We are still having a very happy lockdown so far.
The house smells of laundry dried on the washing line, fresh bread and hyacinths.
We are not even very isolated. We are on the phone to friends and relatives half a dozen times a day. In fact we are talking to them all considerably more than we usually do. This is because we are not allowed to see them, so of course we are sighing longingly and missing them all terribly, even though in the normal way of things we probably wouldn’t think about ringing them at all, unless something exciting had happened, or we wanted something, which is probably more likely.
A small happiness is that the rules do not stop us going off for a daily walk, although part of me wishes that they did in order to have a cast iron excuse for idleness. Lucy and I ambled up the fell this morning. There are tadpoles in the pool at the gate to the woods, and blackbirds singing their heads off on the chimney pots. The birds have started ferreting excitedly and noisily for nest-building materials, because they are all In Love and their new domestic passion is absorbing their little souls.
It is just what young people do, except the birds are flapping about with a beak full of twigs, instead of saving up for a four wheel drive pushchair. The principle is the same and I am sure they are every bit as determined.
It must be very hard to build a nest when you only have a beak. I had a bit of a go once, and it is difficult even with hands and opposable thumbs, and I was not trying to shove it all down next door’s chimney.
We left the shaved dog fur in the front garden, and every last hair has gone, there will be dozens of baby birds starting life in a snugly warm, if smelly, ginger nest.
After the day’s chores have been done, we have have occupied the last few evenings doing a jigsaw puzzle on the table and warbling songs along with the CD player.
These were not just the children’s usual selection, which is largely the soundtrack to Hamilton mixed in with some swing jazz. There was a moment of serendipity yesterday morning when the post brought a present of a surprise CD made by some singing friends of ours. They have not made it because of being locked down, obviously it is not at all easy to harmonise and skiffle and jam and improvise together whilst you are by yourself in a flat in Manchester, even with the support of the mighty Internet. It is simply great good fortune that it happens to be ready just now, because they have been working on it for ages.
They are called The Golden Apple, and for most of my grown-up life their songs have been the backing soundtrack to lots of my adventures, some of which were quite rascally.
There is something rather splendidly satisfying about listening to people that I like singing about people that I know, and even about things that we have all done together. It is like being a bit involved and famous by association. We have been playing it ever since it arrived, contentedly.
The jigsaw was brilliant fun. It has got a thousand pieces and we have fitted together about fifty of them, which took us all night. It is a picture of flowers and a river and some deer and Snow White. It would be a lot easier if I did not have to keep taking my glasses off to look at the picture, and then putting them back on again to see what I am doing. I suspect the blurriness is actually related to the wine anyway. I was startled to discover that what I thought was a small plague of mice in the corner were actually falling leaves.
So many nice things are happening. Somebody brought some cheese round this morning, sent by one of the pubs before it reached its sell-by-date, there was enough to share with the neighbours. We have had endless bawled doorstep conversations, beaming and waving and shouting our well-being at passing friends. I have been planting things in the front garden, which has helped with this sociability.
The new motor has arrived for the hoover as well, and Mark spent the morning in the conservatory, knitting it back together and whistling tunelessly. I was differently pleased about that. I was sorry not to have a perfectly legitimate reason not to do housework, but the floors were beginning to be wade-through only.
It works much better than the old motor, it must have been being rubbish for ages. Suddenly the hoover has a mighty suck.
There is not a single dog hair left in the carpets either.
Have a picture of some Family Fun.
