Blogging from Bridport - Day 39

Day 39

The cast:
Me
'The undertaker' (husband)
'Nearly 90' (mother)
'On the ground in France' (son)
'Office darling' (daughter)
MIL (mother in law)

Oh dear, a late start to the day to be sure. Ooops.

Yesterday we took the weekly grocery shop up to 'MIL'. The roads are still eerily quiet save for the sight of keen cyclists. Lycra clad men on scarily expensive bikes, hellbent on reaching B from A and back again are emulating the Tour de France in the middle of the road. With their gloved hands fervently gripping the handlebars and their goggled heads bent down they seem oblivious to any stray cars. As we turn into MIL's village we nearly collide with some old chap in normal clothing on a bicycle held mainly together by rust. 'Dear God' says 'The undertaker' 'chaps more likely to suffer a heart attack than be taken out by the virus.'

Another sunny day (thought I would slip that in) but with a coolish westerly breeze. I think we are getting to know more people now and we certainly bump into quite a few that we know. Our walking is becoming brisker by the day and we arrive at the cliff top rather rapidly. In the distance we see a familiar lone figure hunched over her phone. 'What are you doing?' I call out to her, 'texting your lover?' Reflecting on my comments afterwards it occurred to me that this was a rather dangerous comment to make. How AWKWARD would that have been if that were the case? Luckily for me she found the remark funny but what she was doing was even funnier, but mindful of confidentiality I wont be repeating it!

Can't help but observe that there are rather a lot of people for whom walking is obviously a new pastime. Do you know what I'm implying? There's certainly going to be a lot of considerably leaner, fitter folks when we finally come out of this business.

Nearing home we walk alongside a newly laid hedge. Its nearly finished but as we approach the end there is a notice dangling from one of the trees. Intrigued we stop and squinting at it (as 'The undertaker' can't stop it twirling in the wind with his walking stick), we see the plea. "Please don't cut me down I'm an oak tree". I wonder if this will be enough to save it? We shall see. I will report back.

Realising its Sunday, I phone 'Nearly 90' (whilst continuing to walk in my newly acquired brisk manner) and offer her a FULL Sunday roast with ALL the trimmings which I will deliver. Later on lying horizontal and exhausted on the sofa I wonder how I am going to summon up the strength to peel a potato.

I phone 'On the ground in France', miserably realising that indeed he's going to be 'on the ground' for far longer than any of us would ever have imagined. Nobody is going anywhere soon, least of all stepping aboard a plane. Our lock down here in the UK is a picnic in the park compared to the one imposed on people over there. Pictures of riots in Paris or large street parties simply don't reach the English press. Funny that... might give people the notion that everywhere else bar the UK are coping just fine.

'Office darling' sends me some funny videos of her daily walk depicting a glorious bluebell wood that lie opposite her house. Beats me why she sits in an office when she obviously has untapped talents elsewhere... She enquires after the spiders health. 'Are you being serious?' I say. 'You actually believe there's a spider in the bathroom that I torment with an Ikea pencil on a daily basis?' 'You mean there isn't?' she asks rather forlornly. 'Well there was' I reply 'until this morning when the last I saw of him he was swirling frantically round the plug hole. There's this gasp of disbelief' down the phone.
'It's ok' I assure her 'I pushed the pencil down the dark hole' and he climbed back up so he's quite safe and sound albeit a little shaken'.

And you wonder why people are turning to chocolate and wine.