Opinion: Robert McNeil - Seven deaths in the water remind us we are all numbers

And, in truth, we are all numbers in a sense. A number of us make up the population of a country, town or island. A number of us are alive. A number of us have died.

I am minded to witter thus after reading that, in just a few days, seven people had drowned during the heatwave. Seven! I was taken aback. They’d been frolicking or cooling off in rivers and the sea. The report was in a London paper, so it wasn’t clear if the deaths had occurred in England or its equivalent, Britain.

However, it did say that, all together, 1,700 people had suffered heatwave-related deaths in England last year. On checking, I found that 43 people a year die in Scottish waterways. Incredible.

Around 60,000 people die every year in Scotland, and 500,000 in England. That’s 560,000 bereavements. Every year in Scotland, 29,000 people will be diagnosed with cancer, though thankfully in so many cases that’s no longer a death sentence.

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Everything to do with numbers seems bad. The other numbers-related story that had my jaw dropping this week involved the floods in Germany. At the time of writing, at least 170 were reported dead and many more missing.

What discombobulated me was the time it took the British press to comprehend the disaster. It started off as little more than a news-in-brief. Germany: that’s just across the road; a country not too dissimilar to ours.

In the worst affected areas, 18.2 centimetres of rain fell during three days. In China, 20cm of rain fell in an hour on the city of Zhengzhou: the heaviest it had experienced in 1,000 years. An estimated 100,000 people had to flee their homes. Around 16 people across the country lost their lives.

In happier news, Prince Harry’s forthcoming memoir is reported in terms of a £14,500,000 deal, though it isn’t clear if that includes an allowance for stationery. In the same paper that day, £15,000,000 was reported stolen in a dating site fraud and £4,200,000 in a gem heist (by an “Ocean 8” gang). A cinema was fined £750,000 for safety failings, and somebody got £50,000 for wrongful dismissal.

But it wasn’t all money. There were 9,000 at the Celtic game (1-1 draw), and 4,700 due at Easter Road. Nearly 500,000 people had not received their first Covid-19 vaccination. On England’s honeyed south coast, 700 illegal migrants arrived.

Back on the water front, with temperatures reaching 28.2C, demand for water rose by 200,000 litres a day in Scotland. It takes 5,000 litres to fill some paddling pools.

To cap it all, today is day 24 of month seven in 2021. The Herald has been publishing interesting columns for 239 years.

As for you, dear reader, your pin, bank account and national insurance numbers rule your life. Other numbers to remember include 111 or is it 192? 999? Is that still a thing? They’ve messed the numbers about so much you’d probably die before getting through to potential assistance.

But you’re not going to die. Not you. Not this year. I forbid it. You’ll be counted among the living, another statistic but with a wayward mind, a penchant for whims and a peculiar odour about your person.

Parking life

AMONG a whole raft of habits and activities newly declared infra dig by millennials and Gen Z, my own score was mixed (though I suspect saying infra dig loses me a point).

I don’t use cash, or stick a tissue up my sleeve (always hated that), eat or drink dairy, watch actual TV (except the fitba’) or use my landline. And I’m not still on Facebook (came off it 12 years ago).

On the other hand, I do write lists with pen and paper, use a camera, still have a DVD collection, buy underwear from Markies, become obsessed with bin day (the acme of my social life), worry about finding a parking space, have no idea who’s on Love Island (or even what it is), struggle with my TV remote, and switch my music off when parking the car.

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It was this last one that really obtained my goat. Even older people commenting online didn’t know why people would do that. They asked: “How does it help you park?” It isn’t necessarily about that, you self-obsessed poltroons (doubtless another point lost for using such a word). It’s out of consideration for other people, particularly if it’s loud (as it will be if you’ve been driving on 60mph roads) or you have the window down.

Nothing worse than those folk who arrive at the car park in a hail of doomph-doomph-doomph music as if announcing how cool they are. I could impress fellow shoppers by keeping The Andrews Sisters on really loudly while I park. But I choose not to.

Freedom is disgraceful

THE nation witnessed shocking scenes this week after another nation had its “Freedom Day”. In particular, we were shown images of crowds dancing in nightclubs with a complete sense of abandon.

Many of you look to me for guidance on how to approach life, and one thing I can advise you on is this: try to avoid any situation in which people are throwing their arms in the air. Discotheques, football stadia, Nazi rallies: all are breeding grounds for immorality and a mob mentality that can quickly turn nasty.

In nightclubs, and even on the public thoroughfares, scantily-clad persons have been raising their arms to the skies. Worse still, they look as if they are enjoying themselves. It’s disgraceful.

It is understandable that people with poor self-control might want to let themselves go a bit after lockdown, perhaps buying a bag of chips or paying a visit to the public library. But to be writhing about in Dionysian excess is taking things too far. Thank goodness that, at the time of writing at least, freedom has been delayed in Scotland. It only ever leads to trouble.

Toast is toast

HERE’S one place you want to avoid like the plague, particularly because you risk getting the plague there: hospital.

My apologies to anyone entering therein, but we’ve all been. Indeed, by a certain age, you’re forever being bunged thither to have probes shoved up your orifices. It’s disgraceful. I don’t know why they don’t just instal CCTV in our guts and be done with it.

While at hospital, you can eat junk food in the cafeteria or buy health-giving crisps in the shops. But how awful to have to stay there and eat the food. Only this week, a Herald reader described the mince and tatties as “inedible”.

Meanwhile, a hospital in Wales has banned toast on health and safety grounds. Toast: the ultimate warm and cosy comfort food. One patient asked: “Has someone burnt their finger on a toaster or cut their lip on a particularly sharp piece of bread?” Turns out it’s because toast sets off another curse of the age: smoke alarms.

They can put a man on the Moon, and a Branson into space, but they can’t make toast. Welcome to the 21st century.

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