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Or am I just getting old? A personal perambulation through the time of Covid.  Above: view from bed as Covid takes hold a short crawl away ... the story of the next 5 years follows. What is the downward trajectory as one passes into the 8th decade? For me it's been akin to falling off a cliff and I still don't know the answer. I really don't know how many times I've had Covid/long-Covid over the past 5 years. Hindsight suggests it afflicted a select few before it became a thing in March 2020. But a bunch of us attended New Year together a few months before that and some ended up with severe symptoms over a sustained period. So much so that a couple of close, dear friends became extraordinarily ill, to the extent they thought there might be a significant chance of not recovering. They even reviewed their wills. Shan and I were ill in the same period but not quite to the same extent. Covid wasn't a generally used word at that stage. But it soon was to be. March 2020 After a considerable amount of prevarication, Boris Johnson declared the first Covid lockdown on 23 March 2020. However, the general public seems to have second-guessed him on the 5th. I had been in London on a WSET wine-tasting course from the 2nd and planning supper with my cousin, Stuart, over from Johannesburg, on that Thursday, the 5th. It was the day most of London decided to take unilateral action and declare their own lockdown. Stuart apologised and retired to his hotel room. I completed the course and set off for home, grabbing a bite and some celebratory wine en route. I had a little time to kill before my train home. .Above (l-r): a very tame celebration of successfully completing my wine course some expensive wine and a small supper on my own in the usually thrumming wine bar in the Paddington Basin; another customer arrived eventually and one or two others meandered in from time to time. London was a Ghost Town. After that there was a fairly extended "phoney war", with endless visits to Covid testing stations (a.k.a. car parks), sitting in one's own car while extracting one's own body fluids, handing it over, in what were more like toll plazas, to inexperienced staff who really didn't know what they were doing. October 2020 And then Shan and I got it, big time, confirmed by testing positive. We were invaded by symptoms that were scary and without a lot of guidance as to what the outcome might be. Fading away in the night was an imagined possibility. But just when it seemed it would go on forever, the symptoms began to lift. I, personally, had been pretty fit before the lurgy set in and was determined to expunge it as quickly as possible once I started feeling a bit better. For a week or so all went well and the training regime I had set myself seemed to be showing positive results. I could breathe more freely and oxygen-rich blood was apparently surging around my system. A week or so in, I felt pumped. November 16 2020 - Shan's 60th Lockdown 2 was declared on November 5. We were again subject to social curtailment. All previously conceived plans for a celebration of Shan's entering her 7th decade quickly evaporated. And then I had a brainwave. Egged on by recently successful web-based meetings and by a (fairly) locally-based Michelin-starred restaurant that did posh takeaways. I mean really P.O.S.H.: The Harrow at Little Bedwyn. We'd been there a year previously for her 59th and it was perfect. Why not have a couple of small virtual parties? I'd don a mask and do a pre-conference distribution circuit so that all participants were charged with food and wine, set up Microsoft Teams[1} sessions and Bob would be our auntie! Kate, Andrew, Fiona and DJ[2] were quickly brought on board for the first 6-way teleconference. A 26-mile drive to collect the food was a small price to pay. Apart from the cloak and dagger collection for the first web-party everything went pretty splendidly. Pauline, Mike, Sian and Roger[3] were all lined up for the second session. Somewhat disturbingly, during the follow-up drive to The Harrow, I started to feel quite peculiar. The symptoms from a few weeks previously were making themselves felt again. As if the pumps were gradually being turned off. Thankfully the process was fairly gradual. And, happily, the second virtual feast went well. I can't remember now exactly how long it took but my post Covid highs, of walking and cycling briskly around town and the surrounding countryside, just began to ebb away. It took a while to overcome me but eventually I had to stop for a rest halfway through a walk into the centre of town. The total distance: approximately half a mile! At first this felt lonely. My friends and fellow-cyclists wanted to expunge their Covid experiences and weren't really up to taking on negative vibes while they were regaining their fitness. Long Covid taken seriously The