Slightly tortuous week as the university tries to plan an autumn trimester of virtual teaching … so lots of reading and writing of multicoloured spreadsheets. I am not very good at it!
Henceforth when I say ‘Today’ I really mean a week ago. I started this post a week ago, or was it two. Really, I am not sure. I have been pretty busy (see above and below). The lockdown has smudged time don’t you think? There are no significant markers like there used to be. No going to Tesco for cheap petrol, no treats like visiting a garden centre café and having to have the banana cake cos they have run out of all the edible cakes. So treat the word ‘today’ like Captain Kirk might treat the word when passing through a worm hole – as a meaningless indicator of some time other than now.
Today we received a food parcel from the government despite me filling in a form saying no thanks. Makes the whole situation feel much more drastic and you feel much needier when you get free potatoes and bread without asking for it. I expected a turnip, some powdered egg and some lard but no – there was a tin of meatballs, some rice pudding and mushy peas along with quite a collection of boring stuff. The accompanying letter tells Nonna and I to stay at home till the end of June, which other than forcing us to cancel the skiing holiday we were planning, fits in nicely with our plans.
(Update – we ate the meatballs. They were disgusting even when mixed with the jar of free pasta sauce that came out like fluorescent ketchup! The tinned peas were not mushy but they were also very fluorescent green and minty and big. Actually very Yum. However Maria and I have to agree, and this is a secret, that the sliced bread was delicious. After years of outstandingly delicious homemade bread it’s great to have bread that tastes like the old British Rail sandwich bread (texture like damp rubber roofing tiles) and fits in your toaster effortlessly where it steams rather than toasts. The other bread in the box was Italian long life and weirdly dry, like the slimming bread of the 1960’s. (Update to the update – we got another food box today – (update to the update to the update – yesterday) I tried to give it back to the driver but he said it could all end up being thrown away. It’s more or less the same stuff plus the biggest onion ever. Now we have enough tins of rice pudding to run a 1950’s hospital canteen or the House of Lords Nanny’s nursery tea shop. I have filled the no thank you form in again. Stay tuned for box number three apparently it takes weeks to filter through the system).
In my last post I planned to talk through some of my thoughts on making and completing projects in lockdown. It was preoccupying me then and even more so now. So this time I had better get it off my chest before I am driven bonkers with the intense pressure I feel to make art or prepare for making art before this lockdown ends (I know it’s pretentious and selfish but it’s true). It competes with an equal and opposite pressure to abandon doing art and instead do something kind and useful and social. This pointless anxiety has been significantly inflated in lock down. While I should be enjoying the freedom to play and explore and make my soul available to the sustaining natural planetary forces of sun and fresh air I am actually beset by a drive to sit on my arse, stare at a screen and complete something so stupid that at best will satisfy only me and at worst won’t even do that. I admit that all my life has seen a pattern of similar struggles. Some would last a matter of hours before being abandoned because I couldn’t do whatever it was (probably because I was too lazy or stupid), many would last months, and a few would last years. I remember building a sit-in aeroplane out of a ladder. It was nothing just bits of scrap wood and old blankets, but inside I would peruse the Observers Book of Aircraft (recently recovered the self same copy from EBay) looking for additional design features that could be added with the judicious use of some hose pipe and an abandoned electrical socket. No exaggeration that project lasted months and in my head it flew. A vintage car project ‘the Silver Streak’, actually the bottom of an old pram, lasted a year. I painted out every spot of rust with silver paint, more than once, so it must have been a year or more. I never even got it to steer. If you didn’t want to go straight you were stuffed. Still, in my head I completed the Monte-Carlo rally in that vehicle, it probably flew as well. The feature all these projects share is that they end up going nowhere. I use them as dream amplifiers they translate my simple need to do something amazing into something superficially tangible but that eventually amounts to absolutely zilch. My aeroplane went back to being a ladder and the Silver Streak went back to the jumble sale it came from, supplemented with lots of silver paint spots. I write this because today (last week) was a milestone day in the evolution of phonebox art. I completed the technical stuff pretty much to my satisfaction. (Update 18:48 today Saturday, I haven’t). This milestone emerged from an embarrassing two days spent trying to solve a logic problem not dissimilar to those I would not have been able to solve had I ever sat the 11plus. It really wasn’t that difficult but I just couldn’t do it. My brain was like the lard I had hoped to find in the food parcel, thick and brick like. In the end I had to embarrass myself by posting the problem on a nerd site where it was gleefully solved and I was presented with a downloadable working example in less than an hour. I really resent not being good at something that I really like doing. Anyway along with this milestone moment came another epiphany when I realised that in all probability no one will ever go in the phone box other than me and a reluctant Maria. With its mouthpiece frosted in secondhand spit it and the handset greased with the grime of dog walkers paws, chocolate crusted kids and the god knows what of bored teenagers (yes they do nip in from time to time) it might as well be proclaiming “beware the plague is in here.” It is now a symbol of the dereliction brought about by the virus and represents five years of my creative life wasted when I could have been sculpting my Dave to rival Michelangelo’s ‘David.’
