Lock Down Diaries. Day 6.

Sainsburys was not crowded and had everything on my list. I was the only one with a Snood for protection, even the staff had no masks. You know if I was a teacher, on the first day at school I’d ask all the fresh young faces, “Why have you come?” I’m pretty sure the closest I’d get to an answer would be, ‘mum sent me’ or ‘We gota come ain’t we.’ Thenceforth up to being a forty-year-old supermarket floor manager thoughts wouldn’t stray far from, ‘Well they ain’t said nofink about this’, or ‘they did say sumink but I forgot it and anyway they ain’t around are they’. So if school is a primer for not thinking what hope is there we can outwit a virus? Then the school picks on the befuddled Latin teacher, Boris Cuthbert Johnson whose classes start with thirty and drift down to seven after forty-five minutes, to make the important announcements. No, without a grasp on your own intelligent, informed thoughts you’re doomed. You’ll either think your super impermeability will provide immunity or be so overcome with fear your immune system will be on its knees before you even catch a cold. (fear and anxiety do impair your immune system) So when this is all over at least teach our kids how to think! Failing that get them to watch at least an hour of The Simpsons every day. Just watch Homer and learn. It was good advice two thousand years ago and it’s good advice now.

Lock Down Diaries. Day 5.

Dear Dave, Britney, Betty and Ruby, 

      Should the worst happen you will all need to take over, so here are some suggestions. Dave, as the only male you’ll need to ward off immigrants, particularly Cocky Black cat, Pretty cat, the Siamese one and that dark ginger one that looks a nasty piece of work. Britney you do the brainy work. You already know how to open the cat food bags and sachets with a claw, where the milk is in the fridge and where the central heating pipes run under the floor. You can give Ruby some milk but not a lot, she’s already too plump for her age. There’s another fridge in the cellar but you’ll need both paws to open it, and there’s a cat food shop halfway up Meadow head on the right, but watch the dog, he’s a bit odd. By the way Brit, the Ale House is closed now due to the virus. Sorry to say it but the central heating will likely go off if you can’t arrange a standing order, which to be honest even for you is unlikely. I know it’s a blow but desperate times. Also the birds won’t come round unless you can manage to get into their food tub and scatter some seeds on the ground. It’s just outside the kitchen door. Betty, you’re the best mouser and you’ll all need the extra nutrition when the fridge runs out. I know sharing doesn’t come naturally but try your best and don’t let Dave eat it all. And for god sake strap a pair one. It’s a good ten years since I tried to get you in the cat carrier. I was not and never have harboured thoughts of murdering you. Ruby, you’re the youngest but old enough to help out. Life’s not just drinking milk and playing on the cat-nip mat. Lastly if you get bored the remote’s pretty easy use and there’s a piano in the attic. Try Twitter, there’s loads of cat vids on there.

Lock Down Diaries. Day 4.

OK desperate times call for desperate measures; I decided to bake a cake. Having two brownish bananas I look up Banana Loaf on the BBC good food site. Mouthermouse assured me we had all the ingredients so out with the electric scales, which I mastered on my New Man course some years ago. Butter, softened, fresh from fridge mixed with sugar to a ‘fluffy’ consistency: How the hell can a mix of butter and sugar get ‘fluffy’? Did best anyway. Mix in two eggs, good, and a little flour, fine, but I was a little concerned about the colour. It wasn’t quite as white as I remember it, but in for a penny in for 140gms of self raising and it all looked perfectly cake mixy with a little stirring. Add some baking powder and the two bananas into a pre greased tin for thirty minutes and asked Alexa for an alarm call. Then began putting up the solar outside light from Toolstation, which I heartily recommend. It also gave me time to look on the packet of self-raising flour. It turned out the grey colour was the result of its sell by date being Aug 15 as in 2015. This prompted me to look at the tub of baking powder, Dec 2011. Anyway out of the oven it looked lovely so I iced it with icing suger dated Oct 2015. I’ve have had a little but I’m not sure; don’t want to be the only family in lock down that died of food poisoning. And I don’t believe Mothermouse’s excuse that, “they must have been out of stock at Sainsburys due to the hoarders.”

Lock Down Diaries. Day 3.

Someone’s nicked our milk, the bastards! OAPs in lockdown and I’m going to have to jeopardise Mothermouse’s life to go get some more if the hoarders haven’t cleaned out Sainsburys already. But it’s prompted a topic on my mind yesterday. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity to shame all those who act against our common good and applaud good sorts that act for it. Sorts like Garry Neville and Ryan Giggs, and unlike Richard Branson who’s just donated three pairs of used underpants to the NHS in appreciation of several multimillion pound contracts, or Jacob, the filth, Rees Mogg who’s already frantically buying up all the shares in crematoriums he can. We need to create a roster of sorts, from true heroes to filthy scum, from acclaim to the sort of shame that any amount of anti-viral hand jell will never get rid of. This calls for a national database. Anyone can enter a name and then anyone can look him/her up and enter a score. Nothing to do with wealth, looks, position or anything like that, just are they, in your personal opinion, a good or bad person. It could range from Heroic (+100) to Totally Despicable (-100) It’s the wisdom of crowds put to good use. One’s individual total divided by the number of entries will level out scores so Michael Gove doesn’t blow the internet. It’s the ultimate in group therapy. Everyone will know their own score and know that everyone else knows it too. They won’t be able to say ‘my face doesn’t fit’ or ‘he/she’s always picking on me’ or ‘it’s because I’m wealthy’ or ‘because I’m in public life’. No, if your score is over -80 it’s because you’re a total shit. End of. Get over it. Do something. Be proud of improving your score. Be nice, and return our milk!

