Blogging from Bridport - Day 44
The cast:
Me
'The undertaker' (husband)
'On the ground in France' (son)
'Office darling' (daughter)
Paul (guest appearance)
Last night I leaned out of the bedroom window and thought how strangely quiet and dark it was out there. It wasn't late but normally there would be far more lights twinkling in the houses beyond, the sound of voices from the pub garden down the street, cars going back and forth in the distance. Now there is nothing, just a clear inky black sky with lots of twinkling stars. Rather soothing in a peculiar way.
An irritating occurrence however last night when my £2 reading glasses, which I had purchased days prior to lock-down, snapped. 'The undertaker' soon mended them with superglue but I must have popped them on too soon because when I went to remove them they pulled off a huge chunk of hair at the side. Spent the next half an hour wrestling with hair and glasses before collapsing exhausted into bed.
When I stirred this morning the glorious light of the sun had reappeared, huge fluffy white clouds ambled across the sky. 'Pinch punch first of the month'. 'Office darling' had beaten me to it. May 1st 2020. Golly. Pretending to be asleep is a good ploy as it means 'The undertaker' goes down to make the morning tea. Later as I'm sitting up in bed minding my own business thinking of nothing he suddenly turns and tells me 'to stop writing about his everyday work'. 'It's no laughing matter' he continues, 'there could be grave consequences'. 'You're deadly serious' I quip (you can see where this is going) 'If you're in a hole stop digging' he replies. Difficult to tell if he's joking really but it got me laughing like a hyena.
Snail patrol is done in my dressing gown this morning. Just the one tiny blighter on a red hot poker, everything else satisfactory. Momma seagull is sitting cosily amongst the spikes on the neighbours chimney without a care in the world. A plane flies overhead, its such a rare sight and sound that I pause to look up to see a khaki green lumbering monster flying low. 'The undertaker' thinks it may have been a Hercules C130 military transporter plane. I can't argue with that.
A parcel arrives for 'The undertaker'. Apparently he's going to be representing the Dorset Army Cadet Force on VE Day as part of a virtual parade. It involves him saluting the war memorial opposite the house, so how many 'takes' this will require is anyone's guess... as I am videoing the occasion. This has been organised by the local church and will involve himself dressed in PWRR barrack dress. (Watch this space) There could be tears.
The highlight of the day so far is a link up with 'Office darling' and 'On the ground in France' who informs us when airports in France 'may' reopen. Doesn't look as though we'll be meeting up anytime soon then is the bleak conclusion as is the case for billions of families worldwide. These thoughts could overwhelm you if you dwelt on them.
Paul phones, as he does most days and we discuss tonight's menus. He is something of a domestic goddess so my offerings pale into insignificance against his daily concoctions. I refuse to feel inferior so I tell him a porky pie which he sees through immediately. We both end up laughing at nothing which really sums up life right now. Laugh and the whole world laughs with you...
Whoopie doo its the weekend but before I can immerse myself in chocolate and wine I test out the NHS helpline where you fill out an online form. Within minutes I had had a personal reply from my doctor which is alarming. 'I must come under H' I say to 'The undertaker' worriedly. 'High priority' I explain. 'Hypochondriac' he says.
That's it now I'm downing tools pronto. I shall wrestle with the washing on the line currently blowing furiously and out of control and declare the weekend well and truly open.
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