Ha nonsense. What an opportunity!
- It is the perfect PPE – not exactly portable granted, however it’s built to last
- Flinging open its red framed glass doors to a queue of punters, come the eventual arrival of the vaccine, will make a magnificent first night launch metaphor for the ‘restoration of service’
- Meanwhile it’s egocentricity is magnified, such that the piece is not only just about me it’s only for me. Perfect.
So now I am experimenting with some ideas to make it yet more exclusive.
First let me set out it’s key features many of which are new to this incarnation of the technology. Brace yourselves. Actually I know none of you will read this but I want it recorded for posterity.
- It rings or selects from a pre set selection of sounds emanating from behind the box as you approach it. Things like human whistling or wind charms or synthetic ethereal chords
- It’s interior light illuminates
- If you dial zero an operator with my computer voice tells you what to do
- You may dial a series of three digit extensions to hear stories or poems performed by virtual me or recorded me accompanied by sound effects and music
- These emerge from the handset, from stereo speakers inside the box and from an external speaker depending on how I sequence each story.
- Whilst on hold music of my choice will play
- I can introduce recordings of my voice that overlap with the synthetic voice (kinda strange] and if I am in the house I can interact live (scary for the punters and me)
- All the interaction can be recorded and or video recorded
- The punters can leave there own stories which then can be accessed on different three digit extensions (this bit is not working too well)
So to give it the ultimate exclusivity i will now allow it to only do all of these things if it recognises me as the approaching customer. I think this is quite easy using radio frequency tags. In other words if I have the right tag in my pocket it bursts into life, it might even be possible to implement face recognition.
I am so excited.
Anyway this has come at a great time because on Monday I go into marking hell so I always find it so much easier if I am at a good point in my more exciting projects. I think I might hit my deadline of October 31st (Halloween) if I can nail the drama side over the summer.
Other things. In my efforts to solve the logic problem I started to scavenge from an earlier telephone project I started 16 years ago. It made me sad to rip apart something that took me months to figure out and weeks to make. It’s an old push button phone that I converted into a musical keyboard. The hard bit namely the electronics was made by an organ company in Bulgaria but I had to figure the really messy wiring loom and all the interconnectivity features. Unbelievably it worked – just about. Broke my heart to kill it and in the end I didn’t need to – so in homage, I took a picture of its guts.
Paul finished his coronavirus piece. In the end I contributed nowt but encouragement. I think it has real charm. It’s Arthur on drums. It was live here last Sunday https://m.facebook.com/MuseoAmparo.Puebla/posts/3767177159990080?d=m
and is now here – J&R a time to reconnect with your Spanish skills.
Lisa had a truly fabulous review here https://folking.com/lisa-marini-born-in-tribes-own-label/ and another spin on the weyvalley radio – interesting that she can be categorised as Jazz and Folk.
