Trod on my diary as I climbed out of bed this morning. Before lockdown my diary was my constant companion. Now, its buff pages with their promises of ‘Yr 11 Macbeth’ and ‘Hair – Ray’ are a forlorn reminder of my previous life. I turn to next week: blank, blank, blank. Even my dentist has cancelled on me.
My life has no structure: no comforting scaffolding on which to place an amble round charity shops or a walk on the beach.
So how come I’m so friggin’ busy?
In the ten days since lockdown I’ve learned Zoom, zooming friends I’ve not spoken to in months; searched the National Archives for my Dad’s seaman’s pouch from WW2; worked out with beautiful people in New Zealand courtesy of Les Mills….and mastered some of the features of WordPress.
Biochemist son is currently taking apart pallets to build raised veggie beds and prospective son-in-law has swapped drill and claw hammer for measuring jug and mixing bowl, baking scrumptious chocolate brownies, quiches and… flapjacks today, I think. Thank goodness for Les Mills and crew.
And while we’re faffing about, daughter continues to toddle off to work in her lab for that organisation with only three letters.
“So, society will be divided: the ‘haves’ and the ‘have nots’,” says son at dinner, fork poised, brow pleated as he surveys the three of us about to tuck into cheese and lardon quiche.
“I suppose,” nods daughter sagely.
“So the ‘haves’ will become like a superior race….” Now we’re all looking at him with expressions that read: ugghh?
“The ‘have hads’ will need to identify themselves so they can move around freely while the rest of us self-isolate. They could wear a huge gold medallion around their necks…”
“Why not on their heads?” says daughter.
As usual, my lightbulb moment arrives via The Guardian and a relatively small article about anti-body testing and immunity passports for key workers. I get it: the ‘have hads’ and the ‘have had nots’.