOPS AND PUBLIC SPACESLast week the government ordered certain businesses – including pubs, cinemas, and theatres – to close.The Government is now extending this requirement and the following must also close:·       All non-essential retail stores – this will include clothing and electronics stores, hair, beauty and nail salons, and outdoor and indoor markets, excluding food markets.·       Libraries, community centres and youth centres.·       Indoor and outdoor leisure facilities, such as bowling alleys, arcades and soft play facilities.·       Communal places within parks, such as playgrounds, sports courts and outdoor gyms.·       Places of worship, except for funerals attended by immediate families.·       Hotels, hostels, bed and breakfasts, campsites, caravan parks, and boarding houses. STOPPING PUBLIC GATHERINGSTo make sure people are staying at home and apart from each other, the Government is also stopping all public gatherings of more than two people.There are only two exceptions to this rule:·       Where the gathering is of a group of people who live together – this means that a parent can, for example, take their children to the shops if there is no option to leave them at home.·       Where the gathering is essential for work purposes – but workers should be trying to minimise all meetings and other gatherings in the workplace.Also, the Government is stopping social events, including weddings, baptisms, and other religious ceremonies. This will exclude funerals that can be attended by immediate family.The penalties at the moment for noncompliance are fines of up to £1000, but they start at a weak £30. The police will have the power to disperse groups.If people persist the police will have stronger powersThe PM closes by saying that the way ahead is hard, many lives will sadly be lost. We must ‘stay at home, protect the NHS, and save lives.’WE ARE NOW MOST CERTAINLY IN ‘LOCKDOWN.’ Family Life.I decided to twin my exercise with a call in at the food shop in Netherfield town, so I went for a walk. We need some more hand sanitiser and cleaning stuff.There is a hell of a lot of cars driving around; it is like Piccadilly circus. Where are they all going at 10 in the morning? On the walk, I noticed that the park was empty apart from one family, a mother, and two small children. She stood looking on and watched as they climbed all over the metal, potentially disease-ridden, apparatus.The Co-op store in Netherfield was sufficiently safe to go in. Not too many people, and I was pleased to see that they had spacing in the queue to the tills. Sadly, no sanitiser and no cleaning stuff, however.Quote of the day:‘Liberty means responsibility. That is why most men dread it.’ – George Bernard Shaw.TUESDAY 24TH MARCH 202087 further deaths in England.422 total deaths in the UK.8,077 cases of people having the virus in the UK.332,930 cases worldwide, with a total of 14,510 deaths. (Up 1,727 in the last 24 hours).65 countries are in lockdown. 40 countries are in partial lockdown (specific areas). We wake up to see pictures of people crammed together on the tube in London. This needs to be addressed by Transport London and get it resolved and limit numbers on coaches. There are inevitably going to be some teething problems. There is confusion. This morning Michael Gove, the Cabinet Office Minister, said that estranged parents should not be moving children between homes. He has since clarified this, and it means that children under the age of 18 can be moved between homes. This impacts on me. I will think about whether this is sensible or whether we should skype and telephone. I cannot guarantee that my daughter’s mother and partner are being stringent in their activities.There is further confusion about construction workers and whether they are classed as essential. At the moment, it appears that they are.These are issues that will no doubt be reviewed, and when the government is moving so quickly, there will be ambiguities. Some tragic stories are circulating. One in Spain is that they have found a care home abandoned, with elderly patients left to their own devices, and some old folks were found dead in their beds. I got a text this morning from the NHS and separately from the government merely saying, ‘Stay at Home.’ There was a link for further details. YouGov has done a snap poll, and 93% said they support the lockdown.66% said it would be easy to follow the new rules for three weeks. (It will be much longer). 29% said they thought it would be hard.39% think the police powers are sufficient, and 39% think they are not. Deaths are doubling every two or three days in Italy and Spain. If this happens here, then we will be up to 1,000 deaths a day very quickly.PROJECTION:87 deaths by 24th March (Today)174 deaths by 27th March 2020348 deaths by 30th March 2020696 deaths by 2nd April 20201,392  by 5th April 2020 5 pm briefing. The Prime Minister Boris Johnson.The government briefing is seeking a quarter of a million volunteers – ‘NHS Volunteer Responders’ is a new group. These volunteers are to ‘shield’ the most vulnerable who are to stay in their homes for the next three months. This will be things like talking to them on the phone to check in and cheer them up. Deliver essentials to their house, such as food and pharmaceutical products. Delivering items between NHS locations.The request for retired NHS personnel to return to help has so far resulted in 11,000 people stepping up to the plate. This is fantastic news. How wonderfully dedicated these people must be.The government is utilising final year medical students, so in addition to this, there will be the mobilisation of a further 5,000 medical doctors and 18,000 nurses. Incredible numbers.The military is building a new NHS hospital. The government has sequestrated the massive Excel Exhibition Centre in East London. It is to be called the Nightingale Hospital and will have two wards with 2,000 patients in each, all with ventilators. A total of 4,000 beds with ventilators. Grimly there are also two large morgues being built in the hospital.The government is also allegedly looking at doing the same at The National Exhibition Centre in the West Midlands, which is even bigger than the Excel Centre in London. This is only speculation at the moment, though.There are still issues with NHS staff getting the appropriate safety equipment (known as PPE – Personal Protection Equipment) to wear, and they are risking their lives. This is frustrating and cannot be allowed to happen; the government is prioritising this, but it needs to happen now. Family Life:Callum says he feels okay but still has a persistent cough.Katie, who is my son, Andy’s partner, has asked for us to sign a petition for the government to support freelancers. All the support is to PAYE earners, and yet people like Katie, who is a music teacher and operatic singer, suddenly have no income and no support. I signed it. Hopefully, something will be done soon to help them.Quote of the day:‘In Venice in the Middle Ages there was  a man called a codega – a fellow you hired to walk in front of you at night with a lit lantern, showing you the way, scaring off thieves and demons, bringing you confidence and protection through the dark streets.’ – Elizabeth Gilbert.

The above is an extract from: Coronavirus 2020 Vision - The Road To Freedom Day - The Complete Diary and Events of the COVID-19 Pandemic.

An extract from 'Old Mother Hubbard' - a short story in the anthology 'Killing Nan and Other Crime Short Stories' by Keith Wright.The entrance to the mortuary heralded an assault on all of the senses. First, there was the wrestling match with the cumbersome, thick lengths of plastic sheeting that hung in the outer doorway, a rematch followed a couple of steps later at the inner doorway. Then, once beyond this physical obstacle came the stench of death furiously competing with chemicals so strong they filtered down the nostrils and collated at the back of the throat, where it would congeal, causing a curious metallic taste. It was then that your eyes blinked in the forbidding, godforsaken environment. If you were lucky all the bodies were tucked away in the huge drawers set flush in the fabric of the wall; more often than not, however, there would be one or two cadavers left out on trolleys either having come out or going back in the drawers of doom. Drawers that all of us will one day frequent; naked, bloating, smelling, seeping methane and fluids, decaying and grotesque. Sleep well.One could usually mentally prepare for the body of the person for whom you were attending because you tended to know the circumstances of the death and so be able to construct it in your mind's eye, but the random ones left out on display could take you by surprise. It might be the contorted frame of a dead child hit by a lorry, confusing by its abhorrent and incongruous appearance. Or maybe a baby, or a body part from a train wreck. This was the jeopardy of attending the mortuary even for the most experienced detective. And as your heart rate increased, your ears were bombarded with mysterious clunks and clanks and distant conversations, wrapped around a constant dripping of water trickling from taps on the large porcelain slabs used to dissect our loved ones. It was not a place for the faint-hearted.DCI Frank Hubbard breathed a sigh of relief as there were no 'surprise' bodies on view, just the cadaver of a young woman on a porcelain slab with three people standing around it, one of whom was Frank's new bestie; the pathologist, Jacob Melba dressed in green starched operating garb and bizarrely small wellingtons with cartoon characters on them. He was clutching a dictaphone but paused when he saw his visitor arrive.  'Ah, Frank, just in time. This is Detective Chief Inspector Frank Hubbard, everyone.'  'Afternoon, Mr Melba.' Frank said and nodded to the others assembled around the cadaver. 'Afternoon.'Frank preferred to stand on ceremony in a professional environment, especially in front of others, so 'Mr Melba' it was. He had walked over with the best smile he could muster, but it fell away quickly. Frank coughed up a clump of chemical-infused phlegm which, as all eyes fell on him, he promptly swallowed and winced at the vileness of the taste.'Killing Nan and Other Crime Short Stories' is available now on Kindle, Kindle Unlimited and Amazon Paperback. Follow the link:

An extract from 'Coronavirus 2020 Vision - The Road To Freedom Day - The complete diary and events of the Covid 19 Pandemic.' By Keith Wright.21st March 2020.This is an unadulterated take written in real time, on a daily basis. It avoids any hindsight and illustrates how things unfolded throughout the pandemic untainted by the bias of time.SAT 21ST MARCH 2020Wales has 89 new cases and Scotland 551.There are now 4,145 cases in total in the UK, with deaths at 233. We see on the news how Italy continues to spiral out of control with the crisis. Just short of 800 people died in Italy in the last 24 hours, making a total of 4,825 deaths in total so far. 53,578 have so far contracted the disease. It is currently worse in Italy than anywhere else on the planet, and the overstretched and desperate doctors keep warning the UK that this horror is coming to us. It will happen. This is a frightening prospect and is surely unprecedented.Italy has today banned people from even going outside to the parks, despite social distancing. This makes all towns like ghost towns. We saw on Sky News; a Mrs Fogo interviewed from Lambadi who spoke about how quiet it was now outside. She said, ‘All I hear through the window is the Church Bells and the sound of ambulances.’ 4 pm Briefing. - George Eustace, Secretary of State for the Environment, Food and Rural Affairs. He re-iterated the call to only buy what you need. There is enough food, but there are some problems with deliveries and the people to do them. Some stores will limit specific lines to so many per person. The supermarkets have been struggling with people stocking up. Their algorithms and the use of loyalty cards enable their computers to anticipate the required stock levels per day per store. Once people overbuy in bulk, of course, it necessarily follows that there is a shortfall of produce on the shelves.So far, a billion pounds more food is currently in people’s cupboards than there was three weeks ago because of people stocking up. It is a herd mentality and almost a hysterical reaction when you see people buying lots of stuff and the shelves empty, it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy, and everyone follows suit. It feels like an ‘every man for himself’ doctrine. The NHS (National Health Service) has done a deal with independent hospitals who are providing 8,000 beds and 20,000 care workers. Plus, thousands of ventilators. This is excellent news and a huge relief as the monster approaches.NICE (National Institute for Health and Care Excellence) has said that doctors should allocate critical care beds to those patients who have the most chance of surviving. This is a terrible choice for doctors to make and does not bode well if I get the virus, particularly if young people keep flouting the lockdown and taking beds from those more likely to die. John Lewis is closing all their stores. These large retailers keep clinging on with their fingertips, which I get, but it encourages customers to group together and risks harm to them and the staff working in them. Jackie’s employers Next continue to trade, exposing her and me to risk of catching the virus. Personal:I went out to Morrisons at Victoria Retail Park at 6.40 am ready for it opening at 7 am as we need some bread and milk and other perishable goods, notably fruit, which were unavailable last night. When I arrived at 6.45 am, there were already around 80 people outside. It was grim waiting in the cold. A man behind me started coughing without covering his mouth, and I quickly turned away. Then there was an argument. A man called out a woman in pyjamas for pushing in. She didn’t move. There is always one. I’m glad he challenged her, though. I would have if I’d seen it. Anyway, I did not get everything I wanted, but I got bananas and a bit of milk and bread. Several shelves were wiped clean.Callum is still unwell with a temperature, sore throat, and cough. Of course, we don’t know if it is Coronavirus, but he has to make the assumption it is. Let’s hope it isn’t.Quote of the day:‘Thanks for giving me a place to sleep last night, and for the extra blanket. Vi. – Violet’s note to Lincoln.’ – Jessica Shirvington.Light relief:21st March 2053: John opened the last packet of toilet paper bought by his parents in 2020.Available on Kindle, Kindle Unlimited, Audible and Amazon Paperback.

In some newspapers today a scoop has hit the headlines that MI6 tried to grab the Holy Grail in 1936. They did not then appreciate its significance, born from technological advances since that date.

It has amazing resonance with my fictional short story The Second Coming published last year.

Read this FREE SHORT STORY BELOW - THE SECOND COMING - WITH MY COMPLIMENTS.

