Just Impediments

I'm going to tell you a story. Tell me if you've heard it before.

It's a story about the new 'c' word. No, not cancer, that's a forgotten word. Not climate change either, they must have solved that. It was the 'c' word formerly known as coronavirus, but that sounded too hopeful; a virus could meet an anti-virus across a crowded room and that would be that. Now they call it Covid-19. Much more impersonal, more frightening somehow. The word sounds manufactured, conjured up in some politician's lab; a word to fight off some dastardly yellow peril.

Covid-19 sounds a more fearsome foe. There could be sequels. Covid-20, -21, this could run for years. And what about Covid-18 and all its predecessors? But that's another story.

You may not know it yet, but we are the villains of this story. The elderly who are foolish enough to be vulnerable. If it wasn't for us, the young could roam free, have fun, party on, fall in love and have sex (but not always in that order). We have become the enemy.

We were the villains too in that other, long-forgotten story. That was the one about the 'B' word, where (the story goes) all the elderly voted to leave to spite all those young remainers. That wasn't a true story, at least not in part, but truth never did get in the way of a good story. And while we have special political advisers, it never will. And why 'special'? Have they been selected from the ranks of unspecial advisers? Are they the chosen ones?

And here we are again, the villains in this new story. We stand in the way of progress, impediments to the liberty of the young and their pursuits of happiness. If the plot sounds familiar, it's basically 'Logan's Run', that film with Jenny Agutter where those over the age of 30 are expected to die. Only 70 is the new 30.

We were the Golden Age and that was our hubris. OK boomers flaunting our pensions at 60 and free bus passes, the young already had us in their sights. Now we're the Endangered Age, in danger of becoming extinct. If we were a wildlife species, we'd be the burying beetle or the black rhino. Not the Siberian tiger; people want to save the Siberian tiger.

We've been given black hats and told to stay indoors, out of people's way. They say we're being shielded and protected, but it sounds like shamed and segregated. It won't be long before we're carted off to couldn't-care homes, concentrated camps for the dazed and confused.

Unless that is, you have a different story to tell.

Simon Henderson

About the Author

Hello. I’m 62 and I’ve left work. I haven’t ‘retired’, because I’ve not yet withdrawn from life. You’ll find me on the South Coast of England, near Brighton. I co-wrote a short book on Harold Pinter when I was 20, but I’ve had nothing published since. I wrote each of my 7 nieces and 2 nephews a fairy story when they were born, but they’re too personal to see the light of day. My passport says that I’m an ‘author’, because that was my job title in my last place of work. I had the unenviable job of introducing Plain English to the Civil Service. Needless to say, I didn’t succeed.

‘Just Impediments’ came to me in a fevered state, more or less fully formed, after a sleepless night. I wrote it down as I remembered it, then spoilt it by adding and subtracting bits. Maths never was my strong point. I hope you like it!