The weekend promises more skipping. I can’t wait. (Update the skip is full and I progressed from skipping to organising what is left behind. I tackled the annex kitchen which had been the depository of a million plastic ice cream tubs – then the bathroom which was full of old sun cream bottles that smell like old sun bathers – and my piece of resistance, the kitchen which now has space on the worktops ready for the preparation of fine cuisine derived from rice pudding and gargantuan onions.)
3:30 am – in bed – restless – had an ant crawl over me yesterday can’t seem to shake off the anty feeling.
…and still feeling a bit guilty that we are lucky enough to be able to have a nice time while locked down. How can one report positively about something that for so many is a nightmare without sounding like a thoughtless prat. Everyone in our circle seems to have be pretty ok, which is great of course, but one does feel as though something terribly important is taking place and somehow or other you didn’t get invited or didn’t notice, didn’t care or didn’t get up in time. Now i have my letter from the Government telling me to STAY AT HOME for 12 weeks – Nonna already has hers, we at least feel licensed to hunker down even though I would imagine our pre existing rural isolation probably reduces the risk of bumping into the virus – hope so anyway.
We have a routine
During the week Maria and I can be heard simultaneously theatrically ‘projecting’ unnecessarily into our laptops as though talking loudly and enthusiastically will in some way make up for our disembodiment. There really is no reason to shout when video conferencing – if you are too quiet the other end can turn you up. We still take a walk everyday – blah! We have revived the tandem but the arse punishment from the ‘sports’ saddles at the end of a mile or two curbs our enthusiasm. Presumably this is exacerbated by the fact that most of the day’s laptop screaming has already inflamed the nether regions. In the evening we watch telly. Mainly bleak stuff. Apocalyptic quantum visions of a technology tainted world like ‘Devs’ or ‘Black Mirror’ or grissly murderers tracked down by canny lady geordies with common sense and a wry wit like ‘Vera.’ At the weekend our little world is peopled by besandled polite children romping around on bikes while their mums and dads stand in choreographed groups, holding equally polite pups, sharing confinement recipes for yogurt and samphire crisps.
Its like we are all revelling in a blissful echo of the-famous-five-meets-1940’s-good-housekeeping-magazine- bloomin heck Vera Lynne and that old WW2 Captain are number one in the charts! he may be an excellent walker round the garden but he ain’t no Vera Lynne – have you heard it? Making jam, making face masks, probably making our beds with hospital corners, applauding our heros and tuning into the wireless at tea time to hear how the war is going. That said the only refreshing indicator of underlying anarchy here is a sudden proliferation of people who don’t pick up their pups poos. It has so outraged someone form the council that they have sprayed all the offensive output bright yellow. Kind off rural Banksy treasure hunt. Maybe we should spray the rebellious non-social distancers yellow as well.
Our weekly highlights tend to be whatever it is our children are up to that we can take some credit for (luckily Lisa is on a roll with her album launch and online gigs and a broadcast on Jazz FM!!! – so that gives us something to show off about – which i do as you know) and Waitrose deliveries. Recommendations include: their own brand oven chips, Merlot grape juice and Victoria Sponge. I have rediscovered tinned Semolina and have a single packet of Angel Delight waiting to be unveiled. I still eat like an eight year old but have at least given up the four spoons of sugar in my tea.
Av and G arranged for Nikki (family) to show us how to use an Oximeter (the thing on your finger in hospital) to, as it were, try to predict the onset of serious virus issues. She is a doctor working in London at the sharp end of general practice and A and G and Nikki bought us three vulnerable sets of parents together for an online demo. Really thoughtful of them and very reassuring for us to get some direct advice from a pro who is actually dealing with the symptoms on a daily basis. We are really grateful… and they bought us the gadget. Anyone else in the family who wants to know more I will pass on the details. Its very important stuff for those at increased risk.
Outside of work Maria and I have never been great doers, in the sense of achievements, adventures, contributions to the community, charity, good causes… anything really… but in the last month or so we have set new records for doing nothing of value. We have done lots of things of no value but straightening our lawn borders is probably the most least value. There is a technique using a plank my dad taught me – happy to pass that on along with the oximeter advice to fellow anal gardeners who like to cut their turf to the cm and stay alive.
