It looks like I’ll be having a surprise holiday by the end of the week, as the Blonde Buffoon has just announced a month of lockdown. It gives a whole new lease of life to words like vacillating, wobble and dithering, which will surely be in great demand over the next few days.
I hadn’t actually expected this, as the government hasn’t shown much inclination to take action or spend money on keeping us safe. It probably won’t be as much fun as the first lot as it’s winter, but I do have an adequate supply of pasta and toilet paper this time. The slide from Level 2 to Level 3 to Level 3+ to lockdown has not taken long. It’s also, as far as I can see, been accompanied by no recognisable plan
Julia is unlikely to be closed down this time, but at least she won’t need to use public transport because I will be available for taxi duties. It’s a small gesture, but as mask-wearing is poorly enforced on both the trams and buses, it’s quite a useful thing to do. Whether it’s up there with buying jewellery and cooking steak as a romantic gesture is debatable, but in these peculiar times you do what you can.
This is one of those posts that seems to drag on forever as I struggle to find inspiration. A month cooped up on my own at home in November is not going to be as much fun as three months of summer with my beloved. However, it will give me time to declutter.
On with the dance! Let Joy be unconfined, as Byron put it. He was, of course, a Nottinghamshire man, and probably the second best poet from the county. Modesty prevents me mentioning who is the best…