I’m struggling for things to say. When you finally come face to face with our Covid testing system, it’s not that good. Julia’s arrangements have now been altered so she will be provided with one of the kits that has to be sent off to the lab. You have to find a priority post box for that. Priority Post Box, you ask. Exactly. It took ten minutes on the internet with a selection of useless links before I found any.
There are 35,000 in the country. Or 15.000 if you are posting on Saturday or Sunday. And you have to post the sample at least an hour before the last collection time – so no later than 4pm, and in some cases earlier. Most people are still at work at that time.
It’s not my idea of “priority”.
As for getting a test, you have to have symptoms. If I had symptoms I wouldn’t bother driving down to a testing station and shoving a cotton wool bud up my nose, I’d just stay at home in bed with a Lemsip. If you are asymptomatic I would have thought that was when you needed the test.
I will be returning to work next week as the owner has thought of a new way of doing things and we will be rearranging stock. I am not terribly keen, as I was enjoying my time off, but I can’t keep sitting at home and being paid for doing nothing.
Meanwhile, the post arrived. That cheered me up. Or it would have done if it had been what I originally thought it was. Unfortunately, the miniature medals with paperwork didn’t have any paperwork with them and the copy of the poetry magazine with my poem in it turned out to be a copy of a different magazine.
It is going to be one of those days.