I spent last year trying not to mention the ‘B’ word and this year we’ve moved on in the alphabet of shared misery so I’m going to try not to mention the ‘C’ word. So next year, the chances are I won’t be writing about Dermatitis, Denmark or Dungarees. I should probably outlaw the new phrases from my jottings as well – th(f?)urloughs, flattening one’s curve, self-thingy.
Bah – what can I talk about then? You can’t surely want to hear about my success in accomplishing the Beech Cottage jobs list, I mean don’t you have your own list to concentrate on? Oh, alright then, here goes:
The mice have been sealed out of the house (possibly – loft not included!), but the bulbs in the front garden have suffered. Bah! Old Herb cuttings now not being sold at shows, potted on; strawberries await their turn. ‘Desmond’ effect in the garden gradually being dealt with – removal of old doors shoring up earth pile and artistic arrangement of a ton of rocks and boulders. Re-positioning of plants, re-shaping of lawn, assembling of fell-shaped fence (new spirit level required?), seed sowing a month earlier than usual.
Mostly outdoor work as you can see. It’s this weather. Spring is the new summer it seems, but that’s climate change for you. Ah, probably two more ‘C’ words I shouldn’t mention and soon there’ll be a drought to add to our joys. Oh no, a ‘D’ word! Bah!
I’ve just noticed the date – 20th April. It’s the Professor’s birthday. Millican Dalton, the Professor of Adventure was of course a great self-isolator. A cave, in a beautiful wooded valley the perfect place to self-whatsit, and especially in these sunny days. Of course, he chose to self-do-dah and he probably would have stock-piled the Woodbines and coffee, but to him self-thingy was freedom – freedom away from a society that was moving too fast and losing its contact with nature. Ooh look! A blackbird gathering worms on that newly uncovered bit of earth in the garden and there’s an orange-tip butterfly and a swallow diving past the window … maybe he had a point!
Right that’ll do. Time to deliver this to the office. I’ll ring and let them know. “Hello Reminder, it’s ready. What? Online? So how do I get my handwritten paper into the line? Do I ring up and talk it like the speaking clock? The speaking clock, oh never mind! And how do I read what I’ve written? Don’t be ridiculous! Bah! Well, where are you then? Pardon? In a what…a furlough?
Look, as usual I’m going to write my diary, pop it in an empty Keswick Brewery beer bottle (I’ll accept gratitude for free advertising), and send it out with Mrs S on her allotted time run to drop into the Greta up-stream of town where John can pick it up on his way in as it floats past Fitz Park. Well how many of there are you in this furlough thing then?… Bah!”