Read on for content from Jamie Atwell, garden volunteer (and now our fave lockdown comedy writer), who gives us a typical Monday night.
9.30 a.m. (Monday is the new Sunday after all) arise and head downstairs for the first mug of tea of the day. Discover that the milk seems to have turned into yoghurt overnight.
9.45 a.m. Having donned my ‘shielding’ kit - deep-sea diver’s helmet et al - head off to my local corner shop for ‘essential supplies’. Milk (see above), newspaper and, ahem, chocolate digestives.
Shopping in full protection (Image sourced from Internewscast.com, 2020, https://internewscast.com/shopper-wears-a-diving-helmet-while-browsing-for-potatoes-at-a-woolworths-supermarket/)
9.49 a.m. Make a detour to the cashpoint in order to pay the fine imposed by the draconian forces of law and order - they took issue with me prodding passers-by with my social distancing harpoon.
10.20 a.m. Finally get to my enjoy my tea - Orange Pekoe if you’re interested (bet you don’t know what a Pekoe is). Complete The Times crossword in 10 minutes. Perhaps should add that it’s the crossword from the previous day’s paper, so I have the benefit of handy hints from today’s edition.
11.15 a.m. Having been banned from my Zoom Pilates class (split leotard - let’s not go there) tune into the ‘Silver Swans’ ballet class for the over 60s on YouTube.
11.37 a.m. My chiropractor says he can’t see me for at least three weeks! Decide that Rioja could be helpful with pain relief in the meantime.
12.20 p.m. Take delivery of a loin of pork - by drone no less! From that marvellous entrepreneurial outfit ‘Pigs in Space’.
1 p.m. A simple collation for luncheon today - saddle of horse and endives braised in marmalade. Goes particularly well with the Rioja I think.
2.45 p.m. After my afternoon meditation session, or ‘nap’ as some call it, take the plunge and call my local radio station’s Covid-19 agony aunt. For some weeks now I have been debating whether it’s in order for me to visit my second home. After all, I don’t want to get into trouble like that nice lady doctor in Scotland did. Having explained on air the full circumstances to said agony aunt, I was delighted when she said it was, in fact, OK for me to visit the garden shed some 20 yards from my back door. Thought I detected some giggling during this interchange, but put that down to poor mobile reception.
Meditation (or sleep?)
4 p.m. Just so you know, Orange Pekoe and Rioja do not mix.
5 p.m. Discover that my loin of pork is too big for the oven. Spend the remainder of the afternoon hacking away at it with my garden shears (as I’m now allowed to visit the shed).
6.30 p.m. Exhausted by my assault on Percy Pig decide to forego a full-blown supper this evening. Elected for some tapas instead with a glass or two of Rioja.
12.45 a.m. Wake up feeling somewhat disoriented - TV and radio going full blast and three empty Rioja bottles rolling around the kitchen floor. Think I’ll have a lie-in tomorrow.
Hangovers while social distancing be like