The story is one of many in the short story anthology 'Killing Mum and Other Crime Short Stories' by Keith Wright available on Kindle, Kobo, and in print at Amazon Books.

THE SECOND COMING

Derek Blundell shivered as he threw open the curtains in the living room. He squinted as the morning sun glared in. Why was it so damned cold? Incongruously dressed in a robe and slippers, the man in his sixties had the bearing of someone who should be dressed in a three-piece tweed suit and a Trilby hat with a feather.

Derek always allowed himself a couple of seconds to take in and appreciate the view of Glastonbury Tor from the window and enjoy the shimmering sparkle cast upon the stream by the rising sun. The stream was a tributary from the Chalice Well that rolled past the end of his garden. It was imbued with a red hue caused by iron silt. It was a magnificent sight. Of course, Glastonbury, the Tor, and the stream were steeped in Arthurian myth. Derek couldn't know that another legend, far older and more significant than that, was to play a sinister part in the coming days. Derek didn't go in for all the supposed history attached to the area. It was all superstition and poppycock as far as he was concerned. It was something to draw the tourists in. And it worked; of that, there was no doubt.

Glastonbury was seen as a new-age spiritual haven, and it seemed anyone who was that way inclined had visited or set down roots in the area. In truth, it annoyed Derek because he wanted it all to himself and Millicent too. Imagine if they didn't have the crowds in the summer and the meager population of residents could share the spoils and beauty all to themselves. Wouldn't that be great?

'The bleeders!' Derek snarled as he walked into the kitchen. The cause of the chill became apparent as he saw the broken window. A small hole in the glass had seemingly facilitated someone to open the leaden window and invade his home. It must have happened overnight. Without thinking, he immediately closed the window to try to stop the cold air from flooding through. His next thought was the precious bowl on the mantlepiece. Sure enough, it had gone.

'Bugger!'

It didn't register with Derek how odd it was that nothing else appeared to have been taken. He winced at the thought of telling Millicent. Anything like this is unsettling enough for anyone, but Milicent was of such a timid disposition that it would upset her for days if not weeks. He would wake her first before calling the police. He sighed as he trudged up the winding stairs with a tray of tea and toast.

***

Detective Constable Steven Hunter Talladice had always been a little bit special, at least within his own little world. Much of it came from his name. No one in the school, the village, or the city was called Hunter—just him. So everyone knew him. It was a simple truth. He had just transferred to Avon and Somerset Police from Norfolk Constabulary on the promise of promotion within six months. He said he would prefer to wait until a vacancy for a Detective Sergeant came up, and that was how he ended up in the historic town of Glastonbury. The local DS was due to retire in a couple of months, so Steven would be able to slot in nicely. Upping sticks and moving his life to another part of the country was a bold move for a man in his early forties, but he figured he still had another fifteen or twenty years of detective work in him. Anyway, paradoxically, his first week had only been remarkable because it was so uneventful. It was nowhere near as busy as his old patch, so it took some readjusting. It was early days, and maybe things would heat up, given a bit of time. It wasn't peak season so perhaps it was not surprising.

It was out of boredom that he had volunteered to drive out to the report of a dwelling house burglary near The Chalice Well and, after going down two dead-ends, finally found the old stone building. It must have been an outbuilding to the adjacent farm in decades past, and now it was the home of Derek and Millicent Blundell.

Millicent had made the nice policeman a lovely cup of tea, complete in a china teapot with delicate tea cups and saucers which were so fine Steven's hand shook involuntarily with trepidation as he lifted it to his lips. He couldn't get his finger through the handle, so he had to pinch it between his forefinger and thumb, but he could feel it slightly slipping each time he raised it for a sip. It reminded him of his first sergeant's old saying: 'There's many a slip twixt cup and lip.' Now it all made sense.

Millicent didn't say too much and seemed reserved. DC Talladice couldn't work out whether she was crying or had a cold. She had a tissue held to her nose for most of the time he was there, and she was constantly sniffling. He guessed it was a reaction to the burglary, it must have been upsetting, but he didn't pursue it in conversation.

'So what time did you go to bed, Mr Blundell?' Steven asked, holding pen to notebook.

'Same time as always; eleven o'clock, but it takes me a while to settle, so it must have happened, I would say, between midnight and six o'clock this morning when I discovered it. I still can't believe neither of us heard the glass smashing.'

'I couldn't figure out what had been stolen when I read the report. A bowl? Am I right?' Steven asked. 'Seemed a little strange to me. What am I missing?'

Derek shrugged out a laugh. 'There's a story behind it.'

Steven smiled politely. 'Okay, interesting; what's the story, Mr Blundell?'

'Our dog dug it up near the stream at the bottom of the garden. It'd be about six months ago, eight months ago, something like that, wouldn't it, Milly?'

'Yes. Don't let your tea get cold, Derek.'

'You've got a dog?' Steven asked, craning his neck towards the kitchen.

'Not now. No, he's left us, I'm afraid. He was fifteen, so he had a good innings did old Brandy.'

'Brandy?'

'That was his fur colour, a lovely warm shade of brandy. Never lost its sheen, did he, Milly?'

'No. Never lost it. Bless him.'

'And the bowl?' Steven asked.

'Yes, sorry, the bowl, was it a bowl? It looked like a bowl. A small, funny-shaped thing it was. Beautiful though. But crude at the same time. Milly wanted to clean it, didn’t you love?’

‘Yes, it looked so dingy, but you don't know what's right for doing wrong.’

‘Never clean them.' Derek said. 'We've all seen Antiques Roadshow, Haven't we? And that's what they say. I mean, we had to wipe the mud off it, you know, but not use any chemicals on it. No, never.’

‘What was it made of, Mr Blundell?’

‘Bronze, I would say, with some jewels just below the rim, all the way around. I say jewels; they might have been paste or semi-precious for all I know.' Derek rubbed at his chin, bristles of stubble scratching his palm.

'And am I right in thinking that is the only thing that has been taken?' Steven asked.

'Yes. We've had a good look around, haven't we, Milly? They've not even been anywhere else in the house. It's like they just came for the bowl and that was it.'

'Yes.' Milly sniffed out her agreement.

'And there's nothing else. As I say, what I find most remarkable is that it doesn't look like they've even looked for anything else, and nothing's been touched.'

'So, either they were disturbed by someone, or they knew it was here, and that's what they were after?' DC Talladice was scribbling on his pad as he spoke.

'I don't know, officer. Maybe. I suppose so. It must have been, now you say it like that, but nobody has seen it. Nobody would know it was here—the bowl, I mean. Nobody tends to come up here. We don't reckon to neighbour much; we don't have close neighbours to neighbour with, do we, Milly?'

'No, we don't reckon to neighbour.'

'Strange that they went straight for it, then.' Steven mused.

'Isn't it? It's a bloody mystery, is what it is.' Derek shifted in his seat. The small windows in the cottage conspired with the fast-moving black clouds to wipe darkness across the living room.

Millicent lowered her tissue sufficiently to speak. 'There was that man. He valued it, Derek, don't forget.'

'Sorry, what was that?' Steven asked.

'He doesn't need to know all that detail, Milly, love.'

'Try me.' Steven said.

'About two weeks ago, I took the bowl into town to be valued. That's all.'

'That is interesting. So there is someone who knew it was here. Where did you take it, Mr Blundell?' This was getting interesting, and the conversation shifted from perfunctory to focusing on this new lead.

'It was just out of curiosity, you know. I wondered if there was anything to it. I didn't know if it was worth a fortune or bugger all.'

'So where was that? Where did you take it?'

'Oh, yes, Dyers Second Hand Goods at the edge of town. Do you know it?'

'No, I'm new to the area.'

'Okay, well, you probably don't then. It's more a second-hand shop than an antique place. They sell all sorts. I don't know what possessed me to take it there. I must have got a bee in my bonnet about it. I probably took it there because it was on the edge of town. I don't like everyone knowing my business, you know. I reckon he tried to diddle us anyway.'

'How come?' Steve sat forward on the flowery settee cover as the clouds passed, allowing a warmer glow through the windows.

'I didn't like the look of him, in any case, but I could tell he was impressed by it. Yet the stingy bugger only offered two hundred pounds for it, didn't he, Millicent?'

'Yes. Two hundred, that's right. That's what the chap offered.'

'Oh, he offered to buy it, did he?' Steven asked.

'Yeah, he was really keen. I thought so, anyway. Did you think he was keen, Millicent, that fella in the shop?'

'Very much so. Keen as mustard he was.'

'But you weren't keen on selling?' Steve asked.

'No, I didn't want to sell it. He must have got the wrong end of the stick. It was just a valuation; that was all I wanted. He got quite insistent. Then he offered me three hundred pounds. When I turned to go, he got quite nasty with me. Just chuntering, I don't know what he said, but he had the hump, I knew that.'

'And that was Dyers, was it?'

'Yes. Reg Dyer, his name is. I wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw him, to be honest. But other than that, nobody even knew the thing was here. It was just something we liked. We did like it, though, didn't we, Milly? There was something about it.'

'Oh, yes, we liked it. It gave off a sort of warmth. I don't know. It was just a lovely thing somehow, and it reminded us of our Brandy, I suppose. That must be it.'

'Okay, well, leave it with me.' DC Talladice said. 'That's been helpful. I will make some discreet enquiries with Mr Dyer. Scenes of Crime will call later to fingerprint the window and where the perpetrators might have been. Here's my card.'

'I hope you can get it back for us.' Derek said.

'I hope so too. I'll do my best.

***

DC Talladice had set the sting operation up perfectly. What could go wrong? Neither he nor the officers secreted outside the second-hand shop were aware that two pairs of eyes were focused on them. The watchers were being watched.

The bell chimed as Detective Constable Steven Hunter Talladice entered the fusty second-hand shop. It was like travelling back in time. Clocks ticking, an old fire blazing, and a crackly radio doing its best on the small counter at the far end. It was so old that Steven expected 1940s dance band music to be playing rather than Radio 2. Dust particles hovered in the air, accentuated by strips of sunlight competing with smears in the shop window. It was dark inside, and cool air followed customers around the glass cabinets full of trinkets and ornaments. Most of the items were fancy-looking but had no substance to them. They were copies or made cheaply, trying to be something they weren't. Other items, such as old irons, hoovers, radios, etc. were the product of house clearances in years gone past, and while the price tag was cheap there was a question mark over their functionality because of the age of the things.

DC Talladice had the look. Nicely cut suit. Tailor-made, of course, and a dark blue Crombie overcoat complete with protruding pocket handkerchief.

'Good morning, sir.' The officer oozed confidence as he addressed the man behind the counter.

'Morning.' The grizzled old guy looked the detective up and down with a sneer. Checking him out. The shopkeeper was overweight, balding, and more pungent than the hundred-year-old stuffed cat on the shelf beside him. He wore a tea-stained waistcoat with a pocket watch chain exposed.

'I'm visiting from London.' Steven said. 'I deal in antiques. I hope you don't mind me having a look around your, um, charming shop, Mr?'

'Mr Dyer. The name's above the door, squire.'

Steven walked towards him with hand outstretched, and the two shook hands. 'Gerald Seymour, antiquarian and specialist dealer in bronze and spelter goods.'

'Pleased to meet you.'

'I always announce I'm in the trade. I feel sneaky if I don't come clean.'

'Appreciate it. What are you looking for exactly? I might be able to save you a bit of time.'

'God knows. I rarely know myself until I see it. Something unusual. Old. Quality. The usual, you know.'

'I know what you mean. So are you an expert, then? Is that what you said?' Reg was trying to get a handle on the guy and figure out how much he could swindle out of him. Unfortunately, the gentleman looked like he knew what he was talking about.

'Expert? No, well, yes, I suppose so, modesty forbids, but I suppose I am at least with regards to bronze goods, but not in general antiques, you understand. No disrespect Mr Dyer but I tend to deal in rather high-end markets, and I see yours is more, um – a functional general store, a second-hand store if you will.'

'It is, you're right. We don't stand on ceremony here. We do get the occasional nice piece in, don't get me wrong, but generally speaking, it tends to be mid-century stuff and 1970s gear. Each to their own, like.'

'Do you know if there are antique shops nearby that might have the sort of thing I'm looking for?'

'Not round here, mate. You're better off going into town. There's a few there. By all means, look around the shop, though, and you just might find the odd gem.'

'Thank you.'

Steven mooched around the store, but it was clear that Reg's description was accurate, and more importantly, there was no sign of a bronze dish with jewels adorning it.

'Well, I shall bid you farewell. Thank you for accommodating me.' Steven said after ten minutes of shuffling around.

'Thanks for dropping by.'

