Working from home isn't as bad as I thought it would be; the key is discipline. The official hours are 0800hrs to 1600hrs, which is not normally my bag, but because I don't have to commute any further than my conservatory - or 'lean to' as a colleague who has never seen the vast, brick-built extension on the back of my house called it - the whole thing is bearable. I break for lunch at 1300hrs and when I return to my desk an hour later I know I've only got two hours before I can sign off and do something else.
The UK is in a kind of lockdown. We're not allowed outside unless we're going shopping for essential items, travelling to work that can't be done at home or taking some exercise. I tend to go out for the latter (the exercise) but on Thursday I headed for the shops where the store I visit is operating a one in, one out policy. Everybody's walking around keeping their distance from people as if to say "Keep away from me, you disease-ridden pile of shit!"
And then there's that problem surrounding hand washing. When I get back home from the store I hump the bags into the hall and then wash my hands, but hold on, if I now unload the bags I'm going to have to wash my hands again as I'm not sure how long the virus hangs around, and what about touching the light switch? Doh! I've got to wash them again. And what if I then to decide to open a loaf of bread and make a peanut butter sandwich? Doh! I've got to wash them again! And on and on it goes.
Around 1730 every day of this week except Monday I head out on what I call 'the hill ride'. It's a six-mile jaunt around suburban streets on the Rockhopper, but it's like a roller coaster: an initial climb and then a refreshing down-hill roller that keeps up the momentum until I'm half way around Ridge Langley. The bike banks over left like a Pendolino before reaching another incline and slowing down. I stand on the pedals to get me over the hill, but there's more to come as I turn right out of Ridge Langley and head uphill again. I ride two laps and then home for dinner.
Once dinner is over I settle down for the evening. I'm currently wading through Season 1 and 2 of the old X Files, watching two or three episodes every night accompanied by a Spiced Apple & Vanilla with Camomile and Passion Flowers tea. Yes, I know, it sounds a bit airy fairy, but for some time now I've enjoyed these teas and this particular variety, part of Twining's Sleep range, although I'm guessing it's the only variety in the Sleep range, is rather nice. The worse thing about fruit/herbal teas is that they smell better than they taste, but I've got used to them.
Invariably, I fall asleep, normally at the start of the third episode of the X Files and nothing to do with the programme as I love the X Files. When I wake up (I've normally been asleep for about 10 minutes or so) I lock up the house and go to bed, listening to LBC, and then the whole process starts again, except for today, which is Saturday, the end of week one of being at home. During the week people were encouraged to stand on their doorsteps clapping for the NHS, but I felt it was a bad idea as I didn't want to stand there clapping and looking like a cock. I still appreciate their efforts.
Andy and I have decided not to ride out together today or for the foreseeable future because of the lockdown. The rule is that you can go out with a family member, but if you meet a stranger en route you have to keep your distance. So we're thinking about riding alone to a specific destination where there's more than one bench, choosing a bench and staying apart, although we'll still be able to chat and drink tea. But not this week. Today it will be the hill ride for me and tomorrow, well, I'm not sure yet. Perhaps a ride to the churchyard. There's door painting to be done, but there's no rides to National Trust properties, no teashops or cafes, no walks along the beach, no idle drives into the Sussex countryside, no coffee and walnut cake, so thanks for that, China.
I've eaten porridge with bananas, blueberries and black grapes, had a slice of bread with peanut butter and an Earl Grey tea without milk. I'm sitting at the dining table with my laptop and it's a wonderful day for a ride. Had these been normal times, Andy and I would have been at the Tatsfield Churchyard by now, sipping tea and chatting about nothing in particular, just enjoying the vibe and watching out for a Spitfire that flies out of Biggin Hill alongside a light aircraft. They mosey around for a while and then I'd imagine they head back to base and that's normally when we pack up our stuff and head home along Clarks Lane, part company at The Ridge and say something like, "Same time tomorrow?" But that's all gone, for now, and the whole thing is annoying, depressing and, to a degree, angering.
What bugs me is this: how can China be allowed to bring the world to its knees like this? And why is the UK still allowing in flights from Beijing? How come nobody's talking about that? It looks as if the UK is being run by the Chuckle Brothers (Matt 'Jiminy Cricket' Hancock and that buffoon Boris Johnson). They're expelling a lot of hot air telling us all to practise social distancing, but then we hear that Boris and Jiminy have contracted the virus. Buffoon had been going around boasting about shaking the hands of people with Corona Virus. He might as well have made videos of himself licking toilet bowls and then posted them on Facebook. What a cock! Seriously. What a cock! And now he has the virus and I feel like uttering those immortal words of Michael Douglas in the movie Falling Down when he runs on to the golf course carrying his holdall full of guns or the rocket launcher, I can't remember which, and says to the pompous golfer suffering a heart attack, who had tried to hit him with a golf ball, "And now you're going to die, wearing that silly little hat".
