If in 2015 I’d received a visit from some Future Fairy who’d told me: “Morning Annabel. Five years from now you’ll wake up to the news that Boris Johnson, who’s now the Prime Minister of Britain and living at Number 10 with the mother of his pending love-child, has been admitted to intensive care suffering from a pandemic virus which started in China with someone eating a bat sandwich and has since shut down New York and occasioned daily two-hour press conferences by Donald Trump (who is now the President of the United States) urging Americans to take lupus pills. Also, Cardinal George Pell will be released from prison after the High Court reverses his conviction on child sex offences,” I would have felt… well. Reinforced in my reflexive scepticism about Future Fairies, at the very least.
Enjoying your thoughts and perspective on the coronavirus Annabel. I have been thinking a lot lately about ‘the wife drought’ and how this current situation lays bare many family situations and the traditional expectations. Scraping through summer is one thing, because you can fluff your way through a family holiday, but being contained at home while still trying to sustain any semblance of normalcy is something else.
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