Blogging from Bridport - Day 19
The cast:
Me
'The undertaker' (husband)
'Nearly 90' (mother)
'On the ground in france' (son)
'Office darling' (daughter)
I could see our wonderful postman coming up the street. I was ready for him. He approached with some trepidation, his trolley groaning under the weight of a delivery for every single household on his round, a letter from our prime minister Boris Johnson telling us to stay home and observe social distancing, and do as we are told. Neither to spoil our fun, nor to give us a taste of a totalitarian regime but to simply save lives. Not a lot to ask is it? The postman agreed with me that there were still far too many plonkers out there. Not many but still enough to undermine everyone else's efforts.
We watched the Queens historic broadcast last night in complete silence. We were subdued at the gravity of her message but whether or not you are a royalist it undoubtedly gave comfort to millions. Later on when we heard the news that Boris had been admitted to hospital we were quietly shocked. I felt quite tearful.
The headache still lingers but on conferring with my neighbour we both agree that it is the recurrence of a particularly peculiar virus that hit a fair few of us at the beginning of the year. We both simultaneously sigh with relief. Peculiar times when you are pleased your neighbour has the same symptoms as you and that they are ones we recognise from before.
The garden must be tackled today. 'The undertaker' relishes a spot of strimming. Full combat gear, chainsaw boots, helmet visor and ear defenders. Its like having Robocop in the garden. I stand defiantly by the four small fruit trees in case the roaring monster dares take out my re-wilding experiment. Meanwhile I show no mercy to the Spanish bluebells, they have no place in an English garden. All other weeds that attract butterflies and bees are spared. For the first time this year we sit at the table outside and enjoy our coffee break in the warm sun. I decide to finish off the small patch of lawn with the hand pushed lawnmower. For every step I curse we didn't invest in an electric one.
'On the ground in France' phones. I think he's amazed we all still have so much freedom of movement over here. We discuss the weather (very British), books, films and what we are eating for supper that evening. We are both trying our hardest to sound upbeat and positive. Like every family worldwide physical contact is that part of being human we miss most.
I go and see 'nearly 90' with a daily update of nothing. 'Office darling' phones via WhatsApp so we can all wave and call out a cheerful 'hello!'. For one brief moment we are connected.
On the way home I encounter a neighbour leaning out of her window chatting to a friend down below. When you pass by people in the street now you invariably know them, everyone concerned to know how you're getting along. 'Just fine' you reply, 'just fine'. To answer otherwise would seem churlish right now.
But it's now more than ever that we all need to stay in touch with each other.
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