Lockdown from Bridport - Part 3 - Day 17

I was drawn to the 'superbright' stir fry for tonight's supper as I trundled round the aisles of Waitrose doing my Mother's shopping. I feel bright colours are good for the soul right now in every way, they lift us, they feel positive and energising. I'm normally careful with colour when I dress but somehow even I (with quite a timid dress sense) was drawn to the dungarees which I popped in the window tonight. A passer-by paused and said how much my windows were making them smile. I was so pleased that in some small way I was bringing some cheer.

'The Undertaker' is disgruntled to learn that Biden has already removed the bust of Sir Winston Churchill from The Whitehouse. What already? Good Lord, is this really 'news'?

Last night we settled down to watch ITV's new series 'Finding Alice'. From the voice of experience I would recommend that if you are ever spoken to by either an undertaker or morgue assistant in such a rude manner you report them immediately. What a badly researched load of drivel. And people get paid for such tripe! We couldn't decide whether it was black comedy, whatever it was I can't recommend it. Not that my recommendations are anything to go by. Just saying...

We were given an amaryllis for Christmas and mighty fine it is too. Everyday it seems to grow profusely and will soon flower which is more than can be said for my favourite tree in the garden, a mimosa. In its third year now it is remaining depressingly bare. Whilst out in the garden pegging out washing in the freezing cold, I observed the seagulls surveying their old nesting site on the neighbour's chimney. Something to look forward to then... 

I am trying extremely hard not to let one brief sighting of Mr Ratty turn me into a quivering wreck at the thought of entering the outside shed. It's a bore, to be sure, donning my heaviest steel capped boots just to attend to the simple task of dealing with the laundry. 'The Undertaker' has placed two monster traps in there and is enthusiastically checking them on a regular basis, at least he hasn't started doing overwatch from the bedroom window with his rifle. 

Another uneventful day draws to a close. However I feel a letter coming onto the town council. I couldn't help but observe that our two wonderful red telephone boxes outside the post office were in a state of sorry repair. Are we really going to let such an iconic British feature fall to wrack and ruin? Or should I simply sit back and take the easy option and do bugger all?