Lockdown from Bridport - Part 3 - Day 66

It's 'The Undertakers' birthday today so I did the decent thing and made the early morning tea. No respectable card shops open so I presented him with a cheap vulgar one. Made me laugh in the shop and we got five minutes worth of mirth out of it so it was money well spent. Whilst propped up in bed and wondering when I could best broach the subject of Canadian goose down pillows I perused an article on 'How not to look boring over 40' plus 15 style lessons from Paris. Hmmm reading between the lines it's aimed at women not addicted to chocolate which reminds me I must tell 'The Undertaker' the bathroom scales have broken. I read on and am horrified to be asked whether I am wearing the right colours for my stage in life? 'What stage am I at'? I ask 'The Undertaker'. Quite possibly the very worst person I could have chosen to ask.

Moving swiftly on after deciding I am well past the orange, lemon or lime stage I nip down to the shop to give away some wide fitting slippers in a range of pinks and purples. Don't lets even go into how I came across them...The chap who came to collect these delightful 'dainties' admitted they were too big for his wife but it wouldn't matter as she 'would only be shuffling round the house'. I privately hoped they lived in a bungalow but was relieved the slippers were off my hands.

In normal conditions we would have gone off somewhere exciting today but we're in lockdown, aren't we? There's an online auction taking place at 'Office Darlings' place of work. We miss the hammer going down on the eau de nil Bentley Continental so whilst I rustle up a Victoria sponge sandwich 'The Undertaker' sits glued to the militaria auction. Sir Winston Churchill's rosewood cigar box goes for a mere £61,000. So stunned am I by this astounding result that I lose concentration and one half of the cake comes out of the oven like a pancake. I glue both sides together with strawberry jam and plonk a candle on top and attempt to sing 'Happy Birthday' but he's shouting at the screen that the late 1800's French bayonet was a 'chassepot bayonet' and not a 'chasseboe' and since when did a Ghurka carry a knife and not a kukri? 'Beats me' I say helping myself to a second slice of cake. 

Later on we light a fire and carry a pot of tea upstairs and settle down to some episodes of 'Secret Army' depicting the British Secret Resistance set up by Churchill in 1940. It's turning out to be the most perfect birthday for him. For me watching anything about undercover work makes me feel terribly uneasy, to live a lie even for the best of reasons isn't a real life. If you don't understand my discomfort then you might be interested in reading my book, Last Tango in Carcassonne. Just putting it out there, as my wonderful pal would say. 

It's blowing a gale and the rain is battering the windows. It's a grand day for doing nothing and eating cake.