A long day in the driver’s seat fuelled by coffee, and nature needed to take its course. A swift stop off at Membury Services westbound, to take on more caffeine and lighten the load. One out, one in if you will. I’m standing up, whistling Dixie and reading the adverts over the urinals for funeral planning, and cures for erectile dysfunction (insert joke about stiffs), when I realise I’m surrounded.
They’re all there; a break on a return coach trip from London. The anti vaccine and Covid denial lobby. The porky bloke with acne who looks like he spends most of his time in the dark playing World of War, proudly wearing a yellow Star of St. David upon which is written “Genicide” followed by some scrawl that looks as if someone has dipped a badly dyslexic spider in ink and let it wander around for a bit. Blokes who are wearing combats and T-shirts emblazoned “Covid Con! We all have an immune system”. The corpulent middle aged man who looks like he’s moulded out of porridge; his ironed white T-shirt with the logo “Unvaccinated Lives Matter”. Last but not least, the punks! Imagine if scientists grew something in a Petri dish from a decades old specimen of John Lydon’s sputum, and there you have them.
I felt like I was watching a documentary explaining the Dunning-Kruger Curve in pictures.
We’ve all seen these Covidiots on social media, but I think I’ve just met and shared a piss with the Beta Variant. I need a beer and a Chlorhexidine shower stat!
walkabouts 