No question, this year, at Christmas, we’ll be between a jingle-bell-rock and a hard-place.
We are living in strange times. The owner of my gym has emailed me with a more sensible plan for dealing with CV-19 than BoJo.
There was a time, if you turned up at a Xmas-party with a case of Corona, you’d be welcome.
It’s hard to explain to the grandkids how someone, on the other side of the world, making bat-soup, lead to a toilet paper shortage, here.
Christmas? It looks like script for nativity plays will have to be rewritten.
‘Innkeeper, do you have a room… yes, we are open for essential travel…’
To avoid breaking the rules, nativity plays must be performed within existing school bubbles. Audiences must respect social distancing… a covid-plus for divorced parents.
Rules, rules and more rules. Does anyone understand them?
It was obeying rules that gave us the Christmas story and the narrative we tell to each other every year.
The census rules and why Joseph and a pregnant Mary, were on the move.
The gospel of Luke uses the Census of Quirinius to establish the birth of Jesus in Bethlehem. Matthew puts the birth in the reign of Herod, who actually died nine years earlier.
In fact, no Roman census required people to travel from their own homes and the census of Judea would not have affected Jospeh and his family as they lived in Galilee.
It looks like somebody got it wrong. But, it’s a story and we like stories. Particularly the Christmas one. Stories motivate us.
Here’s a story;
In the Year of Covid 2020, everyone was fed up, so when Christmas came the Jones family travelled from far and wide. They missed each other and they missed Granny, so they got together, like always.
They had a right old knees-up.
Number-one grandson told them all about life at Uni. They gave Gran a new cardigan, a scarf and a big hug.
They talked about the old times and drank beer. They had a lot of fun.
The Smith’s missed their granny and they put their money together and brought her an iPad and the nice lady-carer set it up for her and showed her which buttons to press.
Gran soon got the hang of it.
They sent a cardigan and a scarf in the post and watched her unwrap them. Number one grandson shared the screen and showed pictures of his first year at Uni. They sang carols and had lunch with Gran propped up on their iPad, at the head of the table. She could see them all, shed a little tear, toasted them and blew kisses.
They gave gran a big Zoom hug. It wasn’t the same but they had a lot of fun.
By the end of January, in the year of Covid 2021, Granny Jones sadly, died. The hospital did their best but… they were choc-a-bloc.
Granny Jones tested positive for the Covid virus.
Granny Smith is looking forward to her birthday, in September, when the family plan to be together again, for real.
Last week, the government made some new rules; up to three households would be allowed to mix for a five-day period, between 23-27 December, in Christmas bubbles.
Really…
I wonder what movies are on over Xmas? Dunno.
What I do know; every disaster movie starts with politicians ignoring a scientist.