Lock Down Diaries. Day 2.

Linda Sell’s sitting up! Phew. I don’t listen much to the Archers but I couldn’t live without that voice in the world. Oh but now my coffee’s got no sugar in it! It’s like all I’m doing is sitting around waiting for the Corvid to get me. Aren’t crows Corvids? Something’s changed. It’s day 2 and.. I mean why is up until two days ago I would happily mong around the house for days, even weeks quite happily mending a spatula or straightening a fork and now? Well it’s all pointless. What good is a straightened fork against.. I mean you can’t prong them like peas, the little bastards. I’m thinking we should cast the net of death tables a good bit wider than the daily virus scores. And don’t forget the little bastards are cynically taking all the credit for all the ‘underlying health problems’ too. Mark my words, two months on the wider death tables will be:- Corvid-180, suicide-105(underlying mental problems), starvation-673(underlying shopping problems), household accidents-448(underlying electrical faults) and domestic violence-1,003(underlying marital problems) We must not let the little bastards take all the credit for everything. And if I go down when our electric show falls into my bath I will insist, last dying breath, “it’s nowt to do wi’t that bloody virus, it was mi own stupid fault.” That’ll teach it. To be honest my low mood is because it’s raining, and that’s always been the case. I told Mothermouse my best chance was to get it early before the NHS is in lockdown to which she, always quick with a helpful suggestion, said, “Good idea. Why don’t you go out and lick a railing.”

Lock Down Diaries. Day 1.

Keep Discos Open. OK I’m giving away my age but seems to me fit young people have a duty to society to get Coronavirus ASAP to build up our immune cohort. Likewise OAPs while the NHS still has slots free on its seven ventilators. Likewise the Conservative Party must not appear in public until at least September: We must think about the public good. For the sake of our economy all institutions that just rake in money like tax collectors, landlords, insurance companies, and finance must immediately self-isolate and cease monetary transactions. Personal transport must be seen as extensions to the home provided they are solely used by the occupiers. The elderly need to see lambs in a field at least once a week. It is also imperative individuals take stock of their lives and cease any form of deception. Now is a good time to realise what lies, half lies and expedient untruths one uses for commercial gain. They will only worsen the effects of the pandemic. Conversely it’s also a good time to be joyful, to use one’s time in learning and creative pursuits; stand-up comedy for example, in the long weeks of isolation. Don’t be brought down by the irritating habit of your loved ones, rise above it. Just a quick slap and laugh about it afterwards. It’s also a good time to reflect on the short comings of our human society that can be so easily brought to its knees is a few short weeks, and that if we can’t outwit a virus the size of something very small with all our technology we can’t actually be very bright can we?

Coronavirus at Bedtime.

Fans of Dr Who will immediately recognise Coronavirus is an alien invasion. Its intergalactic advantage is that none of us can remember what we did in the last two weeks except of course if you were on a cruise. But there’s no doubt about it, Coronavirus is out to infect all of us given the chance. It’s strange to realise that such a dumb life form can have the malicious intent of a Bond villain but basically, it’s us or them. They can’t survive without us and, as they see it, a few humans deceasing prematurely is a small price to pay. So it’s our capacity to organise ourselves against their capacity to sneak across handshakes and sneezes that immediately disappear into the fog of history. And we mix and move like never before. I mean if we were all required to walk for a month things would be a lot simpler, and, in the vein of more helpful suggestions, if we were all issued with a forehead patch that changed colour when we were the least bit feverish. Identified carriers could hand in their phone to show where they’d been. But as we’re told simple things like not shaking hands, sneezing into tissues etc are the best ways of stopping transmission; if only we would think about it at the time, not the next time we watch the news! And why oh why doesn’t the government post a precise case by case map of the UK posted daily showing new ones dark blue and fading out to older ones? This ‘at a glance’ information will galvanise people at real risk to take precautions. With 4 in the whole of Wales and 51 in London it’s obvious who needs to wash hands most. And when a new one appears at 52 Tally Bont Street, Aberystwyth, who’s visited there from, say London? With the public mind informed it can organise itself but our government, seeing us as children, only placates us, assumes it knows better and keeps us in the dark assuming we’ll throw a tantrum like a two-year-old. As with all our other problems our PM’s advice to cabinet has been, “Tell them a bedtime story.”