Blogging from Bridport - Day 11
The cast:
Me
'The undertaker' (husband)
'Nearly 90' (mother)
'On the ground in France' (son)
'Office darling' (daughter)
I was awfully flattered this morning to be asked by Capt’n Jinxy in Delhi to join in a virtual brunch house party being hosted from a highly exclusive address in London. The idea is to ward off any evil germs by raising a glass of highly spiced bloody Mary's. For a moment I thought the old dog would score one over me by catching me unawares, but I replied in a haughty fashion that I was still on a virtual party from the night before and we were just entering into the spirit of spin the bottle.
I was just chuckling away to myself at my quick wit when
‘The Undertaker’ announced we were going on our ‘one a day’ outing to exercise.
‘Hurry up and get out of your pyjamas’ he said. I’ll have you know dear readers
that I wear no such thing. I hardly think a 1940’s gentleman’s dress shirt
(without the stiff collar obviously) can be classed as a ‘pyjamas’. Dear Gaston
Casanave of Carcassonne must be turning in his grave…
The ‘mountain warehouse’ isn’t the most favoured look I must
admit but its practical. I pulled on the preloved two-ply cashmere from Madagascar
to take the awfulness away from the walking trousers and sensible boots. ‘Its
not like we’re going to see anyone we know’ ‘The undertaker’ remarked. The wind
was bitter as we stepped out despite the piercing blue sky and bright sunshine.
I had reluctantly popped on the Kermit green anorak as it was windproof.
‘Hateful item of clothing’ I had muttered. In a previous life I had (as a
laugh) gone into Chanel on Bond Street and tried on a coat in the very same
colour. Outrageously expensive it would have been a sound investment.
Hindsight…
Off we set only to encounter a few locals that we knew by
sight. We all kept our distance and exchanged brief pleasantries. The area is
completely devoid of tourists and traffic. It is as though we have been
transported back in time where the beautiful rolling hills of Dorset have once
more settled into the peace and quiet not known here since the 1940’s. The
sound of a skylark pierced the air, then quite extraordinarily one hopped onto
the bush in front of us. We saw robins, blackbirds, thrushes, blue tits and
even a wren. We pass by St Peters church at Eype where my father is buried. It
is a carpet of lush pale primroses and celandine's. Uplifted we walk briskly
home. This is our first exercise as such for weeks for tomorrow begins another
working week for ‘The undertaker’.
The last couple of nights film choices have been
disappointing. We are aiming for a ‘routine’ to stop us going haywire and to
try and restore a feeling of normality in the home at least.
The creativity and wit of people is heartening as everyone
pulls together to keep morale high. Old friends reappear, the cream of the crop
rising to the top, the glass ‘half full’ crew rather than glass ‘half empty.
In rather more than a few cases of course it’s the full
glass crew that are providing the wickedest of entertainment via improvised japes.
‘The undertaker’ and I are keeping ourselves amused by
arguing over the intricacies of government guidelines. He keeps repeatedly
reminding me that I am not a government law enforcement agent.
Rather rich coming from him.
And so another weekend draws to a close. It is the second Sunday
in which the church bells have been silent, the aroma of a roast chicken
permeates the air. Every last vegetable is being utilised including a
shrivelled carrot found at the bottom of the fridge. We are being thrifty with
a capital T.
Life as we have never known it.
Comments