Blogging from Bridport - Day 8

Day 8

The cast:

Me

'The undertaker' (husband)

'Nearly 90' (mother)

'On the ground in France' (son)

'Office darling' (daughter)

It was a mistake to defend Prince Charles this morning on twitter to some snail brain. In doing so it completely cocked up the timing of my boiled egg. Just a mere 30 seconds can determine between perfectly cooked (slightly soft and runny) to overcooked (slightly soft but the yolk is congealed). I should have saved my breath.

‘The Undertaker’ went to Morrison's last night for basics. He set off on foot with an army rucksack on his back. I think the freshly polished stout walking boots, the vintage SAS smock and the bakerboy cap were slightly over the top. ‘I’ll take my Great Grandfathers rattan cane’ he said. ‘Don’t forget your kendal mint cake’ I call after him. Extreme times indeed.

I felt only a smidgen of guilt as I spread the newly purchased Cornish butter (the only spread available) on my Ryvita this morning bypassing the already opened Lurpak. Last nights remaining cold sausage was sliced as reverently and thinly as any block of foie gras. The peanut packed energy bars with chocolate have been replaced too although I can’t find them… I’ve a good mind to hide the pack of chocolate McVitie’s by the vacuum cleaner too but what sort of message is this conveying?

It's not all plain sailing this self-isolation business, keeping your council becomes more and more difficult as snippets of ‘The Undertakers’ working day seep out. I have been forbidden to pass comment here or even expand. This morning he set off with a look of grim determination on his face. No more the ‘anything to keep the peace’ sort of chap. I’m secretly pleased, truth be known.

I can’t summon up the energy or enthusiasm to try and flog a few ‘preloved’ items online. I may do in time but currently the people that will gain the most respect right now are the ones who instead of trying to ram their wares down your throat are the ones who post up caring messages too. It’s a fine balancing act, one which some businesses are failing spectacularly at.

Last nights video link up was so uplifting between the three of us. ‘On the ground in France’ kept pulling faces at me as we both mocked ‘Office darling’. In the end we were all wiping our eyes as the tears of laughter flowed. I can see their point about my two quid pair of reading glasses but if I took them off I couldn’t see anything close up which defeats the whole point of face time or whatever it’s called.

No sign of the cooing and billing collar doves but plenty of shrieking seagulls circling overhead against the vivid blue sky, searching out their last seasons nesting places. Yesterday the bedroom window was left wide open for lashings of fresh air and one of the blighters splattered on the Farrow and Ball painted wall just inside the window. ‘Impressive’ muttered ‘The undertaker’. Reminded me of the time I went to West Bay with ‘Office darling’ and one had attacked from the rear. One minute I was protectively and responsibly clutching an ice cream close to my chest,scurrying as fast as possible to my car, when I felt this ghastly warm lump thud against my head. I was sporting a pure wool orange beret at the time which I reckon took the brunt of the attack. Even so the experience left an unpleasant imprint on my mind. When we flung ourselves into the safety of the car, a mere couple of seconds later, we laughed and laughed till our sides ached.

I cut my fringe this morning, having declined the very kind offer last night from ‘The undertaker’ that he would be happy to undertake the task after steadying himself with a G&T. Twenty minutes into the procedure I had removed at least a centimetre of hair. Wondering if anyone will notice the transformation later.

This business of writing about nothing in particular on a daily basis is interesting. You see the point is I’m noticing more, hearing more and seeing more from my little bubble. One of the joys is not getting in the car although the flow of traffic is still quite consistent. Some people simply cannot stay at home can they? Do not travel unless absolutely necessary. ‘The Undertaker’ and I are singing from the same hymn sheet. ‘Tra la la’