Thursday, March 26, 2020

Trying to cope with deadly dribble

TRYING TO COMPREHEND how a dribble’s weight of virus can terrify not just the populations of the mighty landmasses, the Americas, China and India, but all of
the world, really challenges imagination.
As a child, who didn’t suffer his (or her) first bout of flu and who hasn’t been sent to bed by it scores of times?
Throughout most of our lives, we’ve learned to accept its intrusion as not much more aggravating than parking tickets and lottery investments that fail, and temper tantrums of loved ones.

A bad name

Yet give a flu bug a bad name - like coronavirus, and covid-19 - and term the virus itself as ‘severe acute respiratory syndrome coronavirus 2 - (SARS-CoV-2) – and suddenly it’s much more of a challenge to all of us, it seems, than Gorbachev, Hitler, Stalin, Mussolini, Mao Zedong, all wrapped up into one.
How can that be? Some of the question is answered …
Continues on the blogs for my ocean adventuring book, Sailing to Purgatory, at

Monday, March 23, 2020

A top medic's advice about guess what ...

By Dr Clive Warrilow

Imagine you are given a box of Smarties. In the box, three of the 100 Smarties are poisonous and could kill you.
You would keep the box closed. You wouldn’t eat the Smarties. The Coronavirus is like that box of Smarties. We must avoid opening the box.
How do we do that? By practicing social distancing.
Not just me and you. But everyone.
Avoid human contact wherever and whenever possible. Work from home.

Essentials only

Go out only for essentials. If you are over 70, don’t go out at all.
Kids that are home from school, should NOT be visiting friends.
Wash your hands frequently. Keep three feet from other people.
Actively look for breaks in your protective bubble. Seal them.
Your choices today may save your life, a family member, a friend, a friend’s relative. …
Continues on the blogs for my ocean adventuring book, Sailing to Purgatory, at

Thursday, March 19, 2020

A rather different view of a Virgin

WHINGEING POMMY BASTARDS they used to call all imports into kiwiland, at least they did back when my family migrated there not long after the war.
As an eager young new kiwi, I tried very hard never to sound like a whingeing pom.
The phrase that encouraged the accusation came when new English residents referred to the very different (and much better) way that things were done at home.

Happy homecoming

In spite of my family’s sacrifices to pay for migration back then, I returned as a young adult to the home of whingeing poms and personally found very little cause to whinge.
In fact, as I stepped from the train in London, I felt an overwhelming feeling of returning home.
Luckily, I was snatched up by journalism here and soon began working my way towards Fleet Street.

Worst of Brit capitalism

However, I am swept back into that alleged state of mind of whingeing - depression, perhaps, or mood certainly - when I see the worst of Brit capitalism in action ...
Continues on the blogs for my ocean adventuring book, Sailing to Purgatory, at