Isolation XV:We Could Send Letters.

"Just close your eyes again until these things get better. You're never far away but we could send letters" - We Could Send Letters, Aztec Camera.

As the UK death toll for Covid-19 passes 20,000 and the global death toll passes 200,000 music, works of art, and literature begin to take on new meanings and reveal themselves in ways their creators never intended. Never could have imagined. We Could Send Letters, the last song on side one of Aztec Camera's debut album High Land, Hard Rain in 1983, is a partially abstracted paean to lost love and absence shot through with romance, regret, and, ultimately, redemption.

I'd liked it as an emotional and confused teenager before packing it away for years and rediscovering it in the last decade when I realised it was one of the greatest songs ever written. I've listened to it at home, alone, deep into the night and I've listened to it, with beer and wine on the go, on visits to my friends Darren and Cheryl and it's never failed me yet. I've never listened to it during a pandemic and I've certainly never listened to it, as I did this morning, forty-five days into an isolation in which I've not felt so much as one human touch on my skin.

It still got me though and, in fact, it sounded more resonant than ever. Because that's what great art does. It mutates to fit your circumstances, it matures as we age, and it acts as a comfort blanket at times of trouble to remind us that throughout history people have always felt lonely, confused, and fearful but that they've also always felt resilient, hopeful, and compassionate - and that redemption is always available for those that seek it.

Sadly, some don't. Of those 200,000 global Covid-19 deaths, over 56,000 thousand of them have taken place in the USA. Has Trump reacted with penitence, with clarity, and with a clear roadmap of what his administration intend to do to try to counter the spread? Has he fuck. He has, as ever, reacted with lies, scapegoating, blame shifting, and a suggestion that people in America may like to ingest disinfectant to rid themselves of coronavirus.

Donald Trump, the president of the world's most powerful nation, is calling for the mass suicide of the 300,000,000+ people he is responsible for looking after. A cursory look at Twitter the morning following a press briefing that was disastrous even by his calamitous standards saw Toilet Duck and Cillit Bang trending alongside Jim Jones, the American faith healer turned cult leader who, in 1978 in Guyana, brainwashed over 900 people (including 300 children) to drink Kool-Aid laced with cyanide resulting in their own deaths.

It gave the world the phrase 'Drinking the Kool-Aid' and, now, it's Trump's supporters who are the brainwashed ones carrying out actions that are dangerous, potentially deadly, not just to them but to everybody in their country and everyone in the world. As protestors arrived in New York City (the world's most affected city in the whole pandemic) to demand their right to attend proms and have their hair cut and gather in large numbers despite the certainty it would kill some of them and their families, cans rained out of windows of nearby flats down on them.

Throwing cans and bottles from great heights on to people could, obviously, potentially kill them but I can't say I wouldn't do the same and these people are protesting for their right to die in great pain anyway. At least a can smashed into their cranium would kill them quickly and prevent them from spreading any more lethal germs on to people more deserving of the gift of life.

As Dettol announced that people, under no circumstances whatsoever, should drink or ingest disinfectant, another topic that began trending on Twitter was '25th amendment'. Heated online debate raged about how it could be possible to remove Trump from office for being mentally unstable. Which he is. Lethally so. But he was before he got elected and he has been all throughout his tenure. I really hope it happens (and I also hope he is sent to prison for the rest of his life such is the danger of his being allowed liberty) but I don't think it will.

If it was going to it would have done by now. If 56,000 deaths aren't enough do you really think 100,000 deaths, half a million deaths, or even more will be enough to see him impeached? The world's best hope is he tries out one of his own crank cures and poisons himself but, of course, he doesn't want to die himself. He doesn't even want others to die. He's just completely indifferent to human suffering and even human life and all he cares about are his ratings, his popularity, and being re-elected later this year. Which he probably will be.

Those around him need to do much much more to stop him. Leading physician Deborah Birx can't just roll her eyes and look incredulous when he spouts complete and utter fucking bullshit out to the entire planet. She should stand up and say something or the increased death toll is on her too. The same for the rest of the cronies and yes men who surround the moron-in-chief. It's up to them to not let him lie, the day after, that the disinfectant stuff was a joke (as if it was time for gags) and to show deep fake videos of his presidential rival Joe Biden.

If just one of these people stood up at a press conference and called the lying piece of shit a lying piece of shit to his face we'd have some hope but bullies always surround themselves with cowards and Trump is the world's biggest bully. A thin skinned mess of insecurities who probably wouldn't rule out starting a nuclear war if it looked like he was going to be impeached or imprisoned. Trump, like Jim Jones, would be more than happy to take as many down with him when/if he goes.

Here, Number Ten (with Boris Johnson's return to 'work' apparently a boost to the country's morale) showed a complete lack of backbone by not refuting Trump's dangerous lies more robustly. Instead it was announced they wouldn't be looking into recommendations that UK citizens drink bleach. Well, that's good to know. One of Johnson's first acts following his recuperation was to ring Trump. That doesn't sound great but perhaps he just wanted to speak to one of the few people in the world that made him appear a moral and intellectual heavyweight.

