Dear Diary … Apparently, this is the ninth week of lockdown. I have a blister on my foot from walking into town, repeatedly; my lower back is killing me, more than ever – who knows why – and my hair is just out of control. Forget the colour, I can’t see a thing! Add to that, there is a persistent gentle breeze which ensures it is permanently over my face. Yes, it’s all getting to me!
Having spent the day doing chores courtesy of the two adults sharing my space – sorry, gracing me with their company – who have morphed back into children complete, once more, with a housekeeper to attend to their every need (pause for breath), I had all but decided to throw in the towel apropos writing this post. Nothing to say, really, and, certainly, nothing good but I cannot renege on the deal I made in my head! I know, too much time in my head but … Done the washing, done the ironing, emptied the dishwasher, stacked it again, washed the pots and, now, roasting vegetables for some concoction for dinner. Talking of ‘some concoction’, Becca has been suffering all day courtesy of Manny’s spicy lentils from last night! Note to self, best not to let him loose, unsupervised, with a jar of chile flakes. Anyway, with Becca out of action, Manny and I drove into town – gin supplies running low – and then went for a walk on the beach. The tide was way out but the vista was as inviting as ever. Funnily enough, it is impossible to catch on camera; well, certainly a phone camera. Once again, I wish I could paint.
First time I have walked without a jacket. The breeze was balmy but strong enough to blow the sand. People? There were some, more than I prefer but that’s more than one! I haven’t seen my golfer man for a long time, now, and he was always, there at the same time in the evening. I hope he hasn’t succumbed to anything or changed his time in fear of stalkers! That’s the thing, though, the constant media beating – always negative – has meant that any malaise is, immediately, assumed to be COVID-19! As I paid for my Bombay gin – collecting the beautiful blue bottles for my yurt – I couldn’t help but smile as the guy at the checkout, unmasked and ungloved, told me to stand back further while he served the customer in front of me. Non-sensical! No screen, he was within a foot or so of said customer so what difference was it going to make if I placed my items on the belt? This is what drives me absolutely mad – or depresses me, in the greater scheme of things. People are so stupid! There is no such thing as common sense; instead, the majority await instruction.
Becca and Manny have walked into town and, while I am revelling in the peace – peace! – I suggested I go and collect them. Why? Talking of stupid … No, considerate to the last, I think ‘mug’ is more appropriate. So, in the words of Arnie, ‘I’ll be back!’.
I’ve actually lost my flow, now. Another beautiful evening, the gin is now poured. My ‘flatmates’ are, both, insisting on abstaining – for now – for fitness reasons which serves only to make me feel like some kind of alcoholic. I know, ridiculous! Their willpower must be applauded, however – grudgingly. Manny is now in charge of dinner, again, so I should cut this short and supervise. Meanwhile, he has commandeered the television and James May has appeared. I have become strangely attached to all three of these guys.
Right, let me end in controversy, as ever. A post appeared on my Facebook newsfeed, last night, which incensed me. A shared article, it was an attack on Boris and his merry men, suggesting that we, simpletons, are being used as fall guys for the Government’s ineptitude. Meanwhile, all hail, Nicola, leader of the people! Now, I have been quite forthright in my views on lockdown and the Government’s rhetoric (and by ‘Government’, I mean that of the United Kingdom) but what has Nicola, actually, done that is praise-worthy other than, predictably, grasp the opportunity to stand apart from Westminster under the guise of stealth. Insisting that she is monitoring the figures daily – with great genius, obviously – only she is showing sufficient care of her countrymen. (Whoops! Should that be ‘countrybeings?). The fact is, none of us can stay in lockdown forever so milking it is going to make little difference. However, she is aware that she is feeding the voracious appetite of those who believe the word ‘posh’ to be an insult.
I was tempted to make a comment below said post but refrained. Reminded me of 2014 and that delightful referendum which divided the nation. Those who shouted loudest were aggressive in their support. Ironically, they lost to those who chose, only, to put a cross on the ballot paper.
So, I have been ever reminded that, even in these unprecedented times, when it is hailed that the whole country has pulled together, the class war is ever present. Politics stands and falls on its very existence. It is sad, however, if inherent resentment cannot be put to one side when, clearly, there is so much more at stake.
‘Fools have a habit of believing that everything written by a famous author is admirable. For my part, I read only to please myself and like only what suits my taste.’
Voltaire, Candide.
This is Trish, signing off.