DC Talladice headed towards the door slowly. He wanted the idea to come from smelly Reg, but if he didn't break before he got out the door, only then would he ask the shop owner the direct question. As Steven's hand touched the doorknob, Reg spoke up, stopping the grinning detective in his tracks.

'Scuse me, Mr Gerald, sir.'

'Yes?' He turned swiftly on his heels.

'There might be something for you to look at. It's in the back, like.'

'Oh yes, what's that?'

'It's a rare piece, I reckon. It's got precious jewels in it. Looks really old, and I'm talking centuries old, and it's just come in the shop.'

'Interesting. By all means, bring it out. I'm happy to cast an eye over it. No promises, mind.'

'No, of course not. No promises. Hangfire a minute, then.'

Reg disappeared for a couple of minutes, and Steve knew he wasn't far away because he could hear him puffing and panting in the next room. Reg reappeared with a small bowl covered with a duster that smelled of wax, Pledge, or some cleaning chemical. Reg whipped off the duster dramatically for the big reveal.

'There you go. What about that, then?' Reg placed the item on the counter as if it were the King's crown. If only he'd known it was more precious than that.

Steven was immediately convinced that Blundell's stolen pot was now in his hands. It was only the size of a teacup, maybe marginally bigger than that, and he had expected something larger.

‘That is interesting. Goodness.’

‘I knew it. I’ve not had a chance to clean it yet; sparkle it up. The punter’s like shiny, but you know that, of course.’

'You mustn’t clean it. This is quite extraordinary; it is remarkable.’

‘I bloody knew it.’ Reg’s eyes gleamed, and he subconsciously rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

‘This is more like it. May I look at it in the light?' DC Talladice went towards the window carrying the precious bowl, followed by the smaller portlier, Reginald Dyer, huffing behind him, coughing up phlegm, and swallowing it in one well-practiced cycle. He was worried that the man might have the same dubious morals as he and merely continue out of the door. DC Talladice only went to the window to signal to his colleagues waiting outside, and within three or four seconds, two uniformed police officers burst into the shop with a tinkle of the door chime.

'Mr Dyer, you are under arrest for the burglary of this bowl in Glastonbury, which took place overnight.' DC Talladice said.

'Oh, for Christ's sake. I knew you were bleeding dodgy as fuck.'

***

Detective Constable Talladice was thrilled he had recovered the precious property for the Blundell family. The officers had allowed Reg to lock his shop up before taking him to their police car to transport him back to the police station. Steven said he would be there shortly. The detective lit a cigarette as he stood outside the shop in the chilly air whilst being cloaked in the autumnal sun. The clouds had parted, which seemed to afford the sun's beams to hone in on him. He squinted, and it was as he became accustomed to the bright light that he noticed the two men purposefully walking towards him. Both were dressed in similar attire to him - smart suits and overcoats, and they looked official. The man with the greying hair smiled warmly and offered his hand to the detective.

'Detective Constable Talladice, I presume?'

'Yes, sorry, do I know you?' He put a hand above his eyes to shield the glare and shook the man's hand.

'No, you do not, but we know you. I am Chief Superintendent Simmons on attachment with MI5, and this is Aubrey Sutton, Commander at MI5.' The two men showed their identification to a puzzled DC Talladice.

They exchanged 'pleased to meet you's,' but it did nothing to dampen down the raging fluttering in the Constable's stomach. Something was very much 'up.'

'I rather fancy a coffee. How about you, Steven?' Mr Simmons said with a smile and a whisper of condescension.

'I would love to, but we've just arrested this guy -'

'I said I would love to go for a coffee; how about you?' The Chief Superintendent repeated himself tersely and louder, smile now gone, an air of menace fleetingly present.

'Oh, yes, I see what you mean, sure. I mean, if you insist. There's a Cafe Nero across the square.'

'We do rather - insist.' Commander Sutton said. He was softer-spoken, perhaps more assured than his colleague, but his quiet nature made him appear even more sinister.

'Have I done something wrong?' Steven asked, becoming increasingly concerned.

The smile returned. 'No, not at all. Relax, you're a hero, but you don't know it yet. However, we do need to have a chat to explain everything.'

The three men took a little while to sort themselves out once they had selected a table by the bay window, with coats and bejeweled bowl to offload. DC Talladice tentatively handed the bowl to Commander Sutton at his insistence.

'I hope you forgive us for taking you hostage like this.' Mr Simmonds said.

'It's fine; there is obviously something going on that I don't know about. What is it, the bowl?'

'It is, of course, the bowl, Steven. That bowl is a matter of national security, and we are hereby seizing it. Just for clarity and to avoid any confusion, you know.'

'You can't do that, sir. It's evidence in a burglary; which, granted, will probably end up as handling stolen goods, but I'm not sure which it will be yet. I need to book it in, though, and it could be worth quite a bit. I think it's quite a valuable item.'

'I'm afraid that's all gone now, Sergeant. That's off.'

'What do you mean, off? You can't do that, sir.'

'We not only can but we must, I'm afraid. It's nothing personal, you understand. I have to pull rank; sorry about that.' He grinned.

Talladice swallowed hard. 'Okay. What is going on here? I need to know why, sir.'

'All you need to know is that the shopkeeper will be released, and the former owners of this bowl will be disappointed when you explain that the bowl had gone when you made your enquiries. You will do your best to find it, but you never will.'

'So you want me to lie?'

'Yes, we do. Sorry, had I not made that clear? That is the general idea. A big fat lie, DC Talladice. Imagine it's your beloved wife when you return from that nightclub you visit. It will just roll off the tongue.'

'Here, hold on a minute; that's not on, sir. That's a bit of a low blow. And what if I don't?'

'You will.' Simmons smiled.

'Are you sure about that? I don't like being side-swiped like this, with respect, sir.' Talladice said.

'I know, but trust me, your little enquiry pails into a minuscule particle in the dust of insignificance compared to the importance of this bowl.'

'I get it. It's no problem, but if I am going to lie, it would be courteous of you to at least give me an explanation as to why it is necessary to do so. And I will need some sort of receipt.'

'If we tell you that, we will have to kill you.' The Commander laughed cheerily.

'I'll take my chances; we're not in a James Bond movie. You're not licensed to kill. Come on, out of professional courtesy, if nothing else.'

'If you insist. You're right; by the way, I'm not licensed to kill. It seems a shame, but so be it. Commander Sutton will explain. After all, he is the one with the license.' Mr Simmons smiled strangely.

Commander Sutton took his cue. 'I want to tell you a story, Steven. May I call you Steven?'

'Yes, sure. Steve, Steven.'

'It's a story as old as time.'

'Okay. Intriguing. Anyway, how do you know what nightclub I go to? Have you been following me?'

'Let the Commander explain, Steven; there's a good chap. Stay focused.'

Commander Sutton continued. 'It involves a gentleman by the name of Jesus. Are you familiar with the name?'

'Funnily enough, I have heard of him.' Talladice said, playing along.

'This lovely, priceless bowl, this ancient relic, was brought to these sceptered isles by one Joseph of Arimathea in around 63AD or thereabouts.'

'You're kidding me?' Steven said – unconvinced.

'I kid you not, Steven.' He smirked before continuing his explanation. 'You see, Joseph of Arimathea was Jesus' great uncle; you may or may not be aware.'

'I didn't know that.'

'Well, he was. He came to Britain twice and traded in tin; he came once with the younger Jesus, and again years after his crucifixion as an old man. Joseph died here and is buried at St Joseph's Chapel beneath the Chapel Of Our Lady in Glastonbury.'

'This is getting surreal. Surely that is just tourism stuff, isn't it? Are you sure this is right, sir?'

'Be patient, Mr Talladice. You wanted to know the story, didn't you?'

'Sorry, yes. This is just mind-blowing.' Steve sipped at his now lukewarm coffee.

'Isn't it? Anyway, rewind to the crucifixion. Joseph of Arimathea was granted permission by Pilate to bury Jesus' body, and he did so in a cave he had marked for his own tomb. We know what happened next, of course – Easter and all that malarky. Notably, the Grail, or Cruet, which had been used at the Last Supper, was kept by Joseph of Arimathea. Forgive me, but the wine in the Grail signified the blood of Christ at the Last Supper. Do you recall?'

'That much I do know.'

'This symbolism started the Holy Mass, which survives today, of course. I think I've explained, that Joseph was allowed by Pontious Pilate to be present at the crucifixion and was told to dispose of the body. As Jesus died, Joseph held the Grail up and caught two drops of blood, from the spear wound, in the Grail to complete the circle of symbolism. Only this time, it was not red wine; it was the real blood of Christ.'

DC Talladice puffed out his cheeks. 'It's an amazing story, sir, but it does sound a bit like – what would you call it? Um, bollocks – yes, it sounds like a load of bollocks, doesn't it?'

'It does. But it's not. Legend has it that Joseph of Arimathea and his followers had the Grail when they came to Britain in 63 AD. Joseph died and was buried here, as I've already explained. His tomb is still in the church in the centre of Glastonbury. He was hidden in plain sight. But -' Sutton raised a finger. 'But what happened to the Grail?'

DC Talladice shrugged.

'It was hidden. Some say it was buried with Joseph, others say it was buried at the foot of Wearyall Hill in Glastonbury, and so the spring below it was then called 'Chalice Well,' when the water turned red to signify the blood of Christ. It was deemed a miracle. It was named the Chalice Well, after the Grail or Holy Chalice, do you see?’

'The water is red; that much is true. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.' DC Talladice said.

'I know. Weird, huh?' Sutton said.

'Not really. It is just copper deposits in the stream. It's where the Blundells live, as you know, I guess. Alright, I can see what is coming here, bearing in mind the bowl was dug up at the side of the stream in their garden. You're saying this is the Grail, this bowl?' Talladice wasn't wholly convinced.

'It seems outlandish, doesn't it? But everything and everyone has to be somewhere at a given time and place. You are welcome to Google all of this, you will see what I mean. It's just that people are ignorant of it. Copper deposits in the stream? Yes, that would work as an explanation. Indeed. So to cut a very long story short, DC Talladice. We believe that we now have possession of the Grail and we don't intend to lose it again.'

'Fine. It might all be true, sir, for all I know, but what is so important about it? It's just an artifact and a dodgy one, in my view. Let's face it there is no authenticity certificate with it is there? It's all myth and legend. What has that to do with national security or the government? I get it is rare and of worldwide religious significance. I get it.'

The two senior officers glanced at each other.

Commander Sutton continued. 'National security, you ask? Let me repeat an important aspect of the story for you, Steven. It might have passed you by. Joseph of Arimathea caught two drops of Jesus' real blood in the Grail as they fell from the cross.'

'I know. I heard.'

'Ever heard of Dolly the Sheep?' Sutton asked.

'Dolly the Sheep?' Talladice looked puzzled for a second until the realisation hit him. 'Um. Oh my God! The first animal to be DNA cloned in the 1990s.'

'Aha, the penny drops. 1996 to be precise.'

'So, if you have the blood of Christ in that bowl, you can use the Michrochondrial DNA process to extract it and – shit. The Second Coming.'

'By George, I think he's got it!' Sutton said. 'Indeed.'

'This is fucking mind-blowing!' Steven stood up and walked up and down the coffee house, hand to his forehead.

Simmons grabbed his arm. 'Sit down, Steven, there's a good chap. You're making a bit of a scene.'

Steven sat and, taking in a huge gulp of air, rapidly blew it out again. 'This is madness.'

Sutton patted Steven's suit sleeve. 'Isn't it just. And when history is written, your name will appear as the man to get his hands on it.'

'Oh, my God.'

'Now, perhaps, you see the importance of us seizing it. If blood is inside that bowl, even if it is 2000 years old, we have the technology to clone from it.'

Chief Superintendent Simmons joined in with the revelation. 'Some say that Jesus' second coming would be two thousand years after the crucifixion, and it just so happens that this is the time, slightly over two thousand years later, that we discover how to extract DNA and clone human beings.'

'And recover the Holy Grail.' Talladice said.

'As it turns out, yes. Recover the holy grail. It all fits. God's will, you might say. So. There you have it. Happy now?'

'Yes, I mean, wow. Just wow. What the hell?' Steven couldn't stop shaking his head. He was white and getting paler as the enormity seeped into his bones.

Sutton underlined the situation on a nationalistic framework. 'The country that can produce the second coming of Jesus Christ will dominate the world for centuries to come. And thanks to you, that country is here, in the United Kingdom. As God intended.' He grinned.

'As God intended, if the legend is true.' Steven said.

'We say it is and that we are merely the instruments of God. Everything has come together simultaneously, Steven and destiny is about to be completed.'

