Eye-watering instructions

Eye-watering instructions

Generally, I belong to the ‘if all else fails, read the instructions’ camp. I’m sufficiently confident of the controls of a car, say, or (of course) a camera to be able to understand the basics – certainly well enough to get the show on the road, or take a few snaps.

And when I’m in the darkroom, I am conscientious with washing my hands between processes, because I don’t want my negatives or prints to deteriorate in the next fifty years. But today, I woke up early and worried, and read the instructions yet again. I’d had an invitation to take part in an Imperial College study of the prevalence and spread of Covid-19, and there’s a courier coming to collect the sample later today.

So up early to try to stick a swab in my mouth and up my nose – it’s like a more intrusive version of the DNA swabbing you see in police TV series. But you’re supposed to swab each tonsil for several seconds, without touching anything else. Well, if you can manage that, you’re a better man than I am, Gunga Din. Even with the aid of a torch, I can’t manage to see my own tonsils in a mirror. Mrs D helped, but I’m not sure we succeeded.

‘You may feel like gagging’ the instructions said (I’m pretty sure the little video said that gagging is a good sign, as it indicates that you’re swabbing the right area). I did gag, three times, before we gave up, on the grounds that being sick on the swab probably wasn’t a good idea.

Anyway, I’ve tried to do my bit for science, and I’ve established something that I’m as bad at as I am at photographing robins. My sincere admiration to anyone who has successfully self-administered the test, and best wishes to everyone for getting their vaccine ASAP.