So people are doing some four star worrying about Ebola (you don’t even want to think about what they’d be like if the situation managed to get all the way up to five star, defcon one, proper crisis level). Clearly the media are having a bit of fun because it means that they’ve finally got something else to talk about beyond rising house prices, the broken state of this country and what reality show stars are up to (it’s been a while since I’ve read a paper. I could be getting the state of affairs in this country confused with how they’re reporting matters on the other side of the pond. I’m pretty sure that this is an indication that I watch too much American television. It’s terribly sad but I’m far too old to change my ways now).
But there’s an upside to the threat of infection. Don’t sit there looking at me with that expression of incredulity slapped across your relatively gormless face, it makes you look awfully common. If you’ve encountered even the merest whisper of a threat of contagion then you get to go into quarantine. I might be unemployed and therefore have absolutely nothing to do all day. However, I can only imagine quite how excited I’d be about not having to go into work because I might be going down with a serious case of plague.
You get to hole yourself away from the big bad world with books and cups of tea and marginal access to the internet so you can post status updates to reassure the world that you’re definitely probably not a stone’s throw away from death. You’re finally allowed to kick back and take a break from the horrifying onslaught of humanity that happens to be the regular nature of modern life (yes, I know it’s startlingly clear at this point that I don’t really know how quarantines work either. Sue me. Or don’t. Please).