Lockdown Diaries 2020/21

This phrase was first coined by ancient Jewish leader Hillel the Elder, then recycled by Emma Watson in 2014 when kick-starting a gender equality movement. And Boris Johnson used it only the other day during his climate change address to the UN Security Council.   For me, it’s all about venturing back to the Co-Op after a two-month abstention.    The figures are down. The vaccine is imminent. More people are self-distancing. And I’ve run out of veg.   So I think today might be the day. I waited more than a month before braving the butcher’s and baker’s in February (luckily I didn’t need any candlesticks, otherwise I might have made it a hat-trick). And since today is March 1 it feels like the ideal moment to walk back into the Co-Op as though I’d never been away, ready to reclaim the chilled goods aisle.   At last I’ll once again be able to choose my own vegetables. No more tiny white cauliflower heads nestled in a forest of wilting greens; no more over-ripe tom...

So yes, we’re now having our groceries delivered by Asda. And that’s fairly uncommon around these parts, I can tell you. We live in a Waitrose Belt - not being snobbish, just stating a fact.   When those marketing people try to work out your demographic they usually ask you which newspaper you read. But in my opinion, asking about your favourite supermarket would be just as good a yardstick.   I enjoy going to our local Waitrose. It’s built above the station car park and has huge windows, loads of light and panoramic views. I spend many a pleasant hour gliding my trolley through the wide aisles, gazing up at the overpriced delicacies on the shelves. No-one rushes me and the staff are lovely and helpful. In fact the only downside of shopping at Waitrose is the other customers, who are singularly joyless. They wheel their trolleys around grimly, using those irritating clicky things to check the price of everything. They’re well-groomed but miserable and if you inadvertently smil...

We’ve all heard of Watergate. But have you ever heard of Gate-gate? This occurred at the start of World War II when everyone’s garden gates and railings were requisitioned for the war effort. Presumably the idea was to turn our wrought-iron finials and Victorian scrollwork into munitions. And the patriotic British rose admirably to the challenge and hurried to donate their gates. The scrap metal mountain grew and grew – and then suddenly disappeared. No-one ever found out what happened to their ironwork, but it may have ended up in the sea or in landfill because most of it was unfit for purpose. However, nothing was done to halt the metal influx because it united the nation in a common cause. A genius stroke of propaganda - the likes of which we’re seeing now. At the start of the COVID-19 emergency a call was put out for volunteers to support the NHS and provide shopping for vulnerable “shelterers”. The offers flooded in and soon the government had three times th...

  At times like this I almost wish I were religious. Not because we seem to be hurtling towards the apocalypse or anything. No, it’s more because a few God-centric rituals would probably provide some structure to this formless four-day holiday. Duh. I’ve always struggled a bit with Easter. My Dad was the same. “Are we following a Saturday routine today, or a Sunday routine?” he would ask Mum anxiously on Good Friday. Twelve years his junior and a lot less rigid, she would laugh dismissively. “What does it matter?” she would ask. It matters. Brian and I face similar dilemmas. For one thing, we usually go to the pub on a Friday to mark the start of the weekend (as you know). So on Easter weekend, should Pub Day shift to the Thursday? Then on Sundays we have “Cocktail Hour” at 5pm sharp when we have a gin and tonic (Brian) and a vodka and orange (me) as a last hurrah to the weekend. But maybe that should be moved to Easter Monday? There’s also the issue of how to ...

We had a Tesco delivery this week. It doesn’t sound much to blog about, I know. But a supermarket delivery day has become something of a Red Letter Day in COVID-19 Land. I ordered my shopping some time ago when running short of essentials, but was horrified to discover there were no slots available for more than two weeks. How do I know what I’ll even feel like eating in a fortnight’s time? But I went ahead with the order anyway, shaking my head in disbelief at the fact that many everyday items were no longer available. I also felt pretty disgruntled at having to pay full price for the products I usually snap up on special offer. Little did I know how lucky I was to get anything at all – but that was Then. Soon after clicking Place Your Order, supermarkets started firing out emails asking me to avoid booking deliveries and to save these slots for the more vulnerable. I began to feel rather guilty, and also pretty convinced that my order would never be processed, but ...

I did another of those Joe Wicks’ PE workouts yesterday morning. The world is going to hell in a handcart, and there’s me doing bunny-hops in the living room in my nightie. Joe Wicks is a young personal trainer who landed himself a job touring the UK’s schools offering PE lessons. But the lockdown scuppered his plans, so he’s decided to live-stream his PE classes for free instead.  This engaging young man wants to enhance the lives of children of all ages by encouraging them to exercise while the schools are closed. So, I hear you ask, why was this particular middle-aged woman leaping about in her living room on her own, catching imaginary stars and pretending to be a kangaroo hopping around a creek?  It turns out the classes have been attracting a much wider audience than Joe ever expected with hundreds of thousands of people worldwide tuning in every day. I even bonded about it with another middle-aged lady in the Waitrose queue yesterday when she told me ...