'And about time.' Simmonds said.

Talladice was still struggling with the concept. 'How do we know the government won't just put the bowl in secure storage and stop it from happening?'

'We don't do we? But it seems unlikely, given the likely benefits. I suppose a lot depends on the success of the cloning.'

'Can I get another coffee, please?'

'Yes, of course. Take as long as you want.' Mr Simmons smiled.

***

Detective Constable Steven Hunter Talladice was still bemused as he shook the hands of the two mystery men outside Cafe Nero. He had put the receipt in his left trouser pocket and stumbled along the pavement, already having decided he would immediately find another coffee shop to let this sink in. He needed a cigarette too. He noticed there were three missed calls on his mobile phone, but he decided to ignore them.

The two well-dressed gentlemen watched from the cafe doorway as the Detective Constable bowed his neck to allow his cigarette tip to meet the flame of a lighter before crossing the road.

The curious thing about the collision was the lack of screeching brakes. Usually, screeching brakes are the audible sign of the last couple of seconds of realisation by the driver. In this instance, no such realisation occurred at the last minute. It had been there from the get-go as soon as he gunned the accelerator towards the detective intent on smiting him down.

Chief Superintendent Simmons and Commander Sutton strolled over to the body in the middle of the road. They needed to be certain. Yes, he was dead. Sutton surreptitiously reached into DC Talladice's pocket and removed the receipt.

'Shame, he seemed a decent enough sort.' Commander Sutton said.

'Yes, still, needs must.' Simmons said matter-of-factly. National security issues of such importance are psychotic by nature. Nothing gets in the way of the completion of the mission. Nothing, and sadly for DC Talladice, nobody either. It is completely ruthless, as it should be.

As the two strangers turned and walked away, Commander Sutton spoke to his colleague as if trying to justify the murder. 'In fairness, he did agree that if we told him, we would have to kill him.'

'Yes, strange choice. Maybe he thought we were kidding. Sometimes ignorance is bliss.'

Commander Sutton seemed deep in thought. 'Are you ready for what might happen once we hand it over?'

'I'm ready. I like to think we will be trusted, but I wouldn't bank on it fully. I'm not that naive.'

'No. Me neither.'

'They trusted us to come for Talladice.'

'Maybe there will be a second coming – for us!'

Sutton laughed. 'Maybe.'

@Copyright Keith Wright 2023.

As a crime writer, at least in my case, formulating a new thriller begins with who the victim is and how they might die. Then there is the killer and what their motive might be. The two are interchangeable, but these are the two starting elements when throwing a lump of clay on the potter’s wheel, so to speak.It is all clear cut with no room for confusion about who is who, and, therefore, what the story tells us. In real life, things can be a little more complicated than that.We all watched with horror at the unfolding account of Lucy Letby’s reign of terror upon vulnerable babies. We settled on the fact that she is a psychopath, didn’t we? Then as evidence was given in court, we learned of a sinister twist. An alleged fascination with a sympathetic doctor with whom she became fixated.It seems that when an alert was triggered when a baby died or was in trauma, this doctor would attend and work with Letby, and they would support and comfort one another. Of course, we now know it was her causing the death or trauma. This element implies she was suffering with Munchausen by Proxy. 'Then as evidence was given in court, we learned of a sinister twist.' The so-called leaders at the NHS were tipped off about concerns by experienced doctors and registrars around Lucy Letby’s activities. Yet, these were not only seen as unfounded, but the whistleblowers were allegedly ‘forced’ to write a letter of apology to Letby for expressing such concerns. This quite extreme outcome enabled her to go on and kill more babies. The true toll of this is yet to be uncovered, I suspect.Babies lost their lives because a clever psychopath, seemingly with Munchausen, was seen as a victim by fluttering her eyelashes instead of the cold-hearted killer that she was. However, the medical experts working with her were suspicious, yet they were labelled as the bad guys.So who are the victims, and who are those culpable? We know the babies are victims, but of whom? Yes, of course, it is Lucy Letby, but as sure as night follows day, they were also surely victims of ill judgement, perhaps even negligence, for reasons as yet unascertained. Were the NHS Managers too quick to assume the horrible male doctors were bullying this poor little nurse? It looks that way if they were told to write letters of apology. How strange is that? Were personal biases, assumptions, or even ideologies fuelling their professionalism?Things can get trickier, can’t they? Academically speaking, isn’t Lucy Letby a victim? She suffers from various mental health issues, Psychopathy, Munchausens, and Narcissism. We agree that mental health is an illness, but when the consequences manifest themselves as something so abhorrent as this, it doesn’t count anymore. Does it?Are the so-called leaders’ victims because their societal influences and protocols were easily abused and fooled by a calculating killer pressing their buttons?Are the whistleblowers victims of a system that sought to quieten them down and sully their integrity?So, if everyone is a victim, who is the damned offender?We can settle on it being Lucy Letby, can we not? But can we also merely shrug and walk away from the potential negligence of the NHS management who, by act or omission, facilitated an arena for her to murder innocent little babies in the most grotesque way without appropriate intervention? 'So, if everyone is a victim, who is the damned offender?' I have personal experience of how this madness can run away with itself. It starts as a snowball, and then at the foot of the hill, it is a huge boulder of snow that will melt to nothing, just the same. Twenty-five years ago or so, as a CID Detective Sergeant, I was accused of perverting the course of justice; although never arrested or charged or even given a disciplinary hearing, an investigation and all the stress that incurs went on for two and a half years at the cost to the taxpayer of hundreds of thousands of pounds. The details are too complex and clouded by internal politics to tell that story at least, in detail, now - maybe that is for another day.I discovered early on that the source of the suspicion came from someone I had dealt with as a legitimate victim of sexual assault ( at least initially) and rape by a gang of youths with a grudge against her. This person was discovered to be suffering from Munchausen by Proxy and had what was described as a ‘shrine’ to me in her house, with my crime novels, press cuttings, and other paraphernalia forming its structure.Interestingly the so-called leaders of this police organisation treated her as the victim and me as the offender, despite clearly understanding that she had fabricated at least one of the attacks and repeatedly lied and fantasised. I had already flagged my suspicions of this, but like those doctors, was presumably seen as the bad guy being horrible to this poor victim. She later admitted to falsifying a rape and fooling the police surgeon by (look away now) using a hammer shaft to simulate the act. Her motivation was because she knew I would attend as I was directing the investigation into a series of crimes against her, some of which had happened, admissions made, and convictions secured, and some were suspected to be fictitious. 'Potential egg-on-face scenarios blight minds. Self-fulfilling prophesies overtake rationality.' She said she was pregnant by me. (She’d had a hysterectomy years before). And it was this allegation seemingly with my car being seen on the street late at night that drove this expensive and destructive inquiry.My car was on the street many nights with other officers’ cars, too, as we were freezing our butts off doing covert observations on the house, trying to catch the then-real-life attackers.You get the gist. Anyway, it did come down to nothing, but the usual consequences and damage to one’s reputation by the time it is over still hits hard. The decision to treat her as a victim was taken early doors by ‘so-called’ management (they were being manipulated from the sidelines, but still). Once that decision is taken, and maybe it is the case in the Letby case, egos take hold. Potential egg-on-face scenarios blight minds. Self-fulfilling prophesies overtake rationality. Personal animus interferes. Costs undertaken by them backing the wrong horse are considered. Panic builds, lines are crossed, lies are told, anything to justify their costly decision. Their own vulnerability now takes precedence and drives them on to dig a bigger and bigger hole until they reach the point of no return.My vulnerability was being a mere spectator, aghast at the ridiculousness of it all, as my family, particularly my aged mother, was distraught and impacted forever. She got dementia and subsequently died without knowing its resolution.Unlike Letby, the source of this debacle was never prosecuted, the officers lying to save face were similarly not pursued (eventually promoted), and I, by then a wrung-out dishcloth, left to my own devices.I stayed a couple of years afterwards, but the corruption I had witnessed made me lose heart, and I retired to new pastures.Will it happen again? Of course, it will. It is probably happening right now somewhere. From what we see of so-called leaders in government, local authorities, emergency services, big corporations, etcetera, tainted by ideology, ego, lack of emotional intelligence, and common sense, it will only worsen.So, dear reader, when writing a nice clean crime story with a victim and a killer, we realise that sometimes life is a bit more complicated than this convenience allows.*Keith Wright is the award winning author of the Inspector Stark series of crime thrillers.©Keith Wright 2023

So what was happening on 4th July 2020 in the UK?

We know because of the Coronavirus Diaries written live on a daily basis. Let's see, how much you've forgotten already:

SATURDAY 4TH JULY 2020

Today is the day a lot of people have been waiting for. It is the biggest easing of Lockdown measures so far and pubs, restaurants, cafés and hairdressers are finally opened, albeit in an unfamiliar manner.

Around a third of pubs, 31% to be precise, did not open today as they were not confident they could meet the requirements or indeed felt that they would prefer to observe how others progressed before dipping their toe in the water.

Social distancing has meant that pubs and restaurants in particular have tried to be innovative in the way they have approached the challenge. The Barn in Cambridgeshire has erected lunar style spherical pods over tables to seclude diners. They look pretty cool actually. Other pubs are using 2 hour time slots. In Soho there has been a 10 foot tall gantry erected with a police officer standing in it to observe the crowds. Many have used a simple ‘X marks the spot’ where you don’t sit. Separating tables and seating areas. The Faltering Fullback Pub in North London had a queue stretching back hundreds of yards down the street with thirsty punters waiting to get in and it was a similar scene at The Black Garter in Newcastle.

The Generous George tweeted a list of provisions that were in place at the pub:

No tables or chairs, inside or out can be moved.

Hand sanitisers must be used on entry and at the toilets.

Once full there will be a waiting list.

You will be shown to a table and not be able to join others.

Maximum table size is 6 people.

If you’re smoking you MUST be seated.

Children must remain at the table, seated and not running round (sic).

All play areas will remain CLOSED.

Pool table can be used by over 16’s only and two people only. Items used to be returned and sanitised for their next use.

Use the markers and adhere to social distancing.

Do not lean on the bar.

One person only to come to the bar to order.

A reduced menu has been set.

Please assist floor staff by putting empty glasses at the end of the table to prevent them leaning over.

Use the dedicated ordering points.

Children should not approach the bar.

Entertainment – there is none until further notice.

Low music will be played daily.

Sport will be shown but at a low sound, please do not ask us to turn it up we cannot.

Only one person can play at the fruit machines at a time and must be seated.

One way systems, exits and entrances must be adhered to.

The early part of the day and into early evening things seemed to be going well.

Prime Minister Boris Johnson had tweeted:

‘As pubs and restaurants open across England today, it’s absolutely vital that everyone follows the rules on social distancing.

We’ve worked so hard and together saved so many lives.

Stick to the rules this weekend, keep apart from others and wash your hands several times a day.’

Almost inevitably, however, as the night wore on, it seems that Mr Johnson’s request had fallen on stoney ground. Devon and Cornwall Police tweeted that they were starting to see an increase in reports of disorder and drink related anti-social behaviour. Soho was completely crowded and there was apparently no social distancing going on as hundreds, if not thousands, milled around outside bars many of them drunk. In my hometown of Nottingham, three pubs decided to close because of ‘irresponsible behaviour’ by customers, 4 arrests were made, and one or two windows smashed.

By 10pm Devon and Cornwall Police had logged 1,000 incidents with two hours still to go. Dorset Police had recorded 525 incidents in 24 hours relating to drink and behaviour.

John Apter, Chairman of the Police Federation for England and Wales tweeted:

‘Finished my late shift with the Hants Police, Southampton City Late Shift. A busy shift, we dealt with anti-social behaviour, naked men, possession of class A drugs, happy drunks, angry drunks and was called a fascist pig by somebody we tried to help! What was crystal clear is that drunk people can’t /won’t socialy (sic) distance. It was a busy night, but the shift managed to cope. I know other areas have had issues with officers being assaulted. Now heading home, to those still on shift please stay safe.’

Pubs in Scotland remained closed, yet many travelled over the border to Berwick-On-Tweed, one publican there suggesting his clientele had been 70% Scottish, travelling from as far away as Edinburgh and Glasgow.

There is the potential for good to come out of this. People being served at tables rather than the bar, is surely welcome, and the very fact that there are more outside places to sit is also a boon, despite out unpredictable weather.

Hairdressers managed to open with less dramatic consequences, the downside being no coffees and magazines available for customers. Visors and masks made it hard to communicate and some who wore gloves also found it difficult. The main thing is things are moving forward. The underlying current is the niggling fear that it will come to a grinding halt with a second wave.

