Easter

I was expecting the call. I'd noticed a spate of missed FB communications so I phoned back this pm. This is what happened:

Me: How are you?
Mum: You must be awful bored up there.
Me: Why?
Mum: Because you can't go out to work. You have to work from home.
Me: (Digesting this piece of amazing insight) Yes, but so does everyone else in the world.
Mum: Oh, yes, I suppose so - apart from them poor, unfortunate people stacking supermarket shelves.. I went to Aldi yester.... eerhh, last week. There was a queue! We had to stand 6 metres apart.
Me; Oh, right, so you kept your distance then?
Mum: Yes, I've been listening to Mike Hancock. (Big pause) So, ...we can't do anything or go anywhere then?
Me: No, not really. We're under strict orders from the government.
Mum: OK. I was wondering if you were thinking of coming down for Easter?...

I rest my case.

Tea and Digestives

And if I might offer you some advice, Fanny, it would be to read fewer books, dear, and make your house slightly more comfortable. That is what a man appreciates, in the long run. She cast a meaningful look at the plateless digestives, and went away without saying good-bye. (from Love in a Cold Climate)  

In Clover

And so we teeter on, walking a tightrope through the invisably infected air that swirls around us. Gloves on, hands washed, 2 metres apart, we tread our days - wishing for an end, that the planet would cease its revenge, that the air would become clear again and grant us our freedom, that the Earth would sigh and forgive us. 

During my evening walk yesterday, a fish jumped silently in the stream near the bridge.
Nature reclaiming itself and becoming one again.

And so the Earth came to a close,
Shut its eyes
And laid in repose.

(image: Dee Nickerson: 'In Clover')

The First Week

Figs remind me of Italy - heady days in the sun, eating figs and prosciutto and drinking wine... and, towards the end of my stay there, not appreciating any of it and wishing for rain and tea and all the wet misery of England. Home is home when all is said and done so I returned to the wet and rain and to dreaming spires and books. Brexit Britain was upon us and what a horror that was - nasty, racist, people blaming all ills on 'foreigners' and the EU who had done absolutely nothing to deserve it. Twitter was a cesspit of opinions and verbal skirmishes and the country was split in two: the Remaniacs and the Leavers, like a never-ending mental tug of war. Out of this horrendous, self-righteous, petty mess arose the Messianic figure of Boris Johnson, the nation's saviour, a blustering mop of privately-educated privilege and madness who saw a ripe opportunity to lead the hard-done-by country out of its darkness and deliver it back to the green and pleasant lands it craved for. We thought that was the worst of our problems but then we started hearing news reports about 'The Plague' (as one of my editors calls it) and Brexit woes flew out the window to be replaced by... well, this...

So, in an effort to keep cheery and people's spirits up, I have decided to blog about the lighter aspects of Plague lifestyle and the funny things that happen or have happened to me. I think it's quite a good public service to indulge in and, if I can raise people's spirits a notch, then my days are not truly wasted. My first story is about my mother who I have an extremely difficult relationship with to put it mildly. She is headstrong, will not be told anything and always manages to find the totally idiotic side in any given situation which is extremely helpful at the moment. I will recount the phone conversation I had with her the other evening after some months of us not talking because of her bad behaviour.

Me: So, how are you then?
Her: (Snuffle, snuffle) Can you hear me? (said in loud Irish accent)
Me: Yes, the computer picks up everything you're saying.
Her: That's amazing!
Me: So, how are you then?
Her: I've got a cold.
Me: (trying to sound nonchalant) Oh, ok- mmmh, have you got a temperature?
Her: Yes. Well. I'm lying in bed with all my clothes on so I feel quite warm.
Me: Ok- have you measured it with a thermometer? ( I knew she wouldn't have - just trying to ask a 'normal' question).
Her: No, I put my hand on my head.
Me: Ok
Her: But, I feel ok really. Trish is getting my shopping.
Me: Ok, well that's good.
Her: Yes, I like her. All these other people offering ( spat out with venom). I heard on the radio that they take your money and then don't come back with the messages.
Me: Oh, well, I'm sure some of them are good ( not keen on discussing cut throat do-gooders with her)
Her: I like Trish - she's got an elderly mother too.
Me: Ok, good - what did you ask her to get?
Her: Some bread and milk and some of them maaasks from Boots.
Me: You do know there's a shortage of masks at the moment?
Her: No, well, can you get me some?
Me: Ok. I'll order some on Amazon and send them to you. And, are you washing your hands?
Her: (Big pause) Sort of.
Me: Sort of?
Her: Well, I doubt that virus would be interested in this house - it has its own set of germs.
Me: (Starting to get worried now so reel off a list of sensible and practical advice from my Chinese doctor friend who has been treating patients in Beijing) Ok?
Her: (Big pause) Oh, yes, that's fine. I have to go now and get some sleep.
Me: Ok - well just ring or message me if you need anything.
Her: Yes, that's fine. Byeeeee.

I tried.