NHS, however, was pretty quick to respond to this new phenomenon of Long Covid and swung into action. Support groups were created and exploratory entities were instigated at major hospitals such as the John Radcliffe (JR) in Oxford. Online interviews were conducted and hospital visits arranged for those who were identified as presenting the symptoms of the dreaded long-term strain of the disease. My personal response was upbeat. Someone cared. A sympathetic doctor discussed my experiences with me during a long consultation. She referred me to online groups who compared symptoms and possible paths to positive outcomes. I was summoned to the hospital for physical tests. All in all I felt I was in the caring of good people. I was "diagnosed with" Long Covid and appended to various appropriate groups set up by the NHS. And then I guess the budget ran out or the government wanted to brush the issue under a convenient carpet. Long Covid activity began to evaporate. We were on our own. A bit like those afflicted a few years earlier by ME[4]. Christmas 2020 - New Year 2021 This was when Boris (allegedly the Prime Minister) completely lost the plot. Caught between unpopularity and people dying in rapid succession, lockdowns happened with varying vigour from county to county. We lived in Oxfordshire and Kate and Andrew lived in neighbouring Berkshire (we all still do). On 21 December 2020 Berkshire was declared to be more naughty than Oxfordshire. Christmas presents for most normal people had already been procured by then. We were faced with the dilemma of having an even more miserable Christmas and came up with a mitigation plan (an inadequate one but better than nothing) in which we found a big enough lay-by on the county border to park at opposite ends and place gifts in piles in between ... still not sure it was legal but then a week later more counties were added to the naughty box. It was hard to catch up. Late Above (l-r, top to bottom): learning to breathe again in March '21; in June '21, I managed a 1.4 mile walk in South Cerney with the consolation of this picture of the undercarriage of a brick built Victorian bridge; (next three) an annual visit to the Cotswold Sculpture Park; and so it continued with social distancing at lunch in July '21! Full health was illusive: each time I felt I was recovering, symptoms reappeared with the end fitness point way below the previous one. March had me blowing into a bottle of water for significant periods every day - maybe that helped my breathing a little, it was recommended by the JR. Walking outings had companions storming ahead while I trailed behind. Photography became a crutch; an excuse to toddle along at the rear. Late 2021 - early 2022 Covid restrictions on flying in and out of the UK at the end of 2021 influenced us to extend a trip to Hermanus in South Africa to 5 months. Walking around that seaside resort was a great attraction hampered only by having to walk on my own most of the time; I was unable to keep up with others. In the recent past I would have been striding along with the best of them. On our return my cycling activities dwindled from pre-Covid 40-50 mile outings on my beloved 7 Kg Bianchi to something more manageable. These shorter rides had continued until the first onslaught of Covid. After that, in between episodes, I managed to pedal with increasing difficulty until I had no chance of keeping up with even the slowest group[5]. In frustration towards the end of 2022, I bought a state-of-the-art Trek Verve +4 eBike weighing in at 24 Kg. Above (l-r, top-bottom): my swan-song as chair of Farcycles saw a bunch of us take part in the Cape Town Cycle Tour in March of 2018; my first Bianchi was "totalled" when I was forced into a ditch by a delivery van on a quiet country road between Fairford and Southrop, smashing the head tube; with some help from insurance and a bit from my own pocket I acquired this beauty seen here on the Ridgeway after a sprightly sprint up into the Berkshire Downs; in late 2022 I purchased this Trek e-Bike. Yes, the Trek could get me up hills again. Often even faster than most other cyclists. But it felt somehow like cheating; less of an achievement. It was also heavy to move around and clunky to mount and dismount. I tried getting back on the Bianchi and it was lovely downhill and on the flat but I had get off and push, even on relatively insignificant hils. So I reduced my cycling to helping complete beginners or riders who'd been off for a considerable amount of time. I was managing OK until a minor Covid (?) incident caused another setback. At this point in mid-2024 I had been satisfying my cyclophilia by volunteering in the Farcycle shop but lifting bikes on and off stands became a major chore. Wheezing around Spain and Portugal in September 2024 Relaxing in Northern Spain was initially a tonic[6]. Mostly things were going splendidly until we got to