Just when you thought it was safe to reclaim your holiday allowance, the MV Hondius has transformed from a luxury cruiser into a floating petri dish, exporting a rare human-to-human strain of hantavirus to anyone foolish enough to have boarded. While governments scramble to enforce a six-week self-isolation sentence—frankly longer than most modern marriages—the rest of us are treated to the grim irony that a British man has successfully been evacuated to the Netherlands, presumably the only way to get a UK citizen into Europe these days. On the home front, Britain has finally managed to reduce its alcohol death toll, a 'modest reduction' that sadly coincides with everyone being too terrified to leave the house again. Still, look on the bright side: at least one woman in Ethiopia is genuinely happy, having been blessed with quintuplets after twelve years of trying, though she may be the only person on the planet currently wishing for a quiet lie-down.
🎵 (s)Hit of the Day 🎵
Version 1
Version 2
📜 Lyrics 📜
[Pipe Organ Intro]
[Thunder rolls]
[Verse 1]
The M.V. Hondius drifts alone
Upon the grey Atlantic foam
A floating tomb, a sterile zone
Where three poor souls have lost their home
The Andes strain has found its wings
And demonstrates a special skill
It jumps between each human thing
With dedication, taste, and zeal
[Chorus]
Six weeks in the cabin, stare at the wall
Six weeks in the cabin, witness the fall
The U.K., U.S., and E.U. agree
A fort-night simply will not be
Six weeks in the cabin, softly to weep
While holiday credits pile up so steep
[Church Bell Toll]
[Verse 2]
The British man was shipped away
To Netherlands for treatment's sake
A Frenchman in Paris today
Faces quarantine with hearts that break
The bureaucrats in harmony
Have found a rhythm, strict and slow
United in their decree
That nowhere's safe, and nowhere's home
[Chorus]
Six weeks in the cabin, stare at the wall
Six weeks in the cabin, witness the fall
The U.K., U.S., and E.U. agree
A fort-night simply will not be
Six weeks in the cabin, softly to weep
While holiday credits pile up so steep
[Breakdown]
[Electric Cello Solo]
[Thunder]
[Bridge]
Back on British soil they say
The alcohol deaths have slipped away
A modest drop, no cause for cheer
The experts warn with trembling fear
We need no push to find the glass
Especially now this plague has come to pass
[Soprano Choir]
[Verse 3]
An Ethiopian woman smiles
Through twelve long years of hope and tears
Five babies born, nature's miracles
While panic spreads and virus nears
The ship drifts on through Atlantic mist
Towards the Canaries, calm and still
The passengers, with clenched fists
Watch holiday plans dissolve at will
[Chorus]
Six weeks in the cabin, stare at the wall
Six weeks in the cabin, witness the fall
The U.K., U.S., and E.U. agree
A fort-night simply will not be
Six weeks in the cabin, softly to weep
While holiday credits pile up so steep
[Outro]
Six weeks in the cabin
[Church Bell Toll]
Six weeks in the cabin
[Thunder]
Self-isolate
[Pipe Organ fade]