Today at (virtual) Mass (yes, my halo is well and truly polished), the last hymn was 'Lord of the Dance' and as I enthusiastically joined in with 'dance, dance, wherever you may be', a most unwelcome visual popped into my head - that of Dominic Cummings prancing around in his parents' garden.
As if that wasn't bad enough, he had to choose to dance to Abba. That honour is and will always be Tay May's and her designer shoes, not Dominic Cummings and his wooly beanie.
It is a bit scary to think that this man who advises the Government, made the decision to travel 250 miles with his wife (they both showed symptoms of coronavirus at the time) and his four year old son, to his parents' home (they are in their seventies).
The big question is, will he resign? Others in prominent positions have. One such person was Scotland's former Chief Medical Officer, for visiting her second home and another (I shall be kind and not name this person) for having a friend over for some therapy.
King Hydroxy of Chloroquine has spoken again. Just when you thought that Donald Trump had stopped peddling his favourite drug, he has started whispering his sweet nothings again, claiming that he has been taking it and urging, in the tone of an oily salesman to 'go on, try it, what do you have to lose?'
The same could be said about wearing masks, Mr Trump. 'Go on, wear it, what do you have to lose'?
Well, a bit of orange tan around the face perhaps but not a lot more, unlike hydroxychloroquine, where you could lose the natural rhythm of your heart, your consciousness, your appetite and your hair. (Notice I have resisted the urge not to say that the last two may not be too bad in a certain person's case).
Until next time, stay safe, wash your hands and try to dance, dance wherever you may be.
Will Dominic get his Cumuppance?
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