Omicron, and on, and on

A decade ago, I went to Burnley’s Mechanics theatre to watch a play. There were only two actors and they spent the entire performance talking to each other across a table. To inject some action into the rather staid dialogue, they would take turns to get up and pace around before returning to their seats. It was so boring, I briefly considered sticking needles in my eyes. While watching the second act, I was flicking through the programme, knowing it would soon be over. It was then that I realised it was a three-part play. My heart sank, and I resolved to exit the building with immediate effect. I sometimes speculate that if I had not done so, I might still be there, ten years later, politely waiting for that interminable play to end and the curtain to finally fall.

I am beginning to feel the same way about this tedious pandemic, and the all-too-familiar spectre of looming restrictions. Another variant, another spike, more masks, more panic, more frantic pleas to protect the NHS. Would that our politicians were as wearied by it all as we are. In 20 years’ time, will the announcement of the Omega Variant on every media outlet still persuade our leaders to keep shutting the country down? Will there be a country left to protect? Will this endless cycle of fear and panic ever be broken?

Thank God, I have somewhere else to be (Phil 1:23).

Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay