And there was fear and dread amongst all the people of the land that the shops would run out of stock of essential items.

There would be a terrible shortage of things such as toilet paper and pasta, and tinned tomatoes and rich tea biscuits.

And there was panic buying of bread and soft white baps, paracetamol and rubber gloves.

There were queues at all the supermarkets in the land and the managers of the supermarkets went amongst the people and tried to calm their fears.

But the people thought that the managers were just telling lies and the queues became longer and longer.

And very soon the shops and supermarkets had sold out of toilet paper and the people began to buy rolls of kitchen paper and boxes of paper handkerchiefs and very soon the shelves were once again empty.

And the panic grew stronger, and the people who normally shopped at one supermarket began to drive to the shops that they did not normally use, and the people who would prefer to frequent the second group would change their allegiance to the first location.

And then there were long queues at the petrol stations because the people were using more petrol on longer journeys to search the little country shops for their stocks of the rare items.

But the problem was exponential because the more items that people bought, the bigger panic they caused and so other folk were worried in case there would be nothing left for them.

They bought extra bread to squeeze into the freezer.

But the one mystery that puzzled the ordinary shopper and would exercise the brains of eminent psychologists for years to come, was why did so many ordinary citizens find it necessary to stock-pile so many toilet rolls...

The British Isles or the UK, whichever is politically correct in the context of the devastating virus that is terrorising the world, is facing an impossible situation.

At the time of writing this column, the news reports tell us that in the UK, in the region of one thousand souls each day are being killed by something that you cannot see, taste, smell or touch.

There is no cure or prevention. It can attack someone who lives in a shop doorway or someone who lives in a palace.

It can kill you or spare you. There are no rules.

I can make jokes about toilet rolls or rich tea biscuits, but it will always have the last word.

It can strike someone who live in a village in Italy or someone who lives in New York.

It can kill a pope or a president and they won’t see it coming.

The terrorist attacks on the World Trade Centre in 2001 were horrific and terrible. The scenes of thousand upon thousand of plain coffins being buried in mass graves in that self same city in 2020 chills your blood.

The human race never fails in it’s ability to amaze.

When I read the paper or watch the news they all tell the stories of the selfless dedication of doctors and clinicians, and the associated health workers who risk their own lives simply by reporting for work.

There are others who work tirelessly in refugee camps all over the world to help the millions of hopeless innocents who have lost their countries and their dignity.

There are some who rape and rob the natural world of it’s means to survive what is done to it in the name of progress and, closer to home, there are many homeless individuals who struggle to cross the English Channel to make a life for their families in our world.

What chance do any of us stand?

Next week, if we’re spared, we’ll get back to normal.

No, I don’t mean the world. It’s too late for that to change.

I mean us, the ordinary folk.

Adios Amigos.

Some years ago Pullyman - aka Michael Cowin - was diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease, a condition that affects people in different ways. Michael discovered writing and Island Life is featuring some of his musings. Sometimes topical, sometimes nostalgic, read about life as seen through the eyes of Pullyman