Lockdown from Bridport - Part 3 - Day 57

The biggest thrill by far today was starting up the new lawnmower, my how times do change. Manoeuvring around the neat pile of cat shit and praying there was none lurking in the clumps of unruly grass I pressed on. The soft whirr was no match for the gentle sound of a hand pushed mower but too late for regrets now. In the distance I could hear the unmistakeable tinkling sound of an ice cream van. It felt very suburban but then the seagulls starting screeching from the chimneys so I consoled myself I was at the seaside and I ignored the feeling that I had somehow succumbed to gardening for cissy's in surburbia. 'The Undertaker' couldn't resist a push but I had to keep a very close eye on him lest he tried to neaten up under the fruit trees. When we stood back to admire our handiwork the fact that due to the lack of regular mowing most of the grass was dead underneath wasn't lost on us.

You'll be fascinated to know that we have a velvet sofa. Eating chocolate and a velvet sofa really isn't a match made in heaven so off came the cover today. It stated very clearly that I shouldn't wash it but instead take it, at huge expense no doubt, to a professional dry cleaner. I ignored that, (nothing that today's modern machines can't cope with on a gentle wool wash!) So far so good but in taking the covers off I obviously twigged a muscle in my back. 'You'll have to put the covers back on' I tell 'The Undertaker'. Everyone (but him) knows that this is a pig of a job. Lets hope the marriage is strong enough to take the strain...

I spend four hours tidying and cleaning, how can this be in a house barely large enough to swing a cat? 'It's the two open fires' 'The Undertaker' tells me. 'Tales from a hopeless housewife' I mutter. I am however adamant that the fires stay despite obviously belching out copious amounts of dust. The phrase 'making a rod for your own back' springs to mind but I ignore it. One day it seems open log fires will be a thing of the past and we'll all be sanitized beyond belief. 

I am acutely aware I have nothing of interest to impart to 'The Undertaker' so we switch on the early evening news for someone to enlighten us on how the rest of the world is faring today. You have to be faintly amused that the hunt for the 'most wanted man in Britain' has now been narrowed down to 379 or so houses. How can anyone alive, with a functioning brain, not know that they flew in from Brazil and failed to fill in the correct paperwork following their covid test? The ghastly Oprah Winfrey's face pops up on the screen. 'Eeuuugh' we both chorus. We ponder as to whether The Duke will fade away this week, it's not a callous thought, the man is 99. If he did with any luck it would completely blow 'The Hollywood ex Royals' nauseating publicity stunt clear out of the water. We should all be watching instead and supporting the little blind boy, Ahmed, who teaches a class in Taiz, Yemen amongst the ruins of a school close to front line fighting. That is newsworthy, the other should be consigned to the cutting room floor.