So, we’re somewhere between 3 and 5 weeks into this thing…much, and nothing has happened. I found myself by the pool staring at the sea this morning and felt like a silhouette gazing out over the smoking, dusty, post H-bomb plains you see in comic books. More specifically I saw myself as 2-D from the Gorillaz, scrawny, sleep deprived and fucked off.

Last post was on Day 6…still feeling pretty pumped, and lockdown was quite novel…the monotony of it all hadn’t set in, and I believed it would be a 21 day blip in the norm…I was still refusing to buy into my brother in law’s view that the zombie apocalypse was coming and I thought we’d all be fine quite soon…the kids and the dogs had formed their collective (which has grown stronger by the day…they now finish each other’s sentences, food and are all firm believers that adults are white noise)…I was exercising each day…I had the apps. I was taking cold, refreshing plunges in the pool and generally getting on OK in my little bubble of white privilege (I stopped watching SA news whilst Zuma was around…too damn depressing, but I haven’t ever gone back, even being a Cyril supporter…my habit’s not to listen)…and I wasn’t drinking before 5…I think.

Somewhere between Day 6 and the start of week 3ish I got onto organising some wine, even got some goodies delivered on the sly… it was in this blur that news stories began to invade my bubble…stories about police brutality, about gangs calling truce, and the army being mobilised against the poor folk, and about riots and real hunger and starvation…and more police brutality. As night falls you know that people are starving, that kids haven’t eaten and that the money you’ve donated and the food parcels you’ve sent are not even drops in the ocean and that things are going to get biblically dire very soon…and lockdown is going nowhere soon…so standing by my pool looking at the sea, I’ve really got no right to feel fucked off, but I do.

Where to from here?