This time last year shortly after the EngvsSAmatch at Twickenham, we all got a virus or THE virus. You may recall the good citizen that Daniel is, anxiously wondering how to contact the 80,000 people who joined him at Twickenham that day. The super-spreader event that it was. I also banished my brother, here for a few weeks from Canada, to Cornwall and safety.

I did not get covid that week but I did get pneumonia / asthma and stuff requiring hospitalisation.

Fast forward to this week. Twickenham was fun, apart from the rugby. My brother arrived from Canada. My London children arrived for little O’s birthday and we all had fun. By Monday we were all coughing some asthmatic and some not. Some tested positive, others including me did not! We did what isolating we could . Poured paracetamol down my brother and by the end of the week everyone seemed ok. That is, until, today. My father is now not at all well , with covid. We saw him on Friday but tested ( negative ) my brother has stayed well clear.

Meanwhile our neighbour had a fall, long story short, she pressed her pendant alarm and an ambulance was despatched some hours later. When I found her in A and E she was freezing cold and very confused. Eventually after many hours on a trolley she was moved to a ward. As we waited for the ‘handover’ they quickly realised the bed she was allocated already had a patient in it. In all the chaos of AandE and then the ward all I could do was try to keep her warm and wait, wait wait. Her son has now arrived and I have handed over. The NHS staff from ambulances, A and E, nurse on the ward, porters everyone absolutely wonderful. But the war zone of A and E, the child being intubated, the old man yelling, our neighbour shivering, police dragging some handcuffed man through. The queue winding out to the freezing cold. Its absolutely chaos, totally crazy. Massive heartfelt thanks to all the staff but it must be sorted out for them and the patients. Too few staff. Too few beds. Too many patients.

Meanwhile, I had the amazing experience of the start of a clinical trial.

I arrived in London, somewhere near Smithfield market. Bow Bells and all that.

I was greeted like a lost friend. The normally abrupt and worried looking consultant arrived. Was charming, lovely and calm . Had all the time in the world. Offered me tea coffee….chat. His lead researcher had already populated most of her data from BARTs. All she needed was the data that she could not access via any other hospital. As you can imagine it took a while. She kept saying is there anything else? I kept saying:No. Then she’d say something like: it says here ‘nephrectomy’. When was that?

Oh, said I, er that kidney donor removal thing. Er yes that was a while ago.

Anyhow, after the registrar had tested my reflexes . What the hell that has to do with asthma I really do not know. She handed me over to some geeky researcher. A cross between Q in James Bond and a brain surgeon. He could not stop talking. About his childhood in Singapore. My memory of childhood in Singapore. His memory of street food. Mine of a man on a bicycle selling satay from a barbecue situated somewhere behind his seat. I worry now that the poor man must’ve had a burnt bum.

Q was interrupted by all the other members of the team. They explained I had open access to the ward. Open access to them. Their phone numbers. Their names. Their research fields. Everything. Eventually Q showed me the way out of the super cool cavern of the research place. He told me I was their first recruit to the trial. No wonder they were so happy to see me. Oh and I get a full health check every month. I get to be ‘randomised next week’. How great is that? The timing was great as I was still coughing, wheezing but still non covid.

Thursday I was due to have a phone appointment with God of all Surgeons. It was meant to be at 8.30 am. He texted at 7.00. It seems he was nearby , could he come for coffee and consultation instead. Of course I said. So there he was charming kind and so Lancelot Spratt like in his dapper suit. God only knows what all the neighbours think of us. But that morning had they glanced through our front window they’d have seen dapper Lancelot Spratt, Staring into my eyes, feeling round my neck, and murmuring ….thyroid, check, maybe check, GP check…..Daniel at this point wandered in with some coffee, blinked not a bit and sat somewhere else! As Lancelot talked about his Botox treatment for me.

Finally and in the madness of our household at the moment, I attempted to play bridge online this morning. My partner is actually paralysed and uses eye control pad to play. Totally awesome. Faster to play than our opponents. She apologised in advance that palliative care team might arrive at any time and she would have to leave the match. But it was me, who held up play. The phone rang with a London hospital code. Consultant infectious diseases was ringing. 4 hours ahead of schedule. I could not possibly refuse to talk. She was as ever, awesome, thinking everything through, even working out who could help over the holiday season in case I needed rescuing. There was I pulling up msu results on one laptop , attempting to trump on another laptop and finding my notes on my iPad. It was totally bonkers. I’m sure I told the Consultant my kidney function was 2 No Trumps! But whatever, we can do this. I am well looked after. Rescue plans in place. And we lost the match. Badly. My fault!