My dear friend Paul the composer chap has asked me to collaborate on a project based in Mexico but broadcast online. I haven’t the foggiest what he’s up to be frank but that’s how we have always worked together – one of us steers the ship while other swims along behind trying to keep up, occasionally shouting ‘land ahoy’ – then we usually but not always hit the rocks – whatever… his idea is very cool and uses some licks from a percussionist I am somewhat related to.
Later on Saturday.
Just finished a day of physical outdoor work – probably my first since falling off the phone box – that put me off for 4 years. We ordered a skip for Nonna. (Pause for jokes) Les Dawson Mother-in-law jokes aside, we are clearing her garage of a bounty of stuff bought over from Italy and never used. The in-laws were big on noxious chemicals long since banned in the rest of the EU and the world (DDT comes to mind) and similarly dangerous wine making, tomato pressing and boiling kit that look like the three witches wedding gifts. Actually I have kept most of that because the plan is to move her into the garage now cleared and take over the rest of the house to manufacture class A drugs like in Breaking Bad ( I gather anyway – only made it through one episode – boring!) , no not really, the plan is to move her in there so she doesn’t catch the virus. She will have her electric reclining chair thing and a cat flap. No not really, the plan is to turn it into a music studio so Maria and I can record a Christmas album of seasonal duets. Ahhh who knows what the plan is it’s just fun to chuck stuff away that doesn’t belong to you but is annoying. The skip is now nearly full and I feel the same sense of achievement that I felt after perfecting my ultraprecise grassy borders with a plank. One point of interest is the Maria insisted I preserve the coal dust from a derelict bunker as she plans to make coal cakes from the dust and masticated newspaper – something to look forward to on those wintry Yorkshire nights. Btw you burn them not eat them and this time I really am not joking. You couldn’t make that one up. It’s perfect M.
I have not got round to writing about what I intended so I will save that.
I am disappointed in myself. I have been letting myself go.
Maria found a honey nut cornflake and a lettuce leaf in the bed. It seems they had escaped from my tee shirt having found there way in during a TV dinner. I got up this morning for a bath at 4:30 am having dreamt I had pooped myself. I hadn’t, but I think the writing was on the wall.
So I am clean now and will reward myself with 5 minutes of meticulous beard tending a bit later. Something that always make me feel as spruce as Jeremy Irons in ‘Swann in Love.’
Anyway this morning I realised how lucky we are having each other. I don’t think I would cope if I was on my own. Actually I know I wouldn’t. Despite the very cultivated persona I like to project of an “individual” I am actually the opposite. I have to be part of a group, even if that group has just two members, one of whom is Maria
Maria is resolutely pursuing Sainsbury’s who called us at 8:00 am to tell us that I was a priority customer for deliveries cos of the cancer and then made it completely impossible for us to order anything because I don’t have an account. Why would ya traditional husband and wife who still share towels and toothbrushes need two Sainsbury’s accounts? Needless to say you can’t register for an account because they aren’t taking new customers. Could it be that big business is more concerned about seeming to care than actually caring. If I see another advert on TV that implies that banks and supermarkets and petrol stations care about people and dogs and poetry and trees and sentimental ballads, and beaches and baby black horses and multi ethnic families, and all the crap cliches meant to evoke loyalty in the mugs like us that spend our hard earned cash paying for the bloody adverts, well I will forced to buy my E45 cream on Amazon prime in protest. Anyone else getting really sore hands from all the washing.
Maria has just asked me what I plan to do about the Kiwi fruit. They came with our family vegetable order. You know the one with the mushroom. Anyway Maria is allergic and I think they taste like hairy, sweet, tinned cucumber. So the dilemma is for me to eat them anyway (I suggested last night I would – actually just to curtail the conversation), allow them to rot in the fridge and then discard in a fortnight (my preferred option) or give them away to Steph (down the road, who does our shopping). Maria has gone off to mull this at length. It’s good to have all this time to think about the important things in life.