Leicester, of course, have experienced none of this as they remain in lockdown due to an outbreak of COVID-19.

The Catalonia region of Spain has also been put back into Lockdown, affecting 200,000 residents due to an increase in cases.

Personal.

Ash and April visited with baby Elsie and for the first time we were indoors! It was great to be able to play with her and give her a cuddle. Ash was considering an appeal against his redundancy in the wake of the Lockdown.

I spoke with my older brother Michael. He is going in The City Hospital for a heart bypass operation on Monday. He is being stoic but it must be terribly worrying for him. There is a 95% chance of recovery, but he is almost 77 years old and of course there is the spectre of COVID-19. He will be in intensive care for a while afterwards.

Had fun with Harry and Lily, they came in the house for the first time too.

Jackie and I feel pretty off and have done for the last couple of days; headache and a bit of a sore throat, nausea. It’s probably a summer cold, but the paranoia hits in as we have felt a bit poorly since taking her to The City Hospital for her Mammogram. There is always the fear that you have picked something up. It doesn’t seem to fit the COVID-19 symptoms and our temperatures are okay at the moment.

Quote of the day:

‘Things you may take for granted, other people are praying for.’ – Marlan Rico Lee.

It is a great thrill to have a second short story selected for inclusion on the world famous Mystery Tribune website based in New York.

It is called 'The Snug' and you can read it here:

To celebrate the launch of my second short story anthology - 'Killing Mum and other crime short stories,' here is a free complete short story which is included in it.

The story is called 'The Right Thing' and tells the story of a young detective getting wrapped up in circumstances which spiral out of control. It is topical in light of the recent criticism of police systems which need revamping.

Note - it has adult themes and content.

Detective Constable Andy Black was a popular member of the team at Bromshire CID. He was always up for a joke and a bit of fun. Always happy to keep morale up. He was a copper's copper. He was always first out of the door if there was a shout for assistance and when it came to arresting the vicious, evil, most dangerous members of society, he was knocking on the door. He never shirked away from anything, not the nutters, the psychopaths, the rapists, armed robbers, or the disavowed. He believed in the job and the need to rid society of the filth that raped, stabbed, and brutalised decent members of the public, leaving them frightened and bewildered. He had time for people. He was as honest as the day was long. Andy Black was a dyed-in-the-wool detective. Andy was a dedicated, loyal member of the CID who was quite prepared to work hard and play hard. His big mistake was that he had a default belief that everyone serving in the police was just like him. Alas, he was to learn the hard way that this was not necessarily the case.

Andy had been a detective for ten years. He was well-established and well-thought-of. He had been the youngest detective to join the CID at the time, this being his sole intention from day one of joining the police. He wasn't too fussed at going for promotion, as his priority was getting into the CID, dealing with the most serious crimes, and being in the thick of what mattered most. Promotion often meant a deviation away from that type of work, at least for a few years. In truth, he couldn't understand why anyone would choose any other department within the force other than the CID. It was why he had joined; to put away the 'proper' criminals. It didn't happen overnight, of course. He had worked hard and proved himself to be a good 'thief-taker,' as they used to call it. Still, beyond that, he also displayed the tenacity and attention to detail required to develop complex investigations and to wring out the maximum benefit from locking up a 'wrong un.'

He could never have guessed that all of this meant he was destined to suffer a terrible fate at the hands of the very institution he lived and breathed.

***

DC Black cut quite a dash as he bounced into the CID office in his smart suit and shiny shoes. He sat at his desk after the 'good mornings' and handed a coffee to his workmates Ashton Billings, Dwayne Scot and Paul Leivers. He spilt each cup as he awkwardly placed the tray on the desks, which were all pushed into one another to form a nest of detectives. 'Nest of vipers' was what Andy had jokingly called it when someone else used the phrase.

'Seeing as you lot are too bloody idle.' Andy flopped down in his chair. 'Have you been waiting for me to arrive to make a coffee? Have we sunk to such depths of apathy?'

Ashton smiled weakly, and Paul shrugged out a laugh. Dwayne had a blank look on his face. He still looked half asleep, and his hair betrayed the fact illustrating his haste to get to work on time without the aid of a brush or comb. There was an unusual silence as Andy tapped his pen on the desk.

'Come on then. What's up? What's gone off, now?' Andy could sense the vibe was somewhat morose. Something wasn't right.

Ash glanced towards the large whiteboard on the wall at the end of the office. Andy could see that someone had crudely drawn a calendar on it with each day of the week and then referenced when DC Mary Harper was 'on rag.'

Monday – fine.

Tuesday – bitch.

Wednesday – bigger bitch.

Thursday – on rag.

Friday – on rag.

Saturday – on rag.

Sunday – A nightmare.

'Ouch. That's too much.' Andy said. 'That's cruel. Come on guys, that needs to come off now.'

'We know.' Paul said.

'Who's done it?' Andy asked.

'Who do you think?'

'The Sarge?'

'Yep, and we have strict instructions not to wipe it off.' Ashton said. 'It's gone too far this time, even for him.'

'You're joking. We can't wipe it off?' Andy said.

'Do we look like we're joking?' Dwayne's voice was croaky. 'It's not nice.'

'Is he on today?' Andy asked.

'Is who on?' The voice boomed from the doorway as Detective Sergeant Alf Garton strode in.

'Morning, Sarge.' They all chorused in a much-practised way that resonated like a perfunctory 'hail caesar.'

Sergeant Garton sat down and shuffled his papers while Andy Black pondered the situation. He was trying to work out the best way to approach it.

'Whiteboard's funny, Alf.' Andy lied.

'Ha! Yeah, I know. Fuck her.'

'Do you mind if I rub it off in a bit? I want to brief some uniform staff, and I could do with using it to show positions when we make an arrest at Forest Town.' Andy said.

'Do it on hand-outs.' Alf didn't look up from his paperwork.

'It would be better if I could use the whiteboard, Sarge.'

'Nope.'

'It's just that-'

Sergeant Garton looked up, and he had that look in his eye. 'It stays, Andy. I want her to see how fucking temperamental she is and how she is fucking up what used to be a hard-working, happy, CID office.'

'Who?' Andy was acting intentionally dumb.

'Mary Harper, who do you think? Fucking mardy cow. I'm sick of her mood swings and general lack of discipline or consideration for others. Everything is an effort with her.'

Andy grimaced. 'If one of the gaffers sees it, Alf, there's gonna be a load of shit. Is it worth it?'

'I don't give a toss, Andy. I'll rub it off when the time is right. The DI is on leave, anyway, so he won't see it anytime soon. If anyone else sees it, they don't know who put it there, do they? Just plead ignorance. First time I've seen it. That sort of thing.'

Andy rubbed at his eyes, and as his vision returned, he noticed the knowing glances from his colleagues. The die was cast. They could hear clip-clopping coming down the corridor. DC Mary Harper walked in, and the air thickened. She went to her desk in silence. Andy smiled. 'Morning, Mary.'

'Morning, Andy.'

Andy gave her a hesitant smile this time and glanced at the whiteboard. Mary's gaze followed his, and she took in the humiliation. It was headed, 'Days to avoid DC Mary Harper when she's on rag.'

Tears welled up, and without saying a word, she picked up her bag and walked out of the office. Alf was grinning from ear to ear, and the other detectives were caught in an unconvincing smile. As Mary disappeared out the door, Andy got up and went after her.

'Fucking leave the bitch.' Alf shouted, but Andy kept going. He hated things like this. He liked a bit of fun, and you had to take it and give it, but this was beyond all that. It was nasty, and it was designed to hurt. It was bang out of order.

'Mary?' He ran after her down the corridor and took her arm. 'Mary, come on, let's go to the canteen and grab a cuppa.'

She was crying. 'I've had it, Andy; I'm going sick, and if anyone asks, I'm telling them why.'

'Let's try to sort it out, Mary.' Andy said.

'No, Andy, I'm not being humiliated like this. I wasn't brought up that way, and this is just – it's just too much.'

She wiped her eyes. Andy watched as she walked away, feeling sick to the stomach. This was so wrong. It was such a shame to take it this far as a Detective Sergeant, Alf should have known better. To some extent, they were both as bad as each other, and it wouldn't end well.

Andy walked wearily back to his desk. The room was in silence.

'She's gone home. She's going sick, she says.'

'Good. And good riddance, let's hope she stays there.' Alf said with a gleeful smile.

'Sarge. This is going to end badly.'

'Andy, all of us are sick to death of her fucking moody ways. You are as well, aren't you?'

'That is true. She is a pain in the arse.' Andy said, always one for the truth.

'She needs something to shock her out of it, and she needs to see herself in the mirror and how it affects everyone else. Everything was fine until she came in and started having bloody tantrums left, right, and centre.' Alf said.

Andy took a breath. 'I get it, Sarge, but I think it's a step too far. Will you let me take it down? Please?'

'I've told you, it stays.'

Paul wanted to change the subject and get out of the office. 'Andy, will you give us a hand nicking a dude for a commercial burglary this morning? Do you mind?'

'Yeah, sure.'

***

Andy and Paul got back to the CID office just before midday. The burglar hadn't been home, so he would have to come another day. They had searched the place, but it was negative. Thankfully, when they returned, DS Alf Garton was out of the office, and only the detectives on the team were present—all at the cluster of desks, either on the phone or doing paperwork. The offending 'masterpiece' was still on the whiteboard.

It was much more relaxed when the Sarge was out of the office these days. He had let Mary's intransigent and temperamental ways dominate his landscape. It seemed to be a product of his frustration that he was resorting to more and more ridiculous ways to show everyone who was boss. Neither would give ground. It was all about control on both sides of the argument. They were both pig-headed. The problem with an ever-increasing escalation of tactics is that inevitably one ends up going over the edge, and then the shit really hits the fan, and the Police Complaints Department gets involved. The whole damn thing was unseemly and unnecessary. It was two adults who needed their heads banging together. The situation was such that Mary was stubborn as a mule, and Alf had an ego and a semi-fantasy reputation to keep up. Everyone wished it would all go away. At the same time, the detectives seemed shit-scared of Alf Garton; they knew he had a nasty side to him, and no one wanted to cross him.

Andy Black wanted it to go away, too, and he took the opportunity to speak to his colleagues while Alf was out.

'What are we going to do, guys?' Andy said.

'What can we do?' Dwayne said somewhat pathetically.

'Take it down.' Andy said.

'Off you go, then.'

'No. We all do it. There's safety in numbers.' Andy said.

'I'm keeping out of it.' Ashton said.

'You know complaints are going to end up being involved in this, don't you?' Andy seemed exasperated. 'She's going to report it if she hasn't already.'

'Yep.'

And then what are we going to do?' Andy asked. 'Pretend we haven't seen it? Do you think that is going to wash?'

'What can we do, Andy?' Paul said. 'We've tried to talk to Alf, but he won't have it, and you're right; he has gone too far this time.'

Andy spoke up. 'Surely we have to do the right thing? We are cops, aren't we? Why wouldn't we have the guts to tell the truth?'

'It's a bit more complicated than that. Alf will have your balls on a plate.' Dwayne said.

'Maybe he will, but what else do we do? Join in? I mean, have I got this wrong? Do we all agree it's too much? That Alf has gone too far?'

'Yes, of course.' The others agreed.

'So surely we should have the courage of our convictions. It's not like we haven't tried every other way to resolve it.' Andy said.

'The senior officers won't support you, Andy. They won't support any of us. They won't like it. It's just another problem for them, and they'd sooner turn a blind eye.'

'Yeah, well, it's too late for that. It will come out because Mary will make sure it does, and then they will come to us. What are we going to do? We all need to be singing from the same hymn sheet.'

Everyone looked at each other. Nobody said anything.

'Do we give a statement?' Andy asked.

There was no reply.

'Well?'

'I guess we will have to.' Paul said.

'It is out of order what the Sarge has done.' Ash said.

'Okay, so we are all agreed we just tell the truth if asked, yes?'

The others agreed. 'Yes.'

Ashton put a caveat to it. 'If we are asked. And nobody has asked us yet, and maybe they never will.'

'Fair enough.' Andy stood up and walked to the window. 'I hate all this bollocks, I really do.'

***

Detective Sergeant Alf Garton wiped the grotesque 'on rag' calendar off the whiteboard two nights later. It was up for three days in total.

The lads all sat around the desks as they did every morning. There was a rumour that Mary had indeed complained, and who could blame her? She was likely to be off sick for weeks if not months.

Andy made the coffee again. He didn't mind. It was in his nature, and in fairness, most of the others took a turn, albeit perhaps not as regularly as he did.

