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 Saturday, 14 March 2020

Soul and Motown Band Defy Plague

It might well have been the newspaper headline this morning; for the Big Mac Band gave another great performance last night, this time at the Earl Haig Club, Whitchurch, Cardiff.

Yesterday Val and I were still undecided whether to go, because we didn’t know what to expect: would we be tested for the Corona before being allowed in? Would we have to be disinfected first, and if so then what form would it take? In public swimming pools there’s a foot bath of chlorine that you have to wade through, but in my head I imagined a vat of some kind that we’d be dunked into like biscuits. And I was worried about all the hotfix crystals falling off. How odd that even the word “Corona” makes me feel sick, and yet as children we were always excited when we knew that the pop lorry was on its way. I shudder when I think how much of the stuff I drank, but we were not to know, of course, that it would mutate into a deadly virus.

Anyway, we did decide to go, but as it turned out the only precaution taken when we got there was that we were fitted with a wrist strap, presumably some kind of Corona detector that would sound the alarm if we became infected. How embarrassing would that be, I thought, but I simply could not get the bloody thing back off. The only other indication of the global pandemic, or panicdemic, was the presence by the door of two burly women wearing gloves and face masks. They must be the rapid response team, I said to myself, and I pitied them in all that heat, for the place was filling up by now; and then the band came on.

What a relief that was, for we were not at all sure that any of them could have survived, given how exposed they were to the Corona, but there they were, in all their glory; and then Mike announced that if the world was coming to an end we might as well go out with a bang. To hell with it, I said to Val. That’s right, she replied, we’ll not let a mutant soft drink spoil our enjoyment. And so we danced the night away and forgot all about the greatest threat that the Big Mac Band, and the rest of us, have ever faced. What also made it a memorable night was that on the way out we made friends by the exit door with Gareth and Tony from Barry, and we hope to see them again if the Corona doesn’t get us first.

Speaking of which, and now that Val and I are back in our self-isolation unit, to which we’ve invited all the neighbours so that we can find out their names while there’s still time, we are both wondering what on earth the prohibition on face touching and hand shaking is all about. When we emerged from the unit yesterday, having cleared a path to the door through all the toilet rolls and tins of dog food, though we don’t have a dog, we found an official letter dropped through the letter box. It had a heading in large capital letters beneath a skull and crossbones logo: WATCH OUT, THE CORONA’S ABOUT, it said, and underneath was a list of forbidden actions. Do not shake hands, we read, even with yourself, and do not, under any circumstance—this part was underlined in red ink—touch your own face. This was a double blow, for Val and I are fond of shaking hands with each other, and not being able to do it has been very difficult for both of us. As for the touching of the face, it’s not something I needed to do, or not until it became forbidden, and now I do it all the time. Also on the list was a ban on face kissing, which puzzled me a bit. If not touching your face, then rationally this extends to kissing it. It’s just that it has never occurred to me to kiss my own face, and today I spent several hours making the attempt and not even being able to get farther up than my elbow.

Still, Val and I had a really good time last night, as did everyone else, and for several hours we immersed ourselves in the music and the dance, glad to be able to forget that the ship was going down, even as the band played on. It was not, I am glad to say, “Nearer my God to Thee” of Titanic fame, but “ Mustang Sally” and all the other great favourites. Then we came home and sealed the doors and windows against the Corona, oblivious of its very likely already lurking inside. The only explanation for this present pretty pass is that the virus has infected our brains and addled them, and to such a degree that all that makes any sense any longer is the Big Mac Band.

26Valerie Rogers, Joanne Rogers and 24 others

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• Mike McNamara

  

  Cheers both and thanks for the book! x

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  • Valerie Rogers

    You're welcome and thanks for a brilliant night as always Val xxx

    

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