Lockdown from Bridport - Part 2 - Day 7

Fear not, the demise of the seagull has a happyish ending. I hadn't realised that skulls of mammals were such highly prized objects. Our gulls remains will join other poor souls in a prized collection. Everyone loves a happy ending to a sorry tale. Moving on to todays events. A building of such character needs TLC by the bucket load and I just wish it to be known that this wall stripped of its constricting plaster has had plenty of lavish attention today, painstakingly taken back to the bones so that its former glory shines through. I didn't envisage so much time spent, and had conveniently forgotten the joys of brick dust combined with aches and pains, but one must suffer a little in the name of art. Who wants four bland white walls? Not me.

At a couple of minutes to eleven today the builders erecting the scaffolding next door assured me they would stop and observe the two minute silence. Buckydoo Square, here in the heart of Bridport, had a small gathering of people along with Paul Violet resplendent in his 1914 Army Service Corps uniform also sporting his short magazine Lee-Enfield .303 Mk 1, (deactivated) (here we have a fine example of 'The Undertakers' contribution to todays blog!)

The staff of Symonds and Sampson stood in line abreast (socially distanced) and paid their respects. I wish the same could be said of everyone...Some people it seems can't stop even for this important occasion.

I was so weary by the end of play that perched on the side of the bath mistakenly ran the cold tap instead of the hot, thus providing a tub full of icy cold water. Had I have been Princess Margaret I might have mistakenly plunged myself into waters that would prove my undoing, but then I am neither a princess and a tad more alert than she must have been at the time. If this seems a little random then I should perhaps explain that I am currently reading 'Ma'am Darling' by Craig Brown, 99 glimpses of Princess Margaret. It's my belief you should always get stuck into plenty of juicy books during a lockdown.

I can't help observe that this lockdown, for me at least, is a whole different ball game to the previous one. I am neither reduced to observing the antics of a spider in the corner of the shower or responsible for the wellbeing of a foundling jackdaw struggling outside the kitchen window.

This evening the wind is howling down the chimneys but we are warm, safe and secure. Each day presents a new challenge, but nothing that cannot be overcome, unlike for the many thousands who perished so that we may live.