It gives me no pleasure, in my weekly weekend update on the Covid-19 pandemic, to say that what I predicted last Sunday - that we would see 15,000 cases by 29 March, and at least 700 deaths - is to be the tragic case.
Readers of this blog will know that I also stated that if we saw such a steep increase we could assume the curve was rising, precipitously. It raises the question, why did the government not put us into lockdown a week earlier?
Unfortunately, the number of UK deaths currently stands, on the 28th of March, at 1,019, and there are 17,089 recorded cases.
A new study suggests that the worst of this nightmare will be over on April 5th, Palm Sunday, with the peak declining thereafter, due to the social distancing having taken effect by then.
I hope this is so, though this optimistic new study suggests less than 6,000 deaths will occur in the UK, a hopeful outcome that is belied by the Birmingham airport being repurposed as a mass morgue. If the UK needs ten new 'Nightingale' mass field hospitals to house 40,000 seriously ill persons, then a death rate of 6,000 or less would seem in the cruel context almost miraculous.
Meanwhile, an eyebrow raising twist worthy of a sci-fi thriller occurred yesterday, when it was announced the British PM, his Health Minister, and the chief medical officer, ALL had come down with the coronavirus and were being isolated, raising the uncomfortable spectre of Michael Gove appearing at the daily briefing, looking like an owlish newly-scrubbed school debater eager to win.
On Thursday, all Britain came out to clap for the NHS carers, on our doorsteps and balconies, in what was stirring and authentic. We all look forward to the next one.
My own family is of course locked down; we have not been able to buy eggs or bread for a week. We have food, though, and are eating a lot of rice, and pasta. We've been listening to music, watching TV, going over old photos, speaking to loved ones, and sorting and reading books. It is like being snowed in, but the days have been oddly clear, sometimes as sunny as the future once was meant to be. We celebrate two birthdays in the next two weeks, and never have Amazon packages arrived with such fear and urgent disposal of the box, and washing of hands.
It seems impossible to imagine we will ever forget this world trauma; it will have changed us all. One can hope that health care investment and provisions will become priority number one; every country's stockpile of ventilators and masks should become as vital as nuclear stockpiles once were.
On current numbers, there will be about 65,000 or more reported cases in the UK by next Sunday, with there having been 3250 deaths.
If that is the peak, very good. If the week after sees 250,000 reported cases, we will know we have not flattened the curve enough. Less than that, and there may be hope of an early calming of the storm, before a possible second wave. We might be out of lockdown by May.
This will, we can only hope, be the strangest and most bleak and anxious Easter spring anyone in Britain will ever have. I for one never expected reality to utterly outstrip fiction, so that to be alive now has the vivid tang of hyper-reality, and each moment is ripe and potent and rich, if tinged with sadness and mourning. I personally veer between exaltation at the goodness and bravery of many in our society - who ever knew that those who deliver goods or make flour were heroes?! - and despair at the so-called covidiots who ignore the laws, and kill others with their infection.
(Keep a thought for those in parts of the world the pandemic has yet to truly hit, and those in America, Italy, Spain, Iran and China, among other lands, still facing the challenges.)
Onwards. Be safe and wash your hands.
Unfortunately, the number of UK deaths currently stands, on the 28th of March, at 1,019, and there are 17,089 recorded cases.
A new study suggests that the worst of this nightmare will be over on April 5th, Palm Sunday, with the peak declining thereafter, due to the social distancing having taken effect by then.
I hope this is so, though this optimistic new study suggests less than 6,000 deaths will occur in the UK, a hopeful outcome that is belied by the Birmingham airport being repurposed as a mass morgue. If the UK needs ten new 'Nightingale' mass field hospitals to house 40,000 seriously ill persons, then a death rate of 6,000 or less would seem in the cruel context almost miraculous.
Meanwhile, an eyebrow raising twist worthy of a sci-fi thriller occurred yesterday, when it was announced the British PM, his Health Minister, and the chief medical officer, ALL had come down with the coronavirus and were being isolated, raising the uncomfortable spectre of Michael Gove appearing at the daily briefing, looking like an owlish newly-scrubbed school debater eager to win.
On Thursday, all Britain came out to clap for the NHS carers, on our doorsteps and balconies, in what was stirring and authentic. We all look forward to the next one.
My own family is of course locked down; we have not been able to buy eggs or bread for a week. We have food, though, and are eating a lot of rice, and pasta. We've been listening to music, watching TV, going over old photos, speaking to loved ones, and sorting and reading books. It is like being snowed in, but the days have been oddly clear, sometimes as sunny as the future once was meant to be. We celebrate two birthdays in the next two weeks, and never have Amazon packages arrived with such fear and urgent disposal of the box, and washing of hands.
It seems impossible to imagine we will ever forget this world trauma; it will have changed us all. One can hope that health care investment and provisions will become priority number one; every country's stockpile of ventilators and masks should become as vital as nuclear stockpiles once were.
On current numbers, there will be about 65,000 or more reported cases in the UK by next Sunday, with there having been 3250 deaths.
If that is the peak, very good. If the week after sees 250,000 reported cases, we will know we have not flattened the curve enough. Less than that, and there may be hope of an early calming of the storm, before a possible second wave. We might be out of lockdown by May.
This will, we can only hope, be the strangest and most bleak and anxious Easter spring anyone in Britain will ever have. I for one never expected reality to utterly outstrip fiction, so that to be alive now has the vivid tang of hyper-reality, and each moment is ripe and potent and rich, if tinged with sadness and mourning. I personally veer between exaltation at the goodness and bravery of many in our society - who ever knew that those who deliver goods or make flour were heroes?! - and despair at the so-called covidiots who ignore the laws, and kill others with their infection.
(Keep a thought for those in parts of the world the pandemic has yet to truly hit, and those in America, Italy, Spain, Iran and China, among other lands, still facing the challenges.)
Onwards. Be safe and wash your hands.
Comments