The morning after my second Covid vaccine, I was feeling rather groggy. Not ill or flu-y but yawny and lacklustre. Not up to doing much else, I spent longer than normal eating my toast and Marmite (Help! Marmite is in short supply and I only have half-a-jar left) catching up with my LinkedIn feed, and marvelling at how many hits my blog has had this month. (It was the ‘Bodies Piling High’ post wot did it).
I was reading the kinds of articles I don’t normally bother with, such as the best UK beaches according to Which? as reported by Daily Mail Online. Bamburgh (Northumberland) was top – I wonder if the vote was taken in summer, or winter when Siberian gales blast over the North Sea. Near the bottom of the list was Weston-super-Mare (Somerset). I was disappointed with that placing because I have a soft spot for Weston. We went there a couple of times as kids, and it’s where my grandmother died suddenly in 1943 aged just 37 so of course I never knew her, but it’s still sad.