Looking back through 2021...

Reading today's Daily Mail national newspaper, I have gotten the impression that 2021 was an awful year, they were glad to see the back of it, and left it to be forgotten. I was rather surprised to read all that, as for me, it hadn't been the worst in my life. The journalists who submitted their pieces to the newspaper's Editor focussed mainly on the pandemic. According to their line of thinking, the vaccine rollout was so rapid that, by now, it should have all but eradicated the pandemic. Instead, a full year after its initial launch, we're still wearing facemasks as the nation watches the infection rate rise to a new phenomenal level.

The lockdown, early in the year and going further back into 2020, had brought closures to our churches, affecting all live worship, from house meetings to services in huge cathedrals, thus missing out on social togetherness, or in theological definition, fellowship. It was during this period when a friend and I agreed on a social bubble, thus, he came round to our home every Sunday for lunch, followed by up to three hours of daytime TV.

After several weeks, we were all familiar with the comedy series of Mr Bean, with Rowan Atkinson as the lovable titular, who also acted as a secret agent in another series, Mr Johnny English. In this role, he plays a serious role as an agent, but his deliberate clumsiness and lack of foresight had sent us all into peals of laughter. Rowan Atkinson was then followed by Patricia Routledge in her comedy series, Keeping Up Appearances. As the wife of a typical English middle-class couple kept on trying - and failing -  to impress the neighbours of her apparent aristocratic background. Watching her becoming unstuck in her attempts kept the three of us entertained for weeks.

Rowan Atkinson as Mr Bean.

Later in the year, I was impressed by how much he enjoyed watching documentaries on a rather obscure TV commercial channel that seemed to be virtually unknown to mainstream viewers. Such a channel specialising in the history of our monarchy, along with the life of Hitler, and other similar documentaries, especially focussing on the two world wars and Britain's involvement in them. Some of these documentaries were good, a few quite boring, the latter endorsed by my friend's falling in and out of sleep during the programme.

But back in January, there was one point of disagreement between me and my bubble-mate. That was his love for naff quiz shows where a gormless contestant attempted, and usually fail, to win the top star cash prize of thousands of pounds. Such shows such as Pointless, and Celebrity Pointless, are good examples. He loves those sorts of programmes, I hated them! Therefore, shows that takes up much of Saturday evening BBC timeslots, such as The Wall, and The Wheel is enough to save on energy by keeping the TV firmly switched off.

Indeed, what's one man's meat is another man's poison may cause an argument, along with my request for him to stay away for the following week, nevertheless, 2021 was the year when I felt it to be a privilege to host someone who had nowhere else to go, and thus for him to find an escape from loneliness, as well as in need for a hug. And that applied to both of us. I needed a hug from him as much as he needed it from me. 

As for our church in Ascot, we all had to endure sixteen months of live "virtual services" on YouTube, followed by a frame of pigeonholes on Zoom. What I find most irritating was the host breaking the main pigeonhole frame into "rooms" - where I was stuck with three or four others so technically or business-minded - in others words, their talk was as exciting as watching paint dry - that I just sat there, staring at the laptop screen in silence as I tried to understand the conversation and wishing for the changeover to come quickly, while at the same time, the person I wanted to talk to was in another room. Little was I aware that I had the technology to simply switch rooms, but back then, not only was I unaware, but I considered to be rude to suddenly drop out just like that.

However, there was one feature that arose from the lockdown, the daily Zoom prayer meetings held each weekday morning for twenty minutes. During my early years of church participation, I attended the weekly prayer meeting regularly, as the venue where it was held was a short hop from home. But since I moved to the church at Ascot, attending prayer meetings were far less frequent, and during my later years, quite inconvenient, as this involved cycling in all weather conditions while not getting any younger.

Thus, the wonder of technology. Here, just a single stairway separated the bedroom from the prayer venue. I have found that participation to be edifying and actually plays a role in setting me up for the day, along with the morning Bible readings. Such a Zoom meeting had caused me to ponder how Paul the Apostle would have thought about it, and whether any mention would have appeared in his epistles. How would he react? Would he encourage us all to meet on Zoom? Or would he give the participants a good kick in the backside and tell us all to meet in person?

At last, by early Autumn, the Government's "Freedom Day" with the lifting of restrictions, has allowed us all to meet in person again. And so, after more than a year, we as a church are back together again. But without the welcoming and after-service refreshments, I mounted my bike to ride home quite hungry, and longing for the roasted chicken thighs my wife was preparing.

It was the welcoming cup of coffee or hot chocolate I missed most, just before the start of the service. After a cycle ride up that hill to reach the racecourse, nothing would be more soothing than a hot drink to warm up my insides. The worst thing about riding in cold weather is that I feel obliged to wear a coat to keep the chilly wind off my chest. After arrival at the venue, my shirt under the coat has dampened with sweat. Then I enter the meeting room, a spacious upstairs restaurant converted into a cold wind tunnel.

Old Paddock Restaurant, where our church meets

It was still obligatory to keep the windows of all public meeting venues open, or at least ajar so that any virus-infected air can waft out. However, our meeting place happens to have a row of windows on each side of the room. Thus, opening the windows on both sides whilst we all faced towards the south makes an ideal tunnel for the predominant westerly wind to blow straight through the building, chilling my wet tee-shirt and forcing me, and others around me, to keep their thick overcoats on throughout the whole service. There was even one gentleman dressed in a woollen scarf in addition to his coat, as if out on a Polar expedition. But at least, throughout the Autumn, wearing a mask wasn't mandatory anymore, but the Elders still encouraged us all to wear a mask during worship.

