Lockdown from Bridport - Part 2 - Day 15

Today started off very similar to yesterday, and in fact, the day before, and the day before that... Actually no... the packet of Scott's Porridge Oats was past its sell by date and I made the mistake of saying they would taste fine. 'The Undertaker' was not impressed, I mean he didn't actually say anything or dare criticise but when the call came through asking him to start work earlier he leapt up with unfamiliar enthusiasm. 'Can't stop' he called as he beetled out of the door.

9am and its quite jolly ambling up the street and having a word with the shopkeepers/coffee shop owners who can remain open. The local café had given me a couple of flour sacks and I had explained how useful they were for the paintbrushes and trays at the end of the day. 'Recycling at its best' I said. Well that was a mistake because apparently it wasn't. Someone actually makes carrier bags out of them and he took great lengths to explain to me how it was done. 'Gosh' I said, I mean how can you top that first thing in the morning after a bowl of substandard porridge.

The barber's son appeared at the shop doorway. (The barber who ran the shop way back in the 70's). He explained that his father had hung gas lamps from the beam during the power cuts in the 70's, whilst using victorian hand clippers that required no power. The reason for the two colours of lino was down to the original black tiles wearing out as his father moved around the two barber's chairs. 'He could only purchase beige ones at the time' he said fondly. I had removed the metal grill from the front door. This, apparently, had been rescued from British Gas and had stopped customers walking through the glass pane.

A representative from the town council appeared and handed me a sheet of paper. 'Free Christmas Trees for all the shops this year' he explained. I daresay my face must have registered surprise. Christmas cheer will be in abundance this year it seems. If this helps towards persuading people to come out and shop locally then full marks to the council for their initiative. 

I was just standing back at the end of the day remarking to 'The Undertaker' that the majority of the heavy work is over and that I could see we were fast approaching something that will resemble a decent space. No sooner had I uttered these words than someone else appeared at the door and exclaimed 'gosh you've got your work cut out here'. 

Home again and a huge hot bath beckons. Silly me for forgetting that the paintbrushes had been rinsed in the bath that very morning. Nothing quite like your backside sliding on the remains of matt vinyl. 

A most fine bottle of barrel aged pinotage appears on the supper table. It's enough to cheer me up considerably until 'The Undertaker' reminds me that he is back on call tomorrow evening for seven days...

'Shall I move into the West Wing'? I comment sarcastically. We both hoot with laughter. (Not)