He could, of course, have found others in his own cabinet. The likes of Priti Patel and Michael Gove where picked because, not despite, of their lack of moral fibre and attention to detail and the meeting of the SAGE team that advise the British government on coronavirus has, it's been revealed, been attended by Dominic Cummings who is, essentially, a spin doctor - and a bloody nasty one too. Suggesting that these meetings are as much about managing the image of the government and deciding who to throw under the bus (possibly Matt Hancock, more likely Chris Whitty) than trying to stop even more British people dying.

In the UK, instead of, like Trump, making up your own insane and lethal science as you go along we're merely being told at teatime briefings (brilliantly described by Marina Hyde as "magnetic fridge poetry rearranged each day") that we're being led by the science. Something many scientists both now refute as untrue and also fear because it suggests this means they're being lined up to be used as human shields to deflect criticism for the very real, and very deadly failings of the government and the PM, Johnson, himself.

A government that rode into power by lying, shifting blame, and victim blaming can hardly be expected to change its way in a crisis. You can hope it may do, as I did at the start of all this, but that hope was forlorn and those that voted them in must now ask themselves how much blame they should carry for the awful situation we find ourselves in. Johnson's tried to reframe his catastrophic handling of the crisis by speaking of Britain's "apparent success" in dealing with it when announcing likely lockdown extensions. If the fifth, and likely to rise, highest death toll in the world is a success I'm glad we didn't get to see what failure looks like.

It was always clear, from 2016 onwards when Americans and Brits insanely voted for Brexit and Trump, that we were heading for disaster. Only a few epidemiologists foresaw the nature of it but with Trump and a Brexit enabled Johnson in power we were left with power maddened fanatics at the wheel. Workshy power maddened fanatics. Workshy power maddened fanatics who are completely indifferent to human suffering.

This experiment of government by racist clowns is not going well and it's not going to get any better. Post Malone's online Nirvana tribute gig raised over $7,000,000 for the WHO just as Trump pulled funding and many of us have come to the conclusion that punks, rappers, and pop stars are doing far more to try and help people in this crisis than the likes of Trump, Johnson, and Bolsonaro. The fact that it doesn't even surprise us shows what a dreadful state we've got ourselves with this charlatan class of world leaders.

It feels to me like politics is lies and art, music, friendship, and family is truth. But politics doesn't have to be lies. We can remould it following this disaster and by asking important questions (why are BAME Covid-19 death tolls higher (as they seem to be)? Why are, on the whole, female leaders doing better in this crisis? Why do we pay key workers so abysmally? Why do we cheer the NHS from our gardens and balconies every Thursday night while continually voting in parties that seek to destroy the same institution) we may slowly work our way to answers that will improve society, our country, and our planet for the better.

If we don't, we'll be hit even harder by the next (and there will be one) crisis. One positive thing we can take from this is a sense of perspective and almost everyone I've spoken to agrees on that. At least now. The trick is to continue to think that as the world, very gradually, returns to either its usual unfair state or to a fairer, more just, more caring, place. Make no mistake those that have urged Brexit would be a success, that Trump would be a great leader, and that nobody would die from coronavirus will again be seeking to make you hate and other the poor, the disenfranchised, and those that simply look different to you. It's always been their way. It's served them well so why should they change?

Over the last few days I've chatted, daily, to Mum and Dad. I've had lovely phone calls with Shep and Vicki and I've had video calls with Daina (in Chicago, confirming as I knew that many Americans hate Trump), Sanda (who mentioned that in Croatia, where she grew up, the death toll is only 55), and Michelle. I did another fun Kahoot quiz. I had a video call with my parents, my cousin, my auntie Linda and (very briefly - he wanted to go for a run) my nephew Daniel, and I received, through the post, a lovely lovely postcard from Valia which reminded me of our trip to the RA to see the Gormley exhibition last year and touched my heart deeply. It's on my mantelpiece now alongside photos of me with Evie and a photo of my brother Steven.

I went for short walks around Peckham Rye Park, Dulwich Park, and Brenchley Gardens and, on Saturday, I felt a bit fed up as, if it wasn't for all this, I'd have been leading a London by Foot walk round Thamesmead, Woolwich, and Abbey Wood. I also got a sore wrist. Not what a single man wants during a lengthy lockdown period. But it wasn't 'wanker's cramp' as some of you wags out there would no doubt suggest. It was my left wrist. The right one's still good to go. It was quite sore though. Opening a bottle of vinegar, turning a tap on, or even typing these blogs became a little painful.

Other than that, and a cough, and a headache, I feel mostly okay and, of course, I realise there are thousands, millions, that have it much much worse. That's something I remember every time I start to feel a bit sorry for myself. At times I'm completely fine alone (I've written before how, over the years, I've got used to and adapted to it) but at other times I miss people almost exquisitely and the thing that hurts me the most, selfishly when I consider the death and the loneliness of so many, is that I may not be able to hold my loved ones physically close to me for weeks, months, or even years. There's even a real concern I might never be able to do so ever again. I have to hope with all my heart that that is not the case. In the meantime, I'll just close my eyes until things get better. We can send letters.