Covid: My head’s buzzing, I can’t keep up with all these guidelines – Susan Morrison

From dodgems to bees, there’s a whole heap of regulations and advice about coronavirus on the Scottish Government’s website, writes Susan Morrison
Beekepers are swathed from head to foot in protective clothing, but there are still Scottish Government guidelines to follow (Picture: Lisa Ferguson)Beekepers are swathed from head to foot in protective clothing, but there are still Scottish Government guidelines to follow (Picture: Lisa Ferguson)
Beekepers are swathed from head to foot in protective clothing, but there are still Scottish Government guidelines to follow (Picture: Lisa Ferguson)

Are we in Phase Three or Phase Four? If we are in Phase Three, is there a danger we might slip back to Phase Two, or will that be Phase Two (b) or not Two (b)?

Phase Three doesn’t look like it’s going away any time soon. We must be in the sequel by now.

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Perhaps we’ll call it “Phase Three: Jason’s Revenge” featuring endless telly adverts starring Professor Leitch.

If you look to the Scottish Government website for Covid guidance, there’s a grim little note to remind you that the rules and regulations of Phase Three are part of a collection, which makes it sound like you’ve stumbled upon a binge-worthy box set.

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Click on the link and you open a mind-boggling list of regulations, advice and laws.

I’ll say this for Covid-19, this must be the most legislated virus in history. There’s everything from “local death management” to the steps required to ready your Dodgems for getting back on the road as part of a travelling funfair.

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Back in the days of the Black Death, it was a lot easier. One guideline, really.

Stay in. And to help you stay in, we’ll nail your door shut. Simple motto. Shut it. Nail it. Snuff it.

There’s more advice flooding the country than the Cathy and Claire page in the Jackie, and just like some of the teen agony aunt’s advice, it can be a little confusing.

Take those Dodgems, for example. Yes, you can polish up the cars, spark up the generator and fire up the cheesy disco music, then toddle off to the local authority for the paperwork required by the Travelling Funfairs (Licensing) (Scotland) Bill, if you dare. But be aware.

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An MSP has discovered that some licensing authorities can process licensing applications for travelling funfairs within 21 days. Given the current circumstances, that’s nothing short of a miracle for hard pressed council officials.

Do not think that you’re ready to start spinning your Waltzers. 21 days is a long time in Covid country.

What if Tullibody sees a major outbreak of three positive results? Clackmannan lockdown right there and no travelling funfair, even if your papers are in order.

Are you a beekeeper? Well, we’ve got guidelines available for you and your bees.

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Mind you, I would have thought that bees were pretty rubbish at social distancing, what with all that hanging about in the hive.

And beekeepers are always swathed in nets and surrounded by bees. I didn’t think anyone would want to get within two metres of them.

Be aware, however, that if you have a swarming situation on your hands, you’d best make sure you practice social distancing.

No, no idea how you do that, but I imagine that if your average swarm of 50,000 bees is kicking off, maintaining social distancing is fairly low on your priority list.

How hygienic is a slap on the wrist these days?

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Lockdown lurks everywhere like a sneaky little joy-killer. Plan nothing, my friends, least the spike up on an infection graph shuts your world down. One cough and your wedding’s off.

Look at Renfrew. I’m checking the official advice. Can I visit people in Paisley? It looks like I can’t, but I can meet them down the pub.

Do you think they are planning to seal people in, to stop the virus leaving, say, East Dunbartonshire? If so, I’m willing to start drive-by lob-outs of food parcels and box sets if they close the county lines, a la Great Plague.

We’d best leave Argyll and Bute alone. They’ve got Faslane and access to nukes. They might take the rest of us out in a hissy fit.

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How local is a lockdown? If I pop out to Tesco, could I return to find my front gate taped up and my husband under NHS house arrest? Mind you, I have a sneaky feeling he might quite like that. House to himself, mug of tea and his Sudoko. Peace and quiet for once.

For a moment, let us pause and think of the introverts trapped indoors with rampaging extroverts these last months. It’s not been easy. I know this because my husband, Level 5 Introvert, has taken to sighing quite a lot. Loudly. There must be guidelines somewhere for them.

Back when we could shake hands without a guideline, Tory backbenchers used to rant about being forced to wear seat belts when they drove home drunk from dinner parties.

Nanny State, they called it. They hated it, which I thought odd, because most of them had been raised by Nanny.

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Now Nanny is on steroids, with a rule for every occasion and slap on the wrist for every infringement.

I’ve just checked. Wrist slapping is permitted, as long as masks are worn and rigorous standards of hygiene maintained. Oh, all right, I made that up. But you wouldn’t be that surprised if it was real.

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