Detective Inspector Terry Parks had returned from leave the day before. He had been locked in his office for most of the day, which seemed odd. It was thought he would be on leave for a few days more, but he had come back a little early for some reason.

'Is Alf not in today?' Andy asked. 'He's running late if he is.'

Paul gave Andy a knowing look. 'He's gone "sick", apparently. The boss had him in the office last night, apparently. There were raised voices, but nobody could hear what it was about.'

'Isn't it obvious?' Andy said.

'Mary?' Paul said.

'Obviously.' Ashton said.

'Remember what we said. We don't get dragged into it. We tell the truth if asked. If we start lying, it is a slippery slope. I still feel bad about it. We could have wiped the thing off before it went this far.' Andy reminded them.

'I know, me too, I feel terrible, but we didn't create the bloody situation, did we?' Ashton said. 'We tried to resolve it, well, Andy did, but Alf wouldn't listen. He knew best, and all it does is put all the shit on to us.'

'It's not good.' Was all Dwayne could say.

DI Parks walked into the office stern-faced and sat at the desks.

'Morning, sir.' Andy said with a smile, still hoping against hope that it had all gone away and they were wrong in their assumptions. Maybe a solution had been found without going the official route. It wasn't impossible. Maybe mutual agreement to move, something like that?

'Is it?'

'Oh. As bad as that is it, sir?' Andy said.

'I take it you've heard what has happened with the calendar and Mary going sick?' The DI said.

'Um. We've heard about some sort of complaint. It's just a rumour.' Andy said, being none committal.

DI Parks saw straight through it. 'Don't start being cagey, Andy. I will be taking statements off all of you, I'm afraid. My advice is not to make it worse for yourselves, just put in the statement what you know and play it straight. At the moment, you guys haven't done anything wrong, don't change that. It's not worth it. Alf is quite happy making you guys complicit, so I don't think you need to worry about what the right thing to do is.'

'Aren't the Complaints Department dealing with it?' Andy asked. 'How come it's down to you, boss?'

'Sort of. They've asked me to get statements on their behalf, and if there is evidence, action will be taken from there.'

'Is that how it is usually dealt with, sir?' Paul asked.

'It's how they want it dealt with on this occasion.'

'Alf's mate is someone high up in Complaints, isn't he?' Andy said.

'Don't worry about that; he used to work with Dick Davidson on Complaints, a Chief Inspector. I think they are mates outside of work, but that won't impact this inquiry.'

'Are you sure, sir? How do we know we aren't going to get it in the neck further down the line?' Paul asked.

''I'm sure it will be fine. You'll have to pull your big-boy pants on, won't you? Are you all prepared to say what happened?'

'If we have to. We would prefer not to be involved, to be honest, boss.' Andy said.

'You do have to. He's involved you by his actions, so don't blame me. I can't believe he's been that stupid.'

They all nodded.

'You first, then, Andy.' The boss said, and the two walked off towards his office.

An hour later, Andy returned looking flushed in the face. 'Paul, he wants you next.'

'What, should I go in now?'

'Not now. The boss will give you a shout. I get the impression he is ringing Complaints first to update them.'

'Okay. So have you done the deed? As we agreed, yes?' Paul asked.

'Yes.' Andy confirmed it.

'What else do we do? If we don't, we get the blame and become complicit. It's sackable in this day and age, and we'd be fucked.' Dwayne said.

'Damned if you do, and damned if you don't.' Paul muttered, fiddling with his pen and then doodling on his pad.

There was a lot of nervous tension among those waiting for the call, and nobody spoke much. After what seemed like an age, Detective Inspector Parks reappeared, and Paul stood. 'Me next, boss?'

'No, it's fine. I've spoken to Complaints, and just one statement will do it. They are dealing with it in-house. No need to take statements off the rest of you and you've all agreed it was Alf, so that will suffice in my statement.'

'Eh?' Andy said. He suddenly felt like he had been deceived into something that was a group decision and turned it into it being all him. He was now on his own if no one else had to give statements.

'See you guys tomorrow.' The DI didn't hang around.

'Um. Bye.'

There was a gasp of relief around the tables. The thickened atmosphere evaporated, and grins emerged, levity was restored and a feeling of relief triumphed. Apart from poor Andy Black.

'How is that fair?' Andy muttered.

'Shall we have a beer to celebrate.' Paul said. 'See you down the bar.'

Andy was the last to leave. His legs felt leaden, and his throat was dry. He had been done up like a kipper. The others had got away Scot-free, and now he will be seen as public enemy number one by those unaware of what had happened. He had been hung out to dry. Andy shoved his paperwork into his drawer as the office emptied and the cheery voices quietened.

'Fuck.' He said to himself.

He followed the others down to the station bar for a pint, a couple of minutes behind them, but as he slowly pushed open the door, he saw that the Sarge, Alf Garton, despite being off sick, was in there, and all the lads, Ash, Dwayne, and Paul were standing around him, laughing and joking.

Ashton noticed Andy at the door. 'Here he is, Judas Escarriott!' He shouted.

'What?' Andy asked.

Alf gave Andy a sneer that showed the disdain already etched on the wrongdoer's face.

The others joined in, forming a chant. 'Judas, Judas, Judas!'

Andy backed up and went home. The chants rang in his ears.

It had begun.

***

The following weeks and months became pretty awkward for DC Andy Black. The 'Judas,' Andy Black as he was now known. The fact that the others had all agreed they would give statements was long since lost in the ether. DS Alf Garton never came back to the office. He was moved. To the Complaints Department, of all places, with his mucker, DCI Davidson. This made it worse for Andy as he knew the sort of arsehole Alf was, and he would pick his moment to set him up. It was only a matter of time. The only saving grace was that it would take time because Andy was as honest as the day was long. There was nothing about Andy that was corrupt. It didn't necessarily mean he could avoid what was coming to him, though. Those without values don't have to worry about the truth. Just to create the maximum damage and wrong foot the gullible senior officers when the time was right.

Andy knew that, sadly, it was the end of his career as such. Everything changed. Even on the first day back in the office, he discovered his desk taped up with police cordon tape and contents of the office bins emptied on it. Some mates, they were. A couple of old sweats, who thought they were cleverer than they were, would make juvenile comments towards Andy now and then. Sing silly songs that he was a backstabber. It was amazing that those he had made the agreement with suddenly had amnesia and had somehow conjured the situation to make the nasties believe they had refused to give a statement and it was only Andy that had broken the line. And so, while Alf had a cosy job straightening out complaints, Andy was left in a pile of shit. His DI said to ignore it, but he moved to another station within a couple of weeks, leaving Andy totally exposed. All for doing the right thing.

It didn't help that Andy was promoted shortly after, straight to Detective Sergeant. He had been waiting for a post to come up for a few months, and sod's law dictated it was Alf Garton's place that he took. It was highly unusual to be promoted straight to Detective Sergeant and stay in the same office, but somebody high up in CID wanted to keep Andy there and valued him. Who was it, though? That wouldn't help him day-to-day, of course. And whoever it was would likely stay in the shadows once whatever Alf and his cronies had planned for him dropped in his lap. Of course, the promotion all added to the conspiracy theory and that Andy was in on it. It was some big plan to depose Alf so Andy could slide right in. Quite how they figured he could second-guess Alf's sexism, or what happened to the Sarge subsequently, and his own promotion, was a mystery, but nobody gave it sufficient thought. Why spoil a good conspiracy theory? There would be some bullshit made up to paint it all on Andy, no doubt. Not everyone was hostile to DC Black; some were fine and wanted to be neutral, they'd always liked Andy, but it was all a bit tentative, especially when Alf's supporters were around. They would have nothing to do with him then. He knew it was through fear, but still, it stung that nobody had the courage of their convictions.

Despite his increasing isolation at work, Andy's wife, Emily, had supported him, but she didn't understand how all this worked. She was proud that he had stood up for somebody vulnerable, glad that he had stood up against the bullying of a woman. Andy said it wasn't like that. In truth, the woman had deserved a lot of the grief, but it was a step too far. That's all. It just happened. They had been put in an invidious position which jeopardised everyone in the office, and not everyone had a mate high-up in the Complaints Department, just Alf, who played the victim just as much as Mary had. Only he wasn't the victim; he was the offender.

Emily asked about Mary and said that surely she was supportive, bearing in mind that Andy had protected her, but he explained that she had merely used the incident to wangle a move to a station closer to home. Emily said, 'never mind, it will all go away eventually,' and most important to Andy, that she would stand by him. He should give it time.

Meanwhile, Andy noticed he was no longer invited to all the police social functions. People he knew had started giving him the cold shoulder, not realising how things had unfolded. It didn't matter. He shouldn't have given a statement; it was that simple. They should all have risked their mortgages and pensions to stick the boot into a female officer because of a petty, juvenile prank by someone who should know better. The fact that it was just plain wrong had nothing to do with it. The values of right and wrong, and who is a victim and who is not, seemed quite malleable in the police force.

***

Sometimes the spectre of impending revenge went away, but it was always just about visible on the horizon. Andy had gone from being a popular member of the CID to someone who brought a cloud with him. No matter how chirpy he was, he was tainted, and people didn't want to get involved by seeming partisan to one side or another. Andy didn't have a side. He didn't seek supporters; he just went about his business with dignity and the knowledge that he was the one who had done the right thing, and they could all go and fuck themselves. Andy's team of detectives covered a really busy inner-city area, and so much of the day was busy dealing with serious crimes, such as rapes, GBHs, woundings, armed robberies, sexual assaults, paedophilia, you name it. The irony was that Andy spotted mistakes by his former cadre many times while supervising them as their Detective Sergeant, but instead of letting them make them, he would benevolently correct their behaviour or point out the mistake. He didn't want a case to be jeopardised because of internal politics. On a one-to-one basis, the team were okay with him, so long as they were out of earshot of the others, even understanding, but they were cowards and wouldn't transfer the reality of this understanding to a crowded room.

Then it happened.

One of the weirder cases Andy was dealing with and that had been ongoing for the previous two or three years involved a woman, Veronica, who had given evidence against a criminal gang and suffered vengeance through violent sexual attacks. Andy's team had dealt with it and, with some excellent detective work, obtained admissions to initial cases of intimidation and assault. It then died down for a while, some months. It was all over, and the offenders had long since been imprisoned.

Andy saw Veronica out one night, and in a drunken state, they flirted. Had they had a bit of a grope of each other? She was trying it on; he knew that. Anyway, it was fleeting if it had occurred. Such things can happen. Indeed many officers met their spouses through the job once the issue at hand had gone away. It was something and nothing, his only thought was his guilt that he might have been tempted when he had a loving wife at home. Whatever it was, it was fleeting and not something serious. Not to Andy at least. It was an old case long since dealt with.

However, sometime later, Veronica was attacked again. Only this time, there was something odd about it. Andy couldn't put his finger on what it was, but he started having doubts about her version of events. It was different from the earlier offences. After several more reported incidents, culminating in an alleged rape, Andy reported these doubts to his senior officer and flagged up that it might make the convictions of the earlier offenders unsafe; if she was now lying. Typically his honesty would betray him. This could be the opportunity Alf Garton and his acolytes had been waiting for—a chance to stick the knife in. DC Black didn't see it as a problem.

A few months later, Andy was at home, playing with his children, when there was a knock at the door. He opened it with a smile only to be met by DCI Davidson and someone he didn't know. DCI Davidson was Alf Garton's mate from the Complaints Department.

'Can we come in, Andy?'

'Yes, of course.'

Andy led them into his living room. 'To what do I owe this honour?'

'DS Black, I am suspending you for perverting the course of justice. I will need your warrant card and police keys.'

'Sorry? What?'

'I am suspending you for perverting the course of justice. How does that make you feel?' The DCI said with a twinkle in his eye.

The question gave the game away. It was a question on behalf of DS Alf Garton to be enjoyed at the bar later when they would celebrate Andy's suspension. You don't ask that question. Maybe 'Are you okay?' or 'If you've done nothing wrong, you will be fine.' Not 'How does that make you feel?' That was too strange and insincere.

The blood rushed from Andy and hit the floor. 'How do you think I feel?' Was all he could come up with. 'What's going on?'

'There has been a complaint that you are involved with a female, Veronica Stanton, who has given false information in reporting several crimes.'

'You mean the same woman I flagged up myself to a senior officer. That woman? You wouldn’t even know about it if it wasn’t for me telling you.'

'Maybe. I can't comment on that, but it is a woman who claims that you and she are involved in an intimate relationship, you are setting up home, together, and she is pregnant by you.'

'What the hell? Pregnant? There has to be something wrong with her. If she is making up stuff, she obviously has some sort of mental health issue or somebody has a flowery pen.'