Oviedo. Then the coughing started. I know this because I kept Shan awake most nights. I thought the lurgy would disappear but it accompanied us to Santiago de Compostela and then into Portugal. First to Valença, then to Viana do Castelo, Porto and Ferradosa on the Douro. It's hard to say whether Porto or Ferradosa were the worst. Maybe Shan has an opinion on that. Porto is a pretty steep place and walking around was literally breathtaking, especially getting to the "penthouse suite" of our accommodation. I'm not sure my dear wife slept more than a few hours all the time we were there with my constant coughing. For me the nadir occurred in the otherwise perfect refuge in Ferradosa[7] with its gorgeous scenery over the Douro and the vine-laden hills surrounding it. My coughing continued at night but otherwise, apart from being a tad breathless walking in the hillside vines, I was in heaven. Until I stood up from dinner in our host's atmospheric fine-dining area; my intent was to join Shan on the balcony to look out over the river in the moonlight. I had been chatting with our hostess, Isabel, and the next thing I knew was Isabel calling "Mark, Mark". I was about twenty feet away from the table (near the door to the balcony) and had no idea of how I had got there. I think my nose was bleeding from the fall. Isabel was leaning over me, most concerned. Shan was behind her having heard the commotion from the balcony and took me back to our room. That was the worst occurrence of its sort but several lesser incidents have occurred between then and now when I suddenly feel as if I am losing all context and have no idea where I am or what is happening. One such incident happened in Oxford's Ashmolean Museum where we were attending a special exhibition with friends, Joanna and Tim. I was a little tired and sat down on a bench. When I stood up I went into some sort of semi-conscious state in which I was rapidly becoming unaware of where I was or who I was and what was happening to me. Bizarrely I was aware that I was unaware, if that makes sense. Somehow, through sheer will-power, I managed to pull myself out of this abyss and continue to function "normally". I felt exhausted. Forty-five miles of cycling become 5 (10 with long rests along the way) miles of walking Having been OK to cycle 40-50 miles at the beginning of 2020, I find myself out walking around the town 3-4 days a week. I try to do 5 miles and I manage it with a little discomfort. The incentive for doing this is that I am most fortunate to have a group of friends (officially known as the Reprobate Retirees) who tolerate me staggering along with them on regular walks. These walks tend to be 10-12 miles in distance and occur every six weeks or so. I am able to sort of keep up thanks to a couple of obligatory pub stops along the way, which allow my legs to recover sufficiently to get to the next boozer. I truly love these outings although I still occasionally look wistfully at a lightweight bicycle and imagine skimming along the scenic roads that surround Faringdon, our town in Oxfordshire.  Above: Few pics of the RRs. Conclusion This has been a difficult episode to write. Partly because I have no idea whatsoever if my personal degeneration has been brought about Long Covid occurring and then reoccurring over a period of nearly 5 years. Or has it been part of a natural aging process that occurs to all people at some time or another? I don't have the answers and these subjects are not exactly designed for cordial conversations between friends. Eyes glaze over very quickly; mine do, too, if I am on the receiving end of others people's health monologues. There was a time when easier access to GPs might have mitigated this dilemma. And perhaps I should consider myself lucky that I didn't die of prostate cancer 14 years ago. Shan insisted that I see Dr Ben Riley[8], then a GP at our local White Horse Medical Practice. She really rated him as a doctor and accompanied me to my first consultation. "He's just not right," Shan insisted. Shan and Dr Riley get 20/10 for perseverance - the tumour and its effects were not picked up for a while but Dr Ben Riley refused to give up on me and after some of his own research, referred me to a local urologist. I finally ended up with an internationally renowned urologist Professor Roger Kirby[9] who informed me that the tumour had been very close to breaching my prostate at the time he removed it. "I saved your life," said Prof Kirby when I thanked him at a fundraising event a while after my operation. So, I am fortunate to have had the last 14 years, and probably quite a few more, to gad about gathering new experiences. Mine's a glass of any Ribera del Duero on MW Tim Atkin's "First Growths" list on the latest RdD Special Report[10]. [Endnotes]:
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March 2025
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