Day Three since Self Isolation and Day One of Lockdown. The Prime Minister moved on last night from, “Come on chaps, be sensible” to, “Well, I did warn you. Now I’m jolly cross. Stay in or be fined”. As to fines, well, what the police should do to offenders is fine them one pack of toilet rolls. We were going down to the boat this week but, of course, that is ruled out now as being non-essential.
Difficulty with shopping for groceries continues to dominate, as – I dare say – it does with you, though it is not as bad here as in the cities (Our son, in Beaufortshire, says he can get nothing and the shelves are bare). Jane and I are not doing binge shopping, just doing what we have always done, but we went to Waitrose yesterday and found that there was no tinned food, no flour and no pasta. There are stacks of Corona beer though. Weird. At last, the supermarkets are limiting customers to three or four of each commodity. We cannot get any deliveries: all slots are booked up to the middle of April and the Ocado website said that we were 3,561 in a queue of 3,450 just to log on! Fortunately, being semi rural, we have a few local farm shops selling meat and vegetables and we get our milk direct from the farm across the road (though that had a queue on Sunday as the word has got out).
On a more cheerful note, we went for a long walk yesterday, way out in the countryside, starting at Much Deeping and passing through Clyst Magna, then Little Wallop before returning to Much Deeping. It was absolutely gorgeous, God having decided – with supreme irony – to grace us with sunny weather all week. We could see for miles, met only six people, three of whom were on horseback and all of whom kept two metres way. As has become our practice, we took a flask of tea and sandwiches and took refreshment on a bench in the sunshine of the churchyard at Clyst Magna, just listening to the birds.
It was a good walk up to that point and that, the tea, the sandwiches and the sunshine led to a false sense of security. A hint of what was to come came from the fact that we had descended steeply into the village, ergo, we must – at some time – ascend again to get back to our starting point. Our return, via the village of Little Wallop, involving a strong climb up an escarpment and a great deal of muddy rutted fields. To add to this, our guidance notes for the walk (taken from a local magazine) became vague at this point, so that we lost the route. I had to revert to my trusty Ordnance Survey map to get us back and some paths were not well marked, or were partially overgrown with brambles. I was ‘mansplaining’ to Jane about the spacial skills that all men inherently have, and took the time to point out various landmarks to her on the map when she interrupted and asked, “Shouldn’t we be going that way in the direction of the footpath sign, not the other way”. Oh. So we had to climb back over a particularly difficult stile all over again and proceed in the correct direction. I explained this away as an alternative route that we could take, if she really insisted, though the first route was more picturesque. I’m not sure she was taken in.
I don’t know what it is with Jane. Her ability to step into the deepest muddy pools that could compete with the Everglades, and to make the task of climbing over stiles comparable with scaling Everest, never ceases to amaze me. I suppose the latter is because of her short legs. When we tottered back into the car park where we had left the car (4 ½ hours after setting out) we were both quite muddy, but she had the stuff almost up to her knees. Back home, we just stripped our walking gear off and threw it straight into the washing machine then lay on the bed in our underwear, drinking tea before taking our showers (on the bed, and not in the drawing room, because we did not want anyone looking in and thinking we were kinky). I confess that, when Jane suggested this slightly bizarre form of undress and repose in the bedroom, I did raise an eyebrow: it was not St Crispin’s Day or the Queen’s Birthday. I told her that I was a bit fagged out but, if she was up for that, then so was I. She very quickly put me right on her intentions, even before I could get a sock off. Women! So hard to read their signals.
We tune in daily to Boris’ daily press conferences/ briefings on CV19 at about 1715 daily and that was why we did not shower immediately (that and near exhaustion). Of course, yesterday there was no briefing after all because he was chairing a Cabinet meeting – instead we got the broadcast to the nation, later, at 2030. So at 1715 we sipped our tea and watched a programme on PBS America on the subject of The Black Death. It really cheered us up.
I see that Mr Trump is thinking of ignoring the scientists’ advice and lifting their lockdown soon in order to aid the economy. Well, it is a point of view I suppose and I think I follow his reasoning…but where will he put all the sick people and build the funeral pyres? From what I have read, the USA is suffering the same shortfall in PPE and ventilators as us, which is worrying for the greatest nation on Earth. I see that the USA has offered help to Iran and North Korea, only to be told “no” and that the USA started the virus. Not even a “thank you”. So it’s all their fault..
We are bored with the television already and have just cancelled our Netflix subscription, though we are trying to get up to date with watching “The Lost Kingdom” before the subscription actually ends on 27 March. Books are keeping us going: I have just finished a book on the Plantagenets and have now started on the Romans.
Well I am trying to end on an optimistic note. Apparently China is coming out of its purdah and folk are beginning to get around again (you must be relieved); the rate of cases/deaths in Italy is slowing at last, I understand. If you take the number of deaths as a percentage of population (as opposed to the number of cases), then the percentage is actually quite small…though that is not much consolation if any of those deaths are of friends and dear ones. We will come out of this. Battered and bruised, perhaps but – I hope – all intact.
24 March 2020
"A Very Vintage Chap..." 