I’m pretty sure the best thing about Monkeypox is the name.

I’ve seen pictures of the pustules caused by the virus and they don’t look like much fun, but on a brighter note, at least you can say you’ve got Monkeypox! You can stand proud (and socially distanced) in a crowd of snivellers complaining about their Covid or their colds.

Until now, my favourite disease was the Swine Flu.

I think I like that these earthy names remind us we’re all just animals sharing each other’s pathogens. We’re not that special. Foot-and-mouth disease should probably be called hoof-and-mouth, but at least this name offers us the promise that we could catch it too, if we muck about hard enough.

We’re all beasts of the field.

Imagine my dismay when I heard that scientists were considering changing the name of the Monkeypox virus. Scientists!

They’re the ones who currently have us suffering the bland BA.4 and BA.5 variants. Variations, in pyjamas, are coming down the stairs.

To kill you! Not that you’d guess from their scientific names. What about we sex things up to BAM!4 and ZAP!5, instead? At least we’d know to have our wits about us, and our masks on.

According to the BBC, the new name currently suggested by scientists to replace ‘Monkeypox’ is hMPXV.

That’ll work. It’s the only acronym ever created that you can’t actually pronounce.

Meanwhile, Robinson and I can’t find anywhere to give us our much touted banana booster jab for COVID. Chemists and GPs are booked up for weeks and tell us to apply online because they’re too overwhelmed to handle bookings.

It might be brain fog, but I feel like we’ve been here before. And before that too.

Robinson got her brand new passport in the mail this week – with an excellent photo that makes her look like her mother on a bad day – but I don’t think we’re going anywhere.

A campfire nebula.

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