I am doubly disappointed in myself.
I am trying to complete my phone box project this summer and I keep hitting the limit of my problem solving skills. I try to think like an engineer to solve each problem one at a time. I keep pretty meticulous notes https://k6.gravityisahat.com/wp/ but the sad fact is that I am just not intelligent enough to do what is required quickly and I never was the sort of person who could do puzzles or brain teasers. A decent brain would sort this in a month or so. I have been at it for five years and still each day as figure one thing out something else comes unravelled. I find myself trying to force my brain to sharpen up by telling it off, but all that happens is my inner voice just gets shirty and repeats the problem back to me as if performing some sort of incantation. The only solution that seems to offer some hope is to rely on the first few hours of the morning, try to make one positive step between 6 and 11 amidst all the retrograde cock ups and then do something else. The alternative is for the inner voice to just get more and more raucous and less and less helpful. Argggghh I get so frustrated.
It’s so quiet here. I really must make a recording of the ambient noise in the garden. It’s probably never going to be repeated. We are used to hearing the East Coast trains about a mile away, fairly frequent cars, and tractors in the farm across from us seemingly in continuous reverse with the warning beepers blaring. Now we hear birds (lots of) and children playing at the bike track in the wood – and that’s about it. I always regret losing a recording I made as a child on reel to reel of the ambient noise from my bedroom. Somehow that really would be time travel in a way that, for me, photos and videos, just aren’t. This weird period reminds me of accounts of the Battle of Britain raging in blistering blue sky’s over the gardens of Kent in 1940. The same sense of nature ticking along just nicely while humanity blows itself to bits just out of sight.
Us two are in fine fettle. We only get on each other’s nerves because Maria likes socializing even at two metres and I don’t. Let’s face it, because a subject is important, doesn’t make it interesting. Hearing each walker’s take on the virus (a rehash of what has already been regurgitated a hundred times on the BBC) as we take our daily constitutional is really, really, really dull. Breathing in to avoid the cellulite spray as old people sweat by in ludicrous lycra just makes me crave for the day that humanity is extinguished so that the planet can get on with nurturing a more imaginative species of beetle or crab that doesn’t believe that the path to evolutionary robustness is running about in a dayglow nylon skin. That said, I admit that this weekend the dust is to be blown off our exercise bike thing, neglected for ten years, the DVD player is to be wound up and I shall be shaking my indoor biking booty to the Glastonbury Muse gig (to my sisters: they are a pop band A&J bit like the Beatles or the Tremelos but nothing like Brahms) – probably the best rock concert I have ever seen – that said I have only seen about three and they were all on video, so who am I kidding.
Highlights of the last few days.
One – We received a delivery of vegetables and fruit that includes such oddities such as radishes, dates and a swede with only one, yes one, mushroom, be it a largish one. “Is there a shortage of loo rolls and mushrooms such that we are being rationed?” proffered Maria in here most outraged voice. Maria’s highest level of outrage is reserved for food. Poor quality, bad restaurant choices, preparation, presentation, heat, cold, quantity, containing crockery, utensil for the consumption of, etc, elicit outrage greater than any resulting from such trifles as the national debt or Trumps Tweets. Her outrage and ensuing analysis of the mushroom debacle continued obsessively over the Archers and beyond into the advert breaks of “Last Tango in Halifax.” It’s to be the quote of the Newell Bovino family pandemic – “Only one mushroom! What do they expect me to do with that.” We now have copious amounts of cat food, all one flavour, so fingers crossed it’s acceptable to our three fussy diners.
Two – A small plastic cat fell down the sink and blocked it, followed uproariously by the tweezers intended to rescue it. How we laughed, NOT, as we fumbled about trying to fish them out. I just knew that bent kebab skewers would come into their own one day.
