Bridport lockdown diary - Day 61
The cast:
Me
'The undertaker' (husband)
'Office darling' (daughter)
'Nearly 90' (mother)
There's no denying it, this is a strange and strained life.
Not that I'm complaining, is it so wrong to be relishing the blanket of silence that smothers us at night? I lean out of the bedroom window, funny how you get to know the night owls (the human kind) the people that burn the midnight oil. I haven't a clue who they are but every night their kitchen light blazes out late into the night way past everyone else's bedtime. It's noticing these odd details that make you realise how sparse electric light has now become after a certain hour.
This morning we were on the beach by 8am. How cool is that? Empty roads and a deserted beach. I have never in my life run onto Burton Bradstock beach to find I am the only living soul on it, certainly not on a beautiful warm May morning. The National Trust car park is firmly closed, barriers erected to drive the point home although rumours have it they are re-opening this week. In the field where cars park the grass has grown long with wild flowers. Birds are everywhere and the tiniest of baby rabbits are hopping around on the hillside. I close my eyes and breathe it all in, a once in a lifetime experience.
'Office darling' comes and sits in the garden in her all too brief lunch break. It's the first time she's been in over 60 days. She's equipped with a mask and disposable gloves. 'And how is the demand for houses in Dorset'? I enquire. She rolls her eyes. Moving swiftly on then... Feel free to read between the lines.
It's such a stunning day that I feel the urge for some cheery plants for my terracotta pots, bearing in mind to 'Ne'er cast a clout 'til May be out. I'm prepared to risk it and hot foot it to Morrison's, barely able to conceal my excitement (Sad). I just about managed to rummage through and find some acceptable plants whose colours are not too offensive, having fought my way through the garish coloured fuchsias that I simply can't grow to love. I came straight home staggering through the doorway to find 'The undertaker' stalking through the garden with his air rifle. 'Shhhhhhh' he commanded. There was no kill. Mr Ratty lives to see another day.
Took 'nearly 90' some English strawberries and a small box of salad cress. I would dearly love to at least take her for a drive in the car, I'm seeing a lot of elderly couples out and about now shopping together. Such an awful lot of hoo-ha abounds about allowing people over the age of 70 to make up their own minds as to how they live their lives. Then again, should they get the virus their chances of recovery are very slim, especially for those well over the 70 mark.
It's a dilemma, do you take your chances or hold your horses?
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