Blogging from Bridport - Day 35
The cast:
Me
'The undertaker' (husband)
Assorted strangers.
This morning I dreamt I heard chickens laying eggs, but in reality this was the sound of the seagulls before they go into full summer screaming mode. The sunlight poured onto the bed. 'What day is it'? I asked 'The undertaker' and for a split second I had no idea. I knew I had to get up, take a shower, get dressed and prepare some breakfast. After that I sweep the kitchen floor, put on a wash and inspect the garden. More or less in that order. Every single day. I'm sane though, yeah?
My glamorous, impossibly skinny, high breasted, long limbed and perfectly coiffured dummy for the purpose of displaying clothes has been standing naked for weeks now, hands turned upwards in despair. My complete lack of interest in clothes has surprised me. I am bombarded with advice on the internet on how to keep my brand going during the current pandemic but I don't want to. When this is all over I want to come back fresh and not be known as the person who flooded social media with stuff no-one needs. However I think I may have found my perfect 'lock down outfit'. Lying in a discarded crumpled heap was a pure silk jump suit in a sort of sea green colour. I tried it on and was hooked. I plugged in the iron (so out of character) knowing I was onto a winner.
For my mid morning thrill I slice an apple into eight rather than four and do another lap around the garden pausing with interest at everything. Bees are busy humming round the blossom, my whistling jacks are ready to burst into flower and my raspberry cane is thriving. Last night the cooing collar doves reappeared on the garden fence but without the shenanigans of previous weeks. I think the ants may know me by sight now and as for the scruffy sparrows grubbing around in the dust I feel we could well be finally connecting.
I forced 'The undertaker' out into the garden last night in the vain hope of seeing a shooting star but sadly, unlike the night before, the skies were not crystal clear. It gave us a few brief moments to stretch and ease our backs from the hours spent sitting on the sofa. I swear we've spent more time on that piece of furniture in three weeks than we have in three years. I shall have a plaque made, 'And here sat Sally and 'The undertaker' with the lock down date and the words 'where they enjoyed hours and hours of meaningless drivel'.
People want 'light and fluffy not a rant' 'The undertaker' cautions me. I agree and promise to swiftly sweep under the carpet the picture of people pleasuring themselves by picnicking and swimming on the beach. One large crowd had even taken sun chairs down so they wouldn't have the discomfort of the sand. I see a man with a lens so large attached to his camera, I'm surprised he doesn't topple over. 'Just catching a few folks blatantly flaunting lock down for the nationals' he explains. We meet an elegant elderly lady along the path. 'What a snitch' she says wrinkling up her nose in distaste when we recount the tale. Having just got over Covid-19 she is rather unsteady on her feet so has to clutch onto the rail down to the beach. Children and families follow her also clutching happily onto the same rail... A wake up picture if ever there was one.
To keep this real, as this is real life after all, not just some concocted tale I have today included a picture of the back of Palmer's Brewery and the River Brit, The West Country is a working community not just breathtaking scenery, fluffy lambs, holiday homes, clean beaches and cream teas.
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