My illness in September of 2019 was quite the life changer. The after effects of the virus have left me on lifelong medication. It stopped me from smoking. And to be honest, it left me feeling older. I had blood taken three times in hospital and at the GPs to try and identify the culprit, but the tests came up blank. It was not one of the usual suspects, but that’s as much as could be said.

My symptoms matched with Covid. My lungs were wrecked. And by wrecked, I mean it was likely I had pneumonia. I had an elevated resting heart rate for six months. But whilst the commonalities between my illness and Covid were obvious, the same applies to quite a few viruses.

It’s also true to say that I’ve repeatedly shared poorly ventilated office space with both symptomatic and asymptomatic persons infected with Covid, and been the only one not to catch it. But I’ve always dismissed the idea that I had Covid in 2019.

If it were spreading in the UK in 2019, where were all the infected people, hospitalizations and deaths? There have been plenty of theories about the early spread of Covid from August 2019 onwards, but most of them have seemed either a little fishy or unable to account for the lack of victims. This week, I read an article which offered a reasonable suggestion as to why that might be.

It is possible that the original/early variants of Covid may not have been terribly transmissible. Nasty, and fatal for some. But not so transmissible. It would be left to later variants at the end of 2019 to deliver the society crushing transmissibility that has caused so much damage. That seems a reasonable suggestion to me. And if true, maybe I did have Covid. But we’ll never really know…



September is over and it has taken summer with it. The temperatures remained in the low 20s – T-shirt weather – up until yesterday, when they suddenly plummeted by up to ten degrees. I’ve had to wear a jacket for the last two days when venturing outside. We put the heating on for an hour or so yesterday evening. An autumnal gloom has descended on us. The wind is blowing leaves from trees. And as I write this from my ticket office, a torrential, deafening downpour is beating against the wooden canopy covering the nearest platform to me.

It’s been a good month. We escaped abroad, to Malta, for a short break. Life has largely returned to normal following the lifting of restrictions. I have a new iPhone. The initial gloom that accompanies the death of summer will clear. Autumn is the most colorful month and leads directly into the festive season. All will be well. Probably. Three more months and my 365 photography album will be complete.

photography, Technology

iPhone 13 Pro

The entire global supply chain is falling to pieces. Which is something of a big deal. But the most important stuff is still getting through, thank goodness. Last Friday, the delivery guy rocked up to my doorstep and dropped off my shiny new iPhone 13 Pro. I started the transfer process and shiny new iPhone sucked all the data and details out of ten month old iPhone 12 in just a few minutes and I was good to go.

The new phone is an awful lot like the old phone. But slightly heavier, with a bigger battery. And a much better camera, with three lenses instead of just the two. That’s the sole reason I’ve upgraded – the camera. The photo above was the first shot I took with it. The macro capabilities are pretty impressive. The zoom, too.

Had I bought the Pro model last year, and not the standard unit, I’d not be upgrading this year. I will likely keep this phone for three years. I think I am now on a three year cycle for Apple products. One year I’ll upgrade the phone. The next, the watch. The third, the iPad. And repeat. That’s the plan, anyway.