Lockdown from Bridport - Part 3 - Day 58

I set out with the sole intent of doing some work today. I was very strict with myself this morning, no dawdling, no idling, and kept well away from the laundry basket. The hotpot was on by 9.30 and off I set. Met so many people along the way. Shouted the usual daily abuse at the coffee shop man. 'You should be ashamed of yourself' I say from the safety of the doorway. 'What for' he replies 'Encouraging people to eat and drink' I say. For some extraordinary reason this has the two of us guffawing really loudly. I'm sure it would have been greeted like a damp squib previously but now anything goes, it seems. Moving along the road another South St resident compliments me on my coat. I innocently pull it open to show him the fancy label and before I know what's happening another shopkeeper is accusing me, quite loudly in fact, of 'displaying my wares for profit in public'. You would have thought laughing gas had just been released the reaction that received!

My friend Mel is doing a painting job on a neighbouring shop. Apparently he's now known as 'Melicious' a new nickname delivered with much mirth. By the time I open up shop my cheeks are hurting through laughing so much at nothing. My Mother's face appears at the window closely followed by two of her friends, they are all laughing too behind masks. 'You're breaking the law' I shout through the window. They look at me in amazement. 'It's no laughing matter' I add. Honestly, what is going on? The local 'dream clean team' pass by masked up and they are jolly too. By the time I sit at my desk I'm feeling peckish, time has gone by with nothing achieved. The measly packet of oatcakes hold no allure. I lock up shop and head home for lashings of beans on hot toast. I give the hot pot a stir and head back to the shop. The window cleaners are in sight and tell me they will be cleaning my house windows. Well that does make me happy I must say. 'Thank you so much' I say with a beaming smile.

I couldn't resist buying some primroses on a market stall today. I pop them in the window of the shop. Someone stops and tells me how uplifting it is that I change the window so frequently. The mannequins get a change of outfit too. I'm just settling down to writing a few labels when 'The Undertaker' turns up, he got caught in a downpour so he's sopping wet. He settles happily next to the fireplace where the faux log fire is blasting out a comforting amount of heat. 'It's not really like working here is it' he says. 'What'??? The landlord appears at the door. 'Nice bit of carpet' he says admiringly, 'very cosy indeed'. 'Don't forget the builders' I remind him. He looks aggrieved, 'my wife's asking me to arrange building work too' he says, 'must be like having two wives on at you' I chirp. He exchanges a glance at 'The Undertaker' but I can't detect any laughter on the air. Odd...

Homeward bound after a long day at the office. The aroma of a first class hotpot permeates the air as we enter the house. I can see out of the windows for the first time in months which is extraordinary. 'What's tonight's plan? enquires 'The Undertaker'. He's a joker to be sure. I pretend to ponder the question. 'The choice is endless' I say. I fully intend to plonk myself down on my newly laundered sofa and binge watch 'Call my Agent' depicting a fictional Parisian film agency comprising of characters with delicious names such as, Camille, Herve, Collette and Mathias, accompanied by tantalizing shots of Paris. The personalities are spot on, the script ridiculous and absurd, but, surprisingly enough, hilarious. Every so often I swoon at the fashion. I wonder if we dished up a daily dose of our working lives to the French would they would find it amusing, or would they be perplexed at our ability to laugh at nothing?