Boostered like a Bastard.

 Halfway around the hospital car park a man collapses. There's a thud and a muted "ooh" from the other people in the queue, as though semi-distracted at a fireworks display. The man sits on the ground, looking as though he can't work out why he's suddenly three feet shorter. A few people break from the queue and run towards him. They are all women, of course. The man who is standing directly behind him does nothing to help, but windmills his arms in the air as though remonstrating with a sporting official over a poor decision. Two nurses appear. A wheelchair is produced. The man insists on righting himself, but is wheeled away, visibly mortified by this show of weakness. And we all go back to shuffling around the car park, the excitement forgotten as we focus on our bladders. 

I'm assuming he's fine. It's a long wait in the cold for an older chap. 

I'm queuing to get my booster jab. I've been here over half an hour and I've made it halfway round the car park. I was always going to go for my booster jab today, but yesterday, unbidden, the Prime Minister appeared on television and failed to resign. Instead he flapped around in a bus conductor's suit he'd found on a corpse, and begged people to get boostered. So here we all are. It's a distraction, of course - he's under the cosh. He broke the law again, a couple of times, and he's looking to divert some attention, so he's wheeling out "our" NHS again. Our NHS, the same NHS his party has pared down to the bone, systematically, over a decade, and with the obvious intention of dismantling it and replacing it with the American "need-an-operation-your-home-will-do-nicely-thank-you" model. But the Tories didn't see the pandemic coming and have come to rely on it as a symbolic bastion of British can-do, especially as they absolutely failed to give it the £350 million per week promised on the Brexit bus. Never-the-less when the Prime Minister wants to be associated with something decent, wholesome and good - not something that happens often - he bangs on about the NHS. It's particularly impressive double-think: I love and value the NHS so much that I will sell it to the highest bidder at the earliest opportunity. Actually, there's no double-think there at all, that's ordinary capitalism. We'll have the NHS for as long as its useful PR for the government. 

Been here an hour now. I'm still queuing but I haven't made it into the building yet. On the plus side it's still light, its not too cold and it's not raining. There's my mate, Ben. Alright, Ben? Ben's fine.  

I'm inside for the hour and a half marker, then boostered and back out on the street again within ten minutes. There is as always a slight feeling of "Is that it?" because of course there is. That is it. It's a sharp scratch and you can stick your coat on again. 

It's a half an hour back, so two and a half hours door to door. Spent the morning on a Zoom call to a Finnish film producer. It's been an interesting day.