Classic Steve Walsh. What’s he like?!

Yes, I know it’s not his fault. Yes, I know I should be looking at the bigger picture. Yes, I realise terms like ‘super spreader’ are crap and flamed by a ravenous, misguided media. But don’t panic, I’m just being a silly billy.

 

Bloody Steve Walsh. He must be delighted to have his face splashed all over the shop. He has been fingered as the phantom ‘super spreader’; a mere human being, but able to spread deadly shit far and wide without even making an effort. And as if bloody Steve bloody Walsh wasn’t already in the bad books it turns out that he feels just fine now – no more symptoms, both tip and top in every way (aside from being in quarantine). Jolly good for him. It certainly looks like he’s had his virus and eaten it.

 
Steve Walsh, in case you’re still being dim, is the chap that managed to pick up coronavirus in Singapore, drop a load of it off in the French Alps and then cart the rest home to spread about like cheap margarine. Turns out he also sent a runner to Spain. I realise I was a bit glib about the impact of coronavirus last week but I don’t feel too bad yet, primarily because I haven’t got it and the world has yet to descend into complete chaos. Steve Walsh on the other hand must, or should feel very sorry for himself and for all kinds of petty reasons that I have dreamed up.

 
First of all, the photo of him being circulated (BBC News etc) shows a man clearly having a semi-good time at some kind of middle class festival: possibly something really pretentious and dreary like Proms In The Park or perhaps, on second glance, a large village fete. This, coupled with his very slender and gently self-satisfied smile gives him immediate entry into the ‘Guinness Book Of The Unwanted’. I bet he loves going to fetes with his adoring nuclear family, perhaps bringing along his pair of Labradors too. I bet they reciprocally love him being at the fete and when he wins tickets to ‘Proms In The Park’ on the raffle no-one is remotely resentful (for a number of reasons). Because, after all, it’s Steve Walsh.

 
Secondly, I thought we were on a planetary health kick so why does Steve Walsh get to fly all the way from East Sussex to Singapore on business and then stop off in France for a little ski jolly, before catching yet another plane home? Gas, apparently, is the answer – and I was starting to wonder what that smell was. Steve Walsh is described very vaguely as a “gas salesman” but I’m struggling to establish both what that means and why it entails flying half way across the world. I’m also trying hard to imagine an occupation more tedious, though my job definitely does not involve trips to Singapore. Anyway, don’t they have gas available for sale closer to Singapore? Does Steve Walsh have a special gas? How much gas did he take with him to sell? Was this work conference really necessary and what did they discuss there that was so important?
“Hi, I’m Steve and I sell gas, what do you do?”
“Golly, what a coincidence, I sell gas too, let’s go for a drink and you can tell me all about the deadly viruses you’d like to carry back home with you.”
“OK, but did I mention I’ll be stopping off for a mini-break in France to do some skiing, because I’m a jammy kinda guy who likes to organise the tombola and coconut shy stall at my local village fete?”
“Wow, that’s amazing, I wish I had your life and I’m so glad to be screwing up the environment by flying here to speak to you when we could have just Skyped. Fingers crossed you’re just carrying the one mysterious virus, Steve Walsh – saviour of the universe, because a guy as great as you just doesn’t deserve anything worse than that. Try not to cough a lot on the plane back.”
And so on.

 
Thirdly (and probably finally, because I’m getting bored and I only had three ideas to start with) this particular Steve Walsh has, in his capacity as said ‘super spreader’, so far been responsible for over half of the reported cases of coronavirus in Britain and yet he has totally misread the situation (or rather more likely been advised to by more sumptuous cretins) by feeling sufficiently happy enough to “speak out” and reveal he has “fully recovered” from the illness. Stop for a second, and just listen. Listen, hear that sound? That’s the sound of a nation collectively giving Steve Walsh a round of applause, not just for being “fully recovered” from an illness that has thus far claimed the lives of 1,016 in China, and not just for pretty much introducing it to Britain all on his own but also just for being Steve Walsh. Well done Steve Walsh, well done, come on everybody let’s all stand while we clap and look thoroughly bloody proud for bloody Steve bloody Walsh bloody. What a bloody trooper, thank God he made it through to the other side. That way we’ll have him around for the next time there’s a creepy virus threatening our existence.

 
G B Hewitt. 11.02.2019

 
Another photo reveals that Steve Walsh is a little big shot in the local Boy Scouts brigade. Of course he is. Classic Steve Walsh. Sorry, Steve Walsh. Forgive me, Steve Walsh.

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