Blogging from Bridport - Day 9
Day 9
The cast:
Me
‘The undertaker’ (husband)
‘Nearly 90’ (mother)
‘On the ground in France’ (son)
‘Office darling’ (daughter)
‘The undertaker burst triumphantly through the door last
night. ‘I’ve got a load of pollock’ he said
and pulled out of his rucksack (although he says ‘bergen’ which drives me
insane) a huge slab of white fish. He has spent roughly the same amount that I would
normally spend in a month…’Absolutely fresh from the Bay, caught this morning’.
He seemed mighty happy. We had roasted vegetables and a green salad to go with
our meal. I had to admit, it was the best fish I had ever tasted. Later on, I
heard him rummaging around the vacuum cleaner so together we polished off the
chocolate digestives he found there. He still trusts me explicitly so I’m not
sure how I shall explain the missing peanut packed bar but surely scenes like
this are happening up and down the country right now?
Talk of up and down the country, how could anyone fail to be
moved by last nights ‘clap for carers’? I was heartened that so many on my
street stood by their front doors and clapped heartily. There are those of
course who are so full of bitterness that instead of choosing to take it for
what it was, an opportunity to show solidarity and thanks, chose to denounce
it. People I hadn’t seen before banged on saucepans and jangled tambourines. And
today there are people out there, openly and gleefully, trolling the internet
finding it funny that Boris Johnson has tested positive for this vile virus. I
confess, my mighty pen did strike them down by words meticulously sharpened to
pierce their inflated egos and rid us of their disgusting opinions.
Most people, as far as can be judged by my Bridport bubble, are
following the government advice. I completely understand that I am privileged to
be in this part of the country right now, and were it not for the selfish cow
in a nearby village visiting her 3rd home after not quarantining
herself following a holiday in Thailand, boasting of nipping back to London whilst
complaining of boredom before returning to 'her isolation', I would feel relatively calm. It’s left
the whole village spitting in fury. Yet what can you do? I did suggest
something but ‘The Undertaker’ said it was ‘inciting unlawful behaviour’ ‘A
note pinned to her door then’ I suggested. ‘Damage to her property’ he replied.
In the end we decided blue tac was acceptable.
Finally hunted down the revolting blue bottle which has been
plaguing our TV screen for the last couple of nights, found it in the bathroom
gasping its last, so swiftly put it out of its misery.
Pegged out ‘nearly 90’s’ washing, hours after my neighbours
did theirs. It’s the small detail one notices nowadays. Stood very still and listened
to a robin singing his heart out in the garden.
I found a crisp £10 note today on an utterly deserted street
thus proving ‘The undertakers’ theory that money does indeed grow on trees.
The daily dose of ‘On the ground in france’ and ‘Office
darling’ via facetime is the utter highlight of the day. I miss their hugs so
much, if I think too deeply I could get maudlin and that, simply.will.not.do.
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