The DCI grinned. It was all jolly fun to him. He raised his hands in mock surrender. 'Don't shoot the messenger.'

'I can tell you straight away, it's bollocks, and you know it. Even if I was stood at the bleeding altar to get married to her I wouldn't pervert the course of justice and everyone knows that. It was me who told the new DI about our concerns about her. How the hell can I be in cahoots with her? To what end? She turned nasty because I wouldn't accept the allegations she was making, which became increasingly bizarre. And so this is her getting revenge, I assume. And others, no doubt.'

'I can't imagine what you mean?' The DCI smiled.

'You do know she's had a hysterectomy; I take it? She told the police surgeon when she was examined months ago. This stinks and you must know that.'

Of course, the truth was nothing to do with anything, and the opportunity to twist something had presented itself, and they were on it straight away.

'I'm not able to discuss it now, DS Black. Anyway, I'm not investigating it. I happen to be the one to tell you, and it's just a coincidence and nothing more.'

'I bet it is.' Andy shook his head in disgust.

'You must not talk to any witnesses or visit any police station until further notice. You will be notified in due course when an interview is to be arranged.'

'Sir – you bastard.'

'Have a good day, Andy.' He slapped him on the back as he headed out the door. 'Alf sends his regards.'

***

Incredibly it took two and a half years for the inquiry to unfold. Alf and even the lads from the team bought entirely into the corrupt approach – they were fully signed-up members now, by the looks of it. They were lying about Andy's activities. Proveable lies. They had gone to the dark side, no doubt justifying it to themselves in some bizarre way or another. Teaching him a lesson. They were feeding off each other. And yet it meandered on and on. When nothing was found, another Force was brought in to deal with it. They looked at every aspect of Andy's personal life and police service from day one to the present. Naturally, they found nothing. Not one thing. He was clean.

It turned out Veronica suffered from something called Munchausen's Syndrome which is diagnosed when someone persistently and deliberately fakes their own physical or mental illness symptoms. Oops. They didn't tell Andy this for a long time. Was that the end of it? You would think, wouldn't you? But no, they were so far down the line, gripped by some sort of Obesseive Compulsive Disorder that they talked each other into keeping going. They were trying to force the issue to save face and so lies and coercion was the order of the day.

As for Veronica, she was promised a new council house by one of Alf's mates via a recommendation to the council if she made the complaint against Andy, and the house move was arranged under the guise of witness protection from the gangs assaulting her. Yet hadn't she supposedly invented all that? So why would she need protecting if it hadn’t happened? The shiny capacious council house was a gift so long as she signed on the dotted line.

It was also discovered that the rape by gang members that Andy suspected to be false but which the police surgeon corroborated, resulted from Veronica ramming a hammer inside herself to give credence to the false claim when medically examined. When Andy queried the vailidity with the Police Surgeon he said the injuries were consistent with her claims of rape by persons unknown. The pregnancy story about Andy was also discounted as fantasy when her hysterectomy was confirmed.

At the start of Andy's suspension, he got a couple of calls from friends. But they were stilted and distant. He even got a couple of visits at home from them, but that didn't last long. Probably born out of curiosity more than concern or to report back to the sinister elements pulling the strings of the Chief Constable using taxpayer's money to fund the vengeance.

Andy grew his hair long. He was on pills for depression. He was, perhaps understandably, in a bit of a state, but he knew he was innocent of perverting the course of justice. He also knew that being innocent did not necessarily mean he wouldn't be fitted up or found guilty. The more he learned of lies being told and the efforts being made to find something, anything, on him, the more concerned he got. They seemed determined to get something on Andy, if nothing else, to justify all the hours and expense it had cost the taxpayer, and not least the waste of time for years of detective's time who could have been chasing real criminals. There had to be something they could find. They brought in a team of detectives from another force; it must have cost hundreds of thousands of pounds over months and years. The Chief must have realised he had backed the wrong horse but kept ploughing money in to try to save face. There was nothing to find, however. Alf wasn't bothered, he was just happy to have fucked up Andy Black's life. Mission accomplished, as far as he was concerned.

Andy spent his days focused on his children and fighting to clear his name. It was a complex and difficult minefield to traverse and took hour after hour to counter the madcap claims, but he did it. He was determined to do so and expose those lying merely to prop up their desire for revenge. Where were those who should be vouching for him? Frightened probably. Scared to put their heads above the parapet. After all, there must be something in it, mustn't there? Remember, there's no smoke without fire.

After a year or so, Andy was interviewed for three long days. It was all madness, and Andy explained everything perfectly, even the lies told by officers and how they could prove beyond doubt that they were lying using certain documentation and the timing of it. But it was all about proving he was the baddy and not those setting him up.

Everyday life continued but underneath a perpetual dark cloud. His poor elderly mother was worried sick, and dementia kicked in shortly after the shock of the news had been revealed. Was she another casualty of this?

People Andy had known for years crossed the street to avoid an awkward conversation. The bastards even put it in the newspaper so that everyone far and wide could hear the tainted news, given purposely out of context. His reputation was shot, and Andy had to come to terms with that. He couldn't explain to everyone the intricacies of what was going on, and they probably wouldn't believe him if he did. The police had the veneer of respectability and used this as a smokescreen to cover their ever-increasing desperate attempts to find something tangible about him. All the time the activities and dishonesty betrayed by those in and around the situation were ignored. It made for good gossip, and Andy soon found himself isolated, confused, and alone, contemplating ways to take his own life.

It took nearly two years for his wife, Emily, to leave him and take the kids. It had created enough doubt in her that he might have been involved in something, coupled with the stress of it all. She was struggling with her mental health. Andy understood. She did well to last that long; bless her. She didn't deserve this either. He remembered their conversation when all of this blew up, right at the start, about her saying he should do the right thing for Mary.

Andy didn't want to kill himself until he was exonerated and two and a half years almost to the day he was informed that no charges would be brought either of a criminal nature or indeed a single one as a breach of the police disciplinary code. There could never have been such an in-depth or costly investigation that brought absolutely nothing. The only sad thing was the usual manipulation of figures by the powers that be to try to save a little face. The lowest possible police disciplinary action for an officer is to be given 'informal verbal advice.' It is a get-out clause. The good thing about this from the point of view of the constabulary is that the recipient of said advice cannot refuse it, or challenge it. It enabled the police to mark the inquiry off as 'substantiated.' It was a fait-au-complait for Andy. How a serious criminal offence like perverting the course of justice can be 'substantiated' and the penalty be informal verbal advice was a mystery. It was a fudge and a disgrace, and Andy made it quite clear when he was given his 'verbal advice' how corrupt and hypocritical it all was. It was nothing short of a scandal, but he was just a number. He'd been a shining light and an emerging detective being fast-tracked to greater things. Now he was seen as 'damaged goods' by those who knew nothing about it. He was let down by those who should know better but didn't.

There were no repercussions however for the police liars; they were reported by Andy, seeking an investigation – it was denied by the Chief Constable, no doubt to save his blushes. Andy even took it to the High Court for Judicial Review, determined to expose the liars, but while the Judge couldn't understand why the Chief Constable had decided not to investigate the lies, it was within the Chief Constable's gift to make that decision, so the action was legal even if morally questionable. The whole thing stunk to high heaven.

Andy telephoned Emily on the day he knew it was finally all over. He paced around the kitchen, waiting for her to pick up. He wasn't excited. He was past all of that. He was just numb and, in truth, somewhat embittered. Almost but not quite defeated. Stronger but more cynical.

'Hi.'

'Hello.' Emily sounded tense and abrupt.

'It's all over.' Andy's voice broke as he said it, surprising him, and he held the phone away so that she couldn't hear his sobs. He simply couldn't hold it in anymore.

'What do you mean by all over?' She said.

There was a slight pause as Andy gathered himself together.

'Andy?'

'Yes, I'm here. It's done; finished, and nothing's happening. I can start back on Monday.'

'After all that. You're joking. Really?'

'After all that. Can you believe it?' Andy said.

'I'm pleased for you, Andy. You didn't deserve all of that. You really didn't. It was just crazy.'

'I know. That's what happens when egos are driving an investigation. I've seen it lots of times but never been on the end of it, until now. I'm just sorry you were dragged through the mill as well, love. Look, Emily, it's not too late for us. I miss you and the kids so much, you know that. Isn't it the perfect time to put all of this behind us and make a new start?'

'Andy-'

'Wait, I know it's been hard for everyone. We can ease back into things, step by step.'

'Hard? It's been a nightmare, Andy. My Dad still thinks the police can't ever be wrong and there is no smoke without fire.'

Andy shrugged out a laugh. 'Of course, he does. Everyone does. I did. Anyway, look, forget all that. What do you say? Can we get back together and give it another go? Take things slowly at first, of course.'

There was a brief silence as Andy strained to hear some sign, to garner some hope. Emily sighed ahead of her reply, 'I was going to give you a call, actually.'

'Oh, yes. Great.'

'You might not think it's great, Andy when I tell you what it is.'

'Why?'

'I've – I've met someone.'

'Oh.' It was a hammer blow, stunning him into momentary silence as he took in the news. 'Have you?'

'Yes, I have.'

'Do I know him?'

'No, of course, you don't know him. He's a decent bloke, Andy-'

'I guess you're all loved up, then.'

'You guess right.'

'Okay, well, look, never mind. I can wait. The offer is there. Just know that I'm here for you, Em. Not everyone is like me, you know.'

'The thing is- Oh Christ, I hate doing this to you, after everything you've been through-'

'What?'

'He lives in Spain.'

'Oh, no, Emily. Come on. Be fair. I need to see the kids every week. That's the only thing keeping me going. Come on. Not that. You can't take them to live in Spain; that is heartless, that's cruel. Surely you wouldn't do this to me?'

'You can still see them, Andy. We can figure something out.'

'Emily, love, I've not asked anything of you throughout all of this, but please, I am begging you, just this one time, do not do this to me. I couldn't stand it. After everything that's happened - to have this happen too. It's too much. It's-'

'It's already done. I'm sorry, Andy. We move in about six weeks.'

'Emily, I'm begging you, love, don't do this, please. Don't make me beg any more, for Christ's sake. I'll do anything. They're my flesh and blood.'

'I deserve some happiness, Andy, and so do the kids. It's an amazing opportunity, and I need to do this for my own sanity. It's not just you, you know.'

There was silence as the full impact soaked into Andy's soul. He sat down on the kitchen stool; his legs were giving way.

'Emily?'

'I've got to go, Andy. Let's talk again soon.' The phone went dead.

'Emily?'

Andy's voice echoed around the empty kitchen, and he let the phone slip from his grasp to the floor. He stared ahead. Transfixed. Vacant. After all of this. He was going to lose everything. Everything that mattered, anyway. His family was the one thing that gave him strength, that gave him a reason to keep going. It was as though his whole essence of life and meaning had been sucked from his bones. What was the point of anything? What was left?

Time passed quickly, and an hour had ticked by before he dragged himself up to the bathroom and ran the taps. His head was a seething, whirling dance of different scenarios and episodes that had happened over the preceding two and a half years. He felt hollow. Dead inside.

As Andy lay in the hot suds, he smiled to himself. It was a bitter smile. An ugly smile. A smile that shrugged away the injustice and pointlessness of it all. So the price for doing the right thing? He'd lost his career, lost his reputation, lost his friends, lost his mother's lucidity, lost his wife and now lost the one thing he clung onto; his children. He'd even lost his sanity for standing up against bullying; it had been too great to bear. For what? For doing the right thing. He was bereft. Grieving everything and everyone he'd held dear and who had been wrenched away from him in a vile, pernicious and sustained attack facilitated by those who should have been supporting him. And the more that became evident to them, the more they tried to destroy him in whatever way they could to cover their mistake. He had won against all the odds and the might of the state flexing its muscles, but it was a hollow victory. It was so hollow that the misery echoed from wall to wall in the bathroom as he closed his eyes and breathed, trying to take in the enormity of it all. It was too much. Overwhelming. Overwhelming his thoughts, his moral compass, his beliefs, everything. He didn't know who he was any more, other than alone.

It was time to relieve himself of the horror once and for all. Andy took the razor blade from the side of the bath and slit his left wrist and then, quickly, his right. He leaned back and put his wounds under the water line, and it eased the pain. He closed his eyes as the water turned red and gradually thickened.

He had finally found his release from a living hell. Finally found peace. He would take his chances in the next life. Maybe it would be kinder the next time around. He knew it was the right thing to do.

END.

‘Killing Mum and other crime short stories.’

The successor to ‘Killing Dad and other crime short stories.’