The UK is in a kind of lockdown. We're not allowed outside unless we're going shopping for essential items, travelling to work that can't be done at home or taking some exercise. I tend to go out for the latter (the exercise) but on Thursday I headed for the shops where the store I visit is operating a one in, one out policy. Everybody's walking around keeping their distance from people as if to say "Keep away from me, you disease-ridden pile of shit!"
And then there's that problem surrounding hand washing. When I get back home from the store I hump the bags into the hall and then wash my hands, but hold on, if I now unload the bags I'm going to have to wash my hands again as I'm not sure how long the virus hangs around, and what about touching the light switch? Doh! I've got to wash them again. And what if I then to decide to open a loaf of bread and make a peanut butter sandwich? Doh! I've got to wash them again! And on and on it goes.
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| Not everybody's cup of tea, but I love them! |
Once dinner is over I settle down for the evening. I'm currently wading through Season 1 and 2 of the old X Files, watching two or three episodes every night accompanied by a Spiced Apple & Vanilla with Camomile and Passion Flowers tea. Yes, I know, it sounds a bit airy fairy, but for some time now I've enjoyed these teas and this particular variety, part of Twining's Sleep range, although I'm guessing it's the only variety in the Sleep range, is rather nice. The worse thing about fruit/herbal teas is that they smell better than they taste, but I've got used to them.
Invariably, I fall asleep, normally at the start of the third episode of the X Files and nothing to do with the programme as I love the X Files. When I wake up (I've normally been asleep for about 10 minutes or so) I lock up the house and go to bed, listening to LBC, and then the whole process starts again, except for today, which is Saturday, the end of week one of being at home. During the week people were encouraged to stand on their doorsteps clapping for the NHS, but I felt it was a bad idea as I didn't want to stand there clapping and looking like a cock. I still appreciate their efforts.
Andy and I have decided not to ride out together today or for the foreseeable future because of the lockdown. The rule is that you can go out with a family member, but if you meet a stranger en route you have to keep your distance. So we're thinking about riding alone to a specific destination where there's more than one bench, choosing a bench and staying apart, although we'll still be able to chat and drink tea. But not this week. Today it will be the hill ride for me and tomorrow, well, I'm not sure yet. Perhaps a ride to the churchyard. There's door painting to be done, but there's no rides to National Trust properties, no teashops or cafes, no walks along the beach, no idle drives into the Sussex countryside, no coffee and walnut cake, so thanks for that, China.
I've eaten porridge with bananas, blueberries and black grapes, had a slice of bread with peanut butter and an Earl Grey tea without milk. I'm sitting at the dining table with my laptop and it's a wonderful day for a ride. Had these been normal times, Andy and I would have been at the Tatsfield Churchyard by now, sipping tea and chatting about nothing in particular, just enjoying the vibe and watching out for a Spitfire that flies out of Biggin Hill alongside a light aircraft. They mosey around for a while and then I'd imagine they head back to base and that's normally when we pack up our stuff and head home along Clarks Lane, part company at The Ridge and say something like, "Same time tomorrow?" But that's all gone, for now, and the whole thing is annoying, depressing and, to a degree, angering.
What bugs me is this: how can China be allowed to bring the world to its knees like this? And why is the UK still allowing in flights from Beijing? How come nobody's talking about that? It looks as if the UK is being run by the Chuckle Brothers (Matt 'Jiminy Cricket' Hancock and that buffoon Boris Johnson). They're expelling a lot of hot air telling us all to practise social distancing, but then we hear that Boris and Jiminy have contracted the virus. Buffoon had been going around boasting about shaking the hands of people with Corona Virus. He might as well have made videos of himself licking toilet bowls and then posted them on Facebook. What a cock! Seriously. What a cock! And now he has the virus and I feel like uttering those immortal words of Michael Douglas in the movie Falling Down when he runs on to the golf course carrying his holdall full of guns or the rocket launcher, I can't remember which, and says to the pompous golfer suffering a heart attack, who had tried to hit him with a golf ball, "And now you're going to die, wearing that silly little hat".