Three – I wrote the short script for the BBC competition. Avani encouraged me. It turned out much darker than I intended but I was pleased to have actually managed stick to the brief and not pretend to subvert it because I couldn’t do what they asked for. This has been my strategy since school. If you don’t know how to answer something then pretend you are such an original that the only authentic approach is to mock the question. My one word answer to my English paper on Hemingway’s style ‘and…’ was just such a solution to having not read a Farewell to Arms cos I could not be arsed and had barely read a novel cover to cover in my life and certainly wasn’t doing so cos some teacher said you must. An attitude that more or less persists to this day. I have read some whole novels but for my sixty three years on the planet, very few. I have started a lot though. My script was fun to do but in the end, I think it was insubstantial. I suppose by that I mean it didn’t get into the head of anyone interesting or find out anything interesting. It did what it was required to do but that was all. So it will probably win since in my modest opinion all my other misunderstood and falsely maligned competition entries to date (all for the Mogford Prize (cos of the massive prize money) all of which have failed to even get an acknowledgement of their existence) had the virtue of being about something I really find interesting which I would describe as people on the edge of being real, this was about something I don’t really care about, namely people who could actually exist in real life. Who needs stories about them, specially at the moment.
End of blog post for the non nerdy reader.
Four– I have left this till last because it’s nerdy and therefore dear reader, it will be of interest to only one dear reader who actually shares my interest in technical stuff.
So, after solving the problem with ‘Jack’ and Asterisk. I may have solved my next problem and figured out a way of detecting presence in the phone box which is reliable. It came with a whole bunch of solutions and one big problem. Solutions – The software is free and open source – Pure Data + GEM a graphic technology I had never heard of . Someone had already built some working examples hurrah – it uses cheap web cam technology to compare a frame shot against a plain background, in this case the floor of the phone box with any subsequent frames containing new foreground objects eg. someone’s feet. While the foreground objects are in the frame then someone is in the box. Simple but for one problem. To be accurate sufficient to trigger precise interaction you need near zero latency on the video feed. IPCams have variable latency, cctv systems are expensive and the signal needs an interface to pure data, that, to my knowledge doesn’t exist and too difficult for me to build. Guess what, you can extend a usb signal, in theory up to 100 metres, mine goes just 30 metres, using CAT5e cable and and £50 adapter amplifier from eBay. Near zero latency and no new interface required. I must admit I was amazed that it works.
Dear Family and Friends
Forgive my presumption but I insist you buy Lisa’s album cos I am so proud. Get the CD edition here
love to you all xx
As I know you have all been waiting for an update we can report a minor triumph in the dishwasher department. It is working and not leaking. My normal routine is to discard white goods as soon as they play up. Forced back to basics we figured out the problem, ordered the part from Ebay and as reported yesterday we fixed it to a wave of boundless satisfaction.
Today I locked down the phone box- it occurred to me that it was an oasis of potential viral nastiness. They always were. I can still remember the smell of tobacco or curry or beer that greeted you as you raised the receiver to your mouth. There were anti-bacterial inserts you could install but I don’t think the GPO cared. Anyway the box is scheduled to open on October 31st – Halloween —–whoooooo!
This morning I was awoken by cramp in my calf – boy doesn’t it hurt. Haven’t had it for ages – is it like childbirth only lower down I ask?
We got a delivery of milk from the previously mocked and ridiculed village do gooders. Now I have to eat the humblest of pies as my cynicism is engulfed by gratitude. Really nice kind people who are a lot lot beter human beings than me, Bugger!
Avani sent me details of a BBC script writing competition for short scripts on the theme of the social distancing and video conferencing. They need them by Monday. I like having a go at this sort of thing but that gives me three days. Not enough time and I am not that inspired by the description https://www.bbc.co.uk/writersroom/opportunities/interconnected. Why such a tight deadline I wonder. The only idea I have is to deliver a piece entirely based on the gaps that occur between the utterances. Very Becketian and not very much fun and but could be worth a punt. Can’t imagine getting it done by Monday without setting aside everything else but I might have a go or I might not. I know the first line “Sorry I can see you but I can’t hear you.” (pause)…
Hay fever, probably not the virus. Phew!