That is until the wearing of the mask became mandatory again in all shops and other enclosed public spaces, including churches, just a couple of weeks before Christmas. This was due to the sudden rise in the number of infections from the new Omicron variant of Covid. This I found so frustrating, so annoying! After lining up for ninety minutes to receive my booster jab at our local surgery a few weeks earlier, suddenly, we're back at square one, with Christmas under threat of another cancellation, the re-introduction of restrictions in Scotland, Wales, and Northern Ireland sweeping the New Year celebrations under the carpet and jeopardising many hospitality businesses. Not to mention the re-introduction of mandatory mask-wearing.

However, I can't help but feel more optimistic than I did at this time last year. As it stands, more than half of all adults over twelve years of age are not only double-jabbed but have also received their booster. In theory, this should provide a reasonably strong wall of immune resistance, or herd immunity, against this variant. So far, despite the very high rate of infections, the numbers of those in hospitals from the virus remain very low, and deaths even lower. To add to this, it's been reported that this variant is weaker in causing severe illness than its predecessors, despite that it spreads at a faster rate. And so the South African authorities tell us. Yet, our own scientists were too cautious to believe them.

In all, for me, 2021 hadn't been too bad a year. True enough, our health was constantly monitored. For example, my beloved had to attend our local GP surgery to receive her monthly jab of hormone restraint to prevent any more malignant cells from forming after suffering from cancer in 2018. The jab is inserted into her lower abdomen. Within the last few months, she had suffered intense pain in her lower abdomen. We didn't know what it was. So, on one very severe case, I called 999 for an ambulance. But, due to the pandemic, no ambulance was immediately available and we were instructed to make our own way to A&E at Frimley Park Hospital.

With a total of £25 out of pocket after using the taxi for transport, we ended up in the minors waiting room, where we waited for quite some hours while we kept her pain under control with both morphine and Ibuprofen. At last, she was called into the Radiology dept, a posh name for the X-ray room. After exposure, it was decided that she would have a proper scan to find what's causing her intense belly pain.

But that was not due until the following morning. Therefore, she was kept overnight. I left the hospital on my own to board a bus for a free ride home (I had a pensioner's bus pass, and now being on my own, I didn't want to spend more on another taxi.) It started to rain. And I knew that very soon my roof would begin leaking, with the rainwater dripping into the two buckets I placed in the loft back in August.

The bus arrived. I jumped on board. Then it began to head the wrong way, towards the town centre instead of towards home. I spoke to the driver. I was informed that I took the wrong bus. Just then, the one I should have taken passed by on the other side. I alighted at the next bus stop and made a dash back to the hospital. Its bus stop was deserted. I had no option but to wait for the next one, the very last one for the night. Even then, after changing busses at Camberley, due to a road closure in the outskirts of my home town, I had to alight at an earlier stop and walk the last couple of miles home in the rain.

Ah! It all goes to show that attempting to save money isn't a brilliant idea after all. That is unless you pay proper attention to the destination name scrolled on the front of the bus instead of gazing excitingly at the bus itself. However, by the following morning, she had her scan, and nothing amiss was seen. She didn't have appendicitis, as one of the doctors first suggested. The source of her pain remained a mystery to everyone.

Then, at a recent appointment at a health centre in Aldershot, the doctor who discharged her previously confirmed that there was nothing physically wrong. It was then when I brought up the suggestion that, after noticing a corollary over several months between her hormone jabs and her intense pain, I made a cautious suggestion to the doctor that her jabs could be the cause of the problem. Much to my surprise, the doctor didn't fob me off, as I was expecting, but instead, he heeded my input. At this moment, I'm hoping that the monthly dosage is now under review, and I hope to receive news of some changes in her treatment.

Frimley Park Hospital

And oh, yes, the roof leak. It was my wife Alex who discovered that on one evening when it rained heavily, she saw water literally dripping from the ceiling of our daughter's bedroom, causing the Artex to bubble. The water ran down the wall and soaked the carpet, indicating that the leak was ongoing for a good while.

At first, I was in a state of panic. I read up on the tenancy repairs to find the appropriate phone number. Much to my surprise, the roof leak was not classed as an emergency. The next day, I made a phone booking, only to be told that, due to a shortage of roof workers, it will be several weeks before anyone would call to inspect the damage!

Therefore, I made my way to my garage where my old window cleaning ladders were stored, and I took one of them and hoisted it into the house via the upstairs bedroom window. I found a spare bucket in the garden and placed it at the appropriate spot in the loft - right under where I can see the source of the dripping.

Great! I'll beat this once and for all!

I didn't have to wait long before it rained again, courtesy of our British summer weather. And again, the rainwater started to drip through my daughter's bedroom ceiling.

In a state of near-panic, I climbed fully into the loft to see why this was happening. Only then did I notice a second source of the dripping. Fortunately, there was a large plastic container tucked away in one of the kitchen cupboards. I wasn't even aware we had it. I took it and placed it in the loft under the second source of the dripping, which was almost right next to the first container. The bedroom dripping stopped, and the ceiling, wall, and carpet dried out completely, even with further rainfall.

Five months later, we're still waiting for the repair. We already had an inspection and our problem was taken seriously. But with a shortage of roofers, heaven knows how long this wait will be. But having everything under control makes all the difference.

2021 was quite a year.

With that, I wish you all a happy New Year for 2022.