Laura Craik on back ache, Andy Burnham and the unexpected victim of Covid

Everybody hurts, sometimes,’ sang REM in 1992. 

Twenty-eight years later, Michael Stipe should re-record his lyrics. Everybody hurts, constantly: not just in the metaphysical sense, but in their bones. If you didn’t emerge from lockdown with a sore back, a cricked neck, a gammy leg, an aching hip, a stiff shoulder or a sudden inability to sleep on your left side without experiencing a stabbing pain, then truly, you are one of God’s chosen children.  

My own lockdown injury is fairly undramatic. Whenever my dog sees a squirrel, a cat, a husky, a mastiff or a specific old lady toting a trolley that I can only presume holds 10lb of raw fillet steak, she pulls violently on the lead. After a particularly brutal lunge in April, my left shoulder started hurting. By June, I could barely raise my arm. But I didn’t go to the doctor. I mean, I wasn’t dying, and the NHS had enough on its plate. Besides, my surgery was closed, a casualty of Covid. By September, my shoulder was waking me up at night. I called my GP. He referred me to a physiotherapist. ‘Can you do this? Can you do that?’ she asked me over the phone some three weeks later. ‘It sounds like a rotator cuff injury,’ she concluded, and sent me a link to a series of exercise videos. ‘That’s exactly what I deduced after googling,’ I told her, feeling like Hippocrates.  

A few days later, I received a letter from the NHS confirming that it had been agreed that I could begin to ‘self-manage’ my condition, and had therefore been ‘discharged into my own care’. How very post-Covid. This ‘survival of the fittest’ mentality is concerning. What of the elderly, the anxious, the depressed and anyone else who needs a helping hand, or — heaven forfend — a hands-on session with a physio? I will lie down in the street to protest against the NHS being privatised, but I’ll never get the chance because it’s happening by stealth via a litany of cutbacks and surreptitious closures. To anyone suffering in silence: see your doctor. If you don’t make time for your wellness, you will be forced to make time for your illness. 

Unforseen Covid Side Effect #3945: a diamond glut. At all stages of the supply chain, there is a surfeit, which isn’t ideal given their premium price is predicated on their rarity. All the more inconvenient for the gemstone trade is that one of the biggest trends this season is for old mine cut diamonds. These antique stones lack the symmetry of more modern gems, but have added romance and history, though their main appeal is their sustainability. Those in the market for a ring, or even just a daydream, could do worse than head to Bentley & Skinner on Piccadilly. Its website is also a wormhole of precious jewels, and a lovely way to while away a rainy afternoon at home. 

Suddenly, everyone is in love with Andy Burnham, Manchester’s Clark Kent. I don’t know which is more frightening: the backlash from fellow Labour MPs or the collective lust of a zillion women strung out and frustrated from being incarcerated with their partners for too long. One of the most amusing things about these lovestruck, lascivious humans is their propensity to brag about who saw him first, as though posting a 2009 clip of Burnham addressing crowds at Anfield to mark the 20th anniversary of the Hillsborough disaster is somehow going to secure you a date. Fam. He’s happily married. To his college sweetheart, obvs. Would you expect anything less?