Twelve crime short stories each with a sting in the tail.

Killing Mum

A daughter discovers a family secret which has powerful consequences.

Forget Me Not

A husband’s dream to emigrate is slipping through his hands, as is his wife.

Who Is Mr Whitaker?

A loving father attends his son’s wedding, but he is inexplicably ostracised, and tragedy lurks.

Journey’s End

An elderly lady takes her regular route to the park, but she is being watched.

The Snug

A cop retires and attends a surprise party held in his honour. Will he ever leave alive?

One Last Chance

A corrupt police officer is given one last chance to reform his ways.

A Mother’s Love

A woman observes the deadly tribulations of her son, unable to help.

I Witnessed My Murder

A woman raped and murdered is brought back from the dead.

Death For Hire

A young man arranges for an assassin to kill him.

The Second Coming

A seemingly innocuous burglary has consequences for humanity.

The Right Thing

A detective’s conscience tells him to do the right thing, but he will rue the day he did.

A Christmas For Carol

What the Dickens? The run-up to Christmas for a burglar holds a mirror up to his life. His decision to change his life is for the best. Isn’t it?

Multiple award-winning author Keith Wright is best known for his ‘Inspector Stark’ crime thriller series.

However, Keith has previously been co-opted into contributing short stories for the Crime Writers Association Anthology, City of Crime Anthology and others, including The Mystery Tribune in New York.

His stories have appeared alongside such luminaries as Sir Ian Rankin, Alan Sillitoe and Peter Robinson.

Now his second short story anthology is about to blow your socks off!

This anthology will be available in paperback shortly but for now, to buy 'Killing Mum and other crime short stories' for just £1.99 on kindle or free on kindle unlimited, click here:

Three years ago today the country was sent into lockdown for the first time. Much has been written since and of course with the benefit of hindsight we learn that vaccines and lockdowns and PPE etc was all a waste of time, apparently. People point to Sweden as an example but the demography and topography are different to out own. Everyone is wise after the event are they not?

To commemorate the three year anniversary below is an extract from 'Coronavirus 2020 Vision - The Road To Freedom Day - a complete diary and events of the COVID 19 pandemic.'

The diary gives something quite unique - it was written at the time and shows the context perceived each day without being tainted by hazy recollections and 'told you so' rhetoric.

I include a day either side of the 23rd March 2020:

SUNDAY 22ND MARCH 2020

Facts and figures.

72,000 have so far been tested, and 5,681 of these are positive.

There have been 48 deaths in the last 24 hours, making 281 deaths in the UK so far.

Daily news.

Today’s Sunday newspaper headlines:

Stay home alone to save your life, 1.5m warned.

– The Sunday Times.

NHS facing Italian-style crisis if we don’t stay home, says PM.

– The Sunday Telegraph.

Boris – NHS is on the brink.

– The Mail on Sunday.

Military planners drafted in to get aid to vulnerable Britons.

– The Observer.

For your Mother’s sake stay at home.

– Sunday Express.

Holiday time.

Thousands of people are seen in parks and beaches mixing together, treating it like a public holiday rather than a global emergency. The reason for this, in my view, is:

1) They are idiots.

2) They don’t watch the news. (See 1 above).

3) They don’t understand how virulent this is. (see 1 above).

4) They are mistakenly thinking ‘I will beat this virus; I’m not scared of it.’ (See 1 above).

Cycling.

An epidemiologist explained the difference between the flu and COVID-19. If you have the flu, you are expected to spread it to 1.3 people who, in turn, will do the same.

After ten rounds of this, about 15 people will be infected.

COVID-19 is much more contagious, and you will infect 2.5 people. This does not sound a lot, does it? However, if you then times that by ten cycles of infection, it means an astonishing 59,000 would be infected.

The World Health Organisation has said that it will be at least a year before a vaccine is available.

4 pm Press Briefing. Matt Hancock Secretary of State for Health.

There is a new initiative announced for 1.5 million vulnerable people. They are to be ‘shielded.’

There is a government list of who qualifies for this. The list includes the over 70’s, some cancer patients and others with chronic illnesses. The NHS is sending a letter to them this week. There will be a community effort to support them, particularly those without family or other support. The medicines and food will be delivered by pharmacies and the local council, respectively.

Admirable.

There has been an appeal for retired NHS staff to give their services. In the first 48 hours, 4,000 retired nurses and 500 retired doctors responded—an admirable response.

Family life.

Callum still has a headache and aches. He and Lottie continue to self-isolate.

My son, Chris, has a cold but says it is not COVID-19 symptoms. He is a teacher and, for the moment, continues to work.

Andy, my other son, works for the NHS, and so is naturally working too.

A pair of knickers.

My fiancée, Jackie, continues to have to work. ‘Next’ fashion stores have announced themselves to be ‘essential.’

Jackie says that they still have many customers coming in the shop, who, for some inexplicable reason, think it is worth risking catching and spreading this deadly virus to buy a £5 pair of knickers or a potted plant from the Home section. Bizarre.

Even McDonalds and Costa are closing their stores from today, including their drive-thru facility and take away service.

We have set up ‘What’s App’ pages for Jackie’s family now, as well as mine, so we can update and check in regularly. I am arranging a skype conference call, via Harry, for this coming Sunday for us to attend.

Quote of the day:

‘If I ever go looking for my heart’s desire again, I won’t look any further than my own back yard.’ – Noel Langley. (The Wizard of Oz).

MONDAY 23RD MARCH 2020

Facts and figures.

46 deaths making the total 335.

There are a total of 6,650 people with COVID 19.

Daily news.

The prime minister's usual 5 pm briefing is postponed as they are having a COBRA meeting.

There is to be an announcement by the P.M. at 8.30 pm.

8.30 pm Announcement to the nation by the Prime Minister:

‘This is a national emergency.’ Mr Johnson declares.

Emergency measures are to be put in place.

It will require a substantial national effort. If too many people become unwell at the same time, the NHS cannot cope.

There are new ‘emergency measures’ which will be enforced:

1) Requiring people to stay at home, except for very limited purposes.

2) Closing non-essential shops and community spaces

3) Stopping all gatherings of more than two people in public.

These measures are effective immediately and will be reviewed after three weeks.

STAYING AT HOME.

People must stay at home apart from the following reasons when they can be in a public place:

· Shopping for basic necessities, for example, food and medicine, which must be as infrequent as possible.

· One form of exercise a day, for example, a run, walk, or cycle – alone or with members of your household.

· A medical need, or to provide care or to help a vulnerable person.

· Travelling to and from work, but only where this absolutely cannot be done from home.

CLOSING NON-ESSENTIAL SHOPS AND PUBLIC SPACES.

Last week the government ordered certain businesses – including pubs, cinemas, and theatres – to close.

The Government is now extending this requirement, and the following must also close:

· All non-essential retail stores – this will include clothing and electronics stores, hair, beauty and nail salons, and outdoor and indoor markets, excluding food markets.

· Libraries, community centres and youth centres.

· Indoor and outdoor leisure facilities, such as bowling alleys, arcades and soft play facilities.

· Communal places within parks, such as playgrounds, sports courts and outdoor gyms.

· Places of worship, except for funerals attended by immediate families.

· Hotels, hostels, bed and breakfasts, campsites, caravan parks, and boarding houses.

STOPPING PUBLIC GATHERINGS.

To make sure people are staying at home and apart from each other, the government is also stopping all public gatherings of more than two people.

There are only two exceptions to this rule:

· Where the gathering is of a group of people who live together – this means that a parent can, for example, take their children to the shops if there is no option to leave them at home.

· Where the gathering is essential for work purposes – but workers should be trying to minimise all meetings and other gatherings in the workplace.

Also, the Government is stopping social events, including weddings, baptisms, and other religious ceremonies. This will exclude funerals that can be attended by immediate family.

The penalties at the moment for noncompliance are fines of up to £1000, but they start at a weak £30. The police will have the power to disperse groups.

If people persist the police will have stronger powers.

The PM closes by saying that the way ahead is hard, many lives will sadly be lost. We must ‘stay at home, protect the NHS, and save lives.’

We are now most certainly in ‘LOCKDOWN.’

Family life.

I decided to twin my exercise with a call in at the food shop in town, so I went for a walk. We need some more hand sanitiser and cleaning stuff.

There is a hell of a lot of cars driving around; it is like Piccadilly circus. Where are they all going at 10 in the morning? On the walk, I noticed that the park was empty apart from one family, a mother, and two small children. She stood and watched as they climbed all over the metal, potentially disease-ridden, apparatus.

The Co-op store was sufficiently safe to go in. Not too many people, and I was pleased to see that they had spacing in the queue to the tills. Sadly, no sanitiser and no cleaning stuff, however.

Quote of the day:

‘Liberty means responsibility. That is why most men dread it.’ – George Bernard Shaw.

TUESDAY 24TH MARCH 2020

Facts and figures.

87 further deaths in England.

422 total deaths in the UK.

8,077 cases of people having the virus in the UK.

332,930 cases worldwide, with a total of 14,510 deaths. (Up 1,727 in the last 24 hours).

65 countries are in lockdown. 40 countries are in partial lockdown (specific areas).

YouGov has done a snap poll, and 93% said they support the lockdown.

66% said it would be easy to follow the new rules for three weeks. (It will be much longer). 29% said they thought it would be hard.

39% think the police powers are sufficient, and 39% think they are not.

Deaths are doubling every two or three days in Italy and Spain. If this happens here, then we will be up to 1,000 deaths a day very quickly.

PROJECTION:

87 deaths by 24th March (Today)

174 deaths by 27th March 2020

348 deaths by 30th March 2020

696 deaths by 2nd April 2020

1,392 by 5th April 2020

Daily news.

We wake up to see pictures of people crammed together on the tube in London. This needs to be addressed by Transport London and get it resolved with limited numbers on coaches.

Teeth.

There are inevitably going to be some teething problems. There is confusion. This morning Michael Gove, the Cabinet Office Minister, said that estranged parents should not be moving children between homes. He has since clarified this, and it means that children under the age of 18 can be moved between homes.

There is further confusion about construction workers and whether they are classed as essential. At the moment, it appears that they are.

These are issues that will no doubt be resolved, and when the government is moving so quickly, there will undoubtedly be ambiguities.

Some tragic stories are circulating. One in Spain is that they have found a care home abandoned, with elderly patients left to their own devices, and some old folks were found dead in their beds.

New text friends.

I got a text this morning from the NHS and separately from the government merely saying, ‘Stay at Home.’ There was a link for further details.

5 pm Press Briefing. The Prime Minister Boris Johnson.

The government briefing is seeking a quarter of a million volunteers – ‘NHS Volunteer Responders’ is a new group.

These volunteers are to ‘shield’ the most vulnerable who are to stay in their homes for the next three months. This will be things like talking to them on the phone to check in and cheer them up. Deliver essentials to their houses, such as food and pharmaceutical products. Delivering items between NHS locations.

May to December.

The request for retired NHS personnel to return to help has so far resulted in 11,000 people stepping up to the plate. This is fantastic news. How wonderfully dedicated these people are.

The government is utilising final year medical students, so in addition to the retirees, there will be the mobilisation of a further 5,000 young medical doctors and 18,000 nurses—incredible numbers.

A Nightingale sang.

The military is building a new NHS hospital. The government has commandeered the massive Excel Exhibition Centre in East London. It is called the Nightingale Hospital and will have two wards with 2,000 patients in each, all with ventilators. A total of 4,000 beds with ventilators. Grimly there are also two large morgues being built in the hospital.

The government is also allegedly looking at doing the same at The National Exhibition Centre in the West Midlands, which is even bigger than the Excel Centre in London. This is only speculation at the moment, though.

Treated like rubbish.

There are still issues with NHS staff getting the appropriate safety clothing (known as PPE – Personal Protection Equipment) to wear, and they are risking their lives. This is frustrating and cannot happen; the government is prioritising this, but it needs to be sorted out now. Some are wearing bin liners with holes punched through for neck and arms, for heaven’s sake.

Family life.

Callum says he feels okay but still has a persistent cough.

Katie, my son, Andy’s fiancée, has asked us to sign a petition for the government to support freelancers. All the government support is currently to PAYE earners, yet people like Katie, a music teacher and operatic singer, suddenly has no income and no support. I signed it. Hopefully, something will be done soon to help them.

Quote of the day:

‘In Venice, in the Middle Ages there was a man called a codega – a fellow you hired to walk in front of you at night with a lit lantern, showing you the way, scaring off thieves and demons, bringing you confidence and protection through the dark streets.’ – Elizabeth Gilbert.

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