Wise words, thanks, Jo. It is indeed an act of bravery, writing. I do not feel brave.

White water rafting on the Danube ^[1]I was 20 at the time, a story for another time, that was brave. At the time, cold, I was thinner then, squeezing into a wet suit (dry suit? I don’t know the difference, do you?). blind too, as I couldn’t wear my glasses [boy do I wish I could wear contact lenses]. What an exhilarating experience it was, clinging to the side of an air-filled boat, hanging on for dear life. I am enjoying this, I will enjoy it. I need to look brave with these people. Perhaps they were scared too, half-blind in sight, half-blind in putting on a brave face. Nostalgia will make it a happy story. Never an opportunity missed ^[2]that is another story for a dark night of red wine and ^{fuck you} expletives

Brave in the face of death. I’m even scared to ask for the vaccine I am entitled to as a key worker. Scared of facing the fear of the NHS staff – our brave heroes^[3]I take my hat off to our NHS staff. I do not clap them though, I stay at home and follow the guidelines, half scared to death at the endless queues of people waiting to die. A stab to keep them going a bit longer. Will I be next? Will I be the lucky (unlucky) one, who survives this to be around those war-torn, broken heroes^[4]The heroes word has certainly stuck, the power of rhetoric in action. Thanks BoJo. , crying through layers of plastic (…I’m hot in one mask, those bloody glasses, half-blinded again, with the breath of my life obscuring my view… (let alone having to wear a medically safe mask, shield, visor, gown, uniform, for 12 hours – how do they pee?)), speaking unheard to the prone-facing covid victim (ex-deny’er?)