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Oh my God, after more than three months I think I might finally have shaken off this lurgy. Admittedly it hasn't been too bad for the last month- I've just had a slightly nasty phlegmy cough and been a bit tired (but is that illness or just being a dad in his late-fifties?) Today though, no cough to speak of and suddenly some energy.
Though I am sure I said the same thing about six weeks ago. The ghost of the cough remains, dry now and occasional, but ready to burrow back into me if I get complacent.
Whatever that was (and yes, I probably should have gone to the doctor and would have done if I hadn't rung up the wrong practice the one day I tried, but also it's pretty much always been getting slightly better every day), it was way worse than Covid, though maybe not as bad as testicular cancer (though I never felt ill with that and maybe I recovered from the operation and the chemo slightly quicker). I thought I might never feel well again. This is just my lot now. Under the weather until I am under the ground.
Maybe though I have a couple more good years in me! Even my frozen shoulder is almost better now. Another long road to recovery. Another one that keeps on pretending to nearly go away, before returning, though slightly less angrily each time.
As I've told you this blog will increasingly just be a list of maladies. If it's good enough for Pepys.
I got to London to record more Book Clubs at the Podcast Rooms and was quite early and had done most of my prep so I thought I'd walk from Kings Cross to the studio. I had ENERGY and the sun was shining. I'd forgotten my headphones so I'd have to observe the world rather than listen to Richard Osman answering questions about the workings of daytime quiz shows.
What I observed was a lot more homeless and mentally ill people on the streets than I'd noticed before. It's not like homelessness hasn't always been an issue in London and maybe it just presented itself more today because I am not here so much, but it did seem even worse than before.
All along the Euston Road at regular intervals people with signs declaring how hungry they were and a little community of tents set up near Tottenham Court Road tube with a fearsome looking dog wandering around seemingly with no owner. There were people shouting out in anguish and staggering around. It was hot and life is more aggravating when you're sweaty and parched but still.
Right wing columnists complain that when they are on the tube they never hear anyone speaking English, which is certainly not my experience - hardly anyone is talking at all, but most of those that are are speaking English, though you do encounter the occasional tourist who foolishly still wants to visit this Hell hole of a country, for which we surely should be grateful. I'm more concerned about the hunger, poverty and possibility of unprovoked violence from someone who any sane society would be caring for.
On my walk back two homeless men were walking in the road. I think they were friends, but they argued and started brawling (though in that drunken way when you're more or less just aggressively hugging), still off the pavement (luckily on the not too busy slip road that goes up towards Great Portland Street). Should I intervene (I hadn't intervened on behalf of all the other people I'd seen, so probably not) or try to talk to them, or just shepherd them on to the pavement. One was now on the floor. And everyone decided that intervention was too risky or would escalate things.
I felt guilty for not intervening - not just in the fight, but walking by all that I'd seen, but not so guilty that I did anything. I just Ralph Mctelled my way through it. You'd like to think we lived in a decent society the first concern would be protecting our most vulnerable citizens (and thus protecting ourselves too) rather than making rich people who don't even pay tax here are doing OK. Eventually we'll reach the tipping point, but sadly tipping points require even more extreme horrors.
I love London and one of my pleasures in this city has been to cover it on foot and seeing our capital in its shame and its glory and wondering about the millions of lives and stories that I am skirting by. I saw a lady with a big cast on her foot. The story of her foot is just one of her stories.
I had nice chats with comedians about their books and then came home, narrowly avoiding joining in with a scuffle in the road. What more do you want from your day?
