You know that bit on a roller coaster? The part of the ride when you have climbed at over 45 degrees up a slope for what seems like an eternity. The rack holding the cars is creaking alarmingly.

Your adrenaline is flowing and you are not really sure why you spent all those minutes standing in a queue inching your way painfully forwards until the point when you could work out how many revolutions remained until you were going to get to take your seat. Would you get the front seat. Or the back. Or be lost in the middle.

The only view you have is of the sky and your hands, clenched white on the safety bar.

There is a pause as you reach the summit. It feels long and pregnant with anticipation.

And then the plummet starts and your stomach is momentarily in free fall. You put all your faith in this mechanism to see you safely round. Back to where you began. But with a feeling of exhilaration.

I never liked that part of roller coasters.

And that is what every day feels like at the moment. Whilst we wait for the next wave to crash over us.

It’s just that at the end there won’t be exhilaration. Just death and pain and possibly more privations.

And I have no faith in the mechanism.

At all.

Deep breath everyone.