We are well and much less stressed than two days ago when the whole virtual teaching thing seemed like a mountain to climb or probably to to fall off. Maria taught 7 girls yesterday and more today and it went really well . Everyone is surprised. I predicted disaster but I was completely wrong. It seems Zoom is the answer – if anyone is trying to do similar forget Skype, Google Hangout, Panopto. Unlike Maria’s girls my students logon in dribs and drabs, one today in her pyjamas (with the camera off) I am glad to say.
factual stuff; We have found a local greengrocer who can deliver, a volunteer who will get us milk and bread flour and a butcher (hopefully). We have joined a Facebook community group and our neighbours, 2 doors away very kindly offered to get our medication. We are sorted, save the pussy cats for whom we still are looking for a local cat food supplier, horses and dogs no problem it seems.
We have a red light on when either of us are live broadcasting to avoid indiscretions. Eg trouserless trips from the shower or excessively emotional exclamations against the technology.
We managed to change a pump on the dishwasher to avoid contact with an engineer. Thank you YouTube. Not fun and very bad tempered on my part. Sorry Maria. I use the excuse that my back hurts but really it’s because I hate doing things that are wet, dirty and have sharp edges. Testing it now. If it doesn’t work I will blame someone.
All in all a good couple of days.
I don’t know about you folk but I keep thinking I have a cold coming — oh oh I go — and then it vanishes. I can only conclude that the panic that musters your anti Covid19 troops to readiness, is sufficiently overwhelming that the common cold virus has no chance and it’s just ‘fey knights.’ (Look that one up assuming I spelt it correctly) in south London slang we used it as kids to mean – “I give up” or “get off its hurting” . My dad who grew up in Catford taught it to me – like “quits” only more Chaucerish.
We got our shipment of surgical masks today. Stupid exploitative price but so what. Ain’t capitalism marvellous! I wrote Chris on mine in marker and then got stoned on the fumes when I wore it. My ears are so big and flappy that the elastic just drags them forward into a sort of Jodrell Bank pose and then rather appropriately, the mask flys off into space. I am going to need a dainty bow at the back. They are to give to anyone that attends to Nonna – namely Maria – who now does hair washing, bathing and other critical services and Denise who cleans the house for her.
We are very lucky where we are as self isolation is so easy and really not unpleasant. I feel so sorry for people stuck in tiny flats or having to commute or working in a vital occupation it must be really really awful. Talking of vital occupations I spoke to my cancer nurse Helen this morning just to check I was doing the right things. She is so good humoured, so level headed it was like chatting with a friendly owl. She admitted things were pretty busy in haematology but she clarified that if I get ill I get in touch with them not 111 and they will decide if I need to stay at home and see how things go, or see someone at the hospital. So that’s clear.
I apologise if I keep going on about hospital stuff and whatever. I use the blog to sort out my own thoughts, to expel concerns and to prioritise. I really don’t mind if no one reads it, it’s the act of writing that I find deeply therapeutic in troubled times. It’s my equivalent to a country walk or a hot bath. Knowing that someone someday might read it ( highly unlikely) makes it a very different act to keeping a personal diary where the supposed intention is only for you yourself to read it at some later date.
Highlight of the day was putting up some hangers for coats at the bottom of the stairs. My DIY skills are not terrible but drilling holes has always been a weak spot. They always go a bit wonky and then the holes in the thing to be hung don’t align with thing to be hung on. Not so wrong as to demand a new set of holes but wrong enough that however much wiggling you apply to the screw it just won’t line up. The end result is a hole and screw big enough to support a small ocean liner supporting nowt but a coat hanger and so it came to pass today.
Here everybody seems to stick with the 2 metre rule. It’s great on walks because we don’t have to stop and talk we just glide past each other tossing pleasantries. it reminds me of Pina Bausch (contemporary dance stuff). Our loggia has come into its own as an inside outside space. People talk to us behind the fence it’s a bit like a long distance confessional.
It would be great to hear more about how you are all coping. I like the written form of communication rather than telephone or video in a funny way it’s more revealing. So send me your prose if you feel like it.