Back to work day 2, and I can’t say I’m impressed, but remain flabbergasted at the variation in measures taken on building sites to block the spread of the pox. From tons of measures to absolutely no measures and everything in between. In my 2 months out of the game, Ive developed a childlike nativity that everyone will be sensible, everyone will behave and in a month we’ll be out of this Clusterfuck. Not so, it appears that the Great British Public are bored and when this happens they take to drink, and touch each other in appropriate and inappropriate ways, of course any sort of touching now between humans who don’t co-habit is strictly off limits. I haven’t mentioned this before but i’m wary of stroking my friend N’s dog, can the virus cling to the fur of Misty? Answers on a piece of fruit please and squashed through my letterbox.
Its terrace extension weekend these following days with a bank holiday tacked on to the end for good measure, so we become more aware of our involuntary incarceration, under house arrest like a moderately naughty wrong doer. My daughter wants to go and see Granny and Grandpa, but thats a 150 mile trip and its the sort of expedition which makes me say in a kind of deep whine “Nnnnyya I don’t know” which means No with out actually saying it, fundamentally delaying the actual negative confirmation in the hope that my daughter will forget and by the time she remembers it’ll all be too late to organise everything and get in the car. Thats the plan but i’d best cut the fuel lines and drain the battery just in case I have to stand on my folk’s terrace, 2 metres apart, shouting our conversation because Mum can’t hear very well. The more I think about it the more I think its an appalling idea, and this internal monologue has had the effect to settle my mind; We are not going, I’ve got a patio or as some may say a terrace to lay. If you need me i’ll be in the courtyard, or the atrium.