I was so inspired recently by emails from the Bridge playing fraternity of the BWC to one another in which life in isolation was described that I wondered whether others might also have interesting tales to tell?

As the news bulletins continue to report from around the world on the coronavirus, our world here seems thankfully far removed from the overburdened hospitals, overstretched staff and overwhelming numbers of infected and seriously ill people.

Many days ago, as a combined result of cancelled activities, events and permanent commitments plus a primeval desire to safeguard health and, hopefully, thereby prolong life, I went into self-imposed early lockdown.  Shopping for food is about the only time I venture out and then, without a mask, as I don’t own one.  I haven’t yet, however, come across anyone else wearing one either, so don’t feel too deprived.  It surprises me that the supermarkets are still so full of people and it gives a false sense of normality.  Panic buying has, so far, been avoided.  Potatoes are preferred to pasta and rice which has its advantages but they do need peeling.  I’ve been forbidden to buy loo rolls although they can’t be found anywhere anyway.  We have enough, apparently, the resident mathematician decrees.  Although by my calculations, not.  Someone is in for a surprise.

I’ve always been told that the food in our cellar would see us through any catastrophe.  What did I know that others didn’t?  Well, now’s the time to prove it and at the same time, eat up those many jars, tins and packets with expiry dates which beg belief.

There is a certain enjoyment to starting the day without the sound of an alarm clock.  No need to set one as there’s nothing to get up for.  With the local gym shut, I’m forced to look for alternatives.  Jogging has, sadly, never been my sport but today, inspired by the glorious sunshine, blue skies and surrounding woods and lake, I set off on a run.  This quickly turned into a fast walk with an intermittent „hint of a sprint“, rapidly followed by a much slower walk and, finally, timeout on a convenient bench before returning home, glowing with pride at my achievement.  I shall make a second attempt whilst the good weather holds, particularly now that I know where the bench is.

The fresh air theme continued once I returned as Mr E. had scarified the lawn.  A mountain of moss the size of Ben Nevis needed raking up.  The lawn was, in retrospect, only masquerading as such as there is now nothing but dirt (and even more moss) left.  What luck that we have time to do it all over again, and again and again…

Our youngest, back for Easter break from university, has been told not to return.  His final term, pinnacle of a four-year course, is now to be managed online.  College provosts gather, as in a conclave, to determine how.  Suggestions to students so far have been unacceptable. We learn a new language: DDH, deemed to have deserved honours, can be awarded when students either fail or are absent from the exams due to extenuating circumstances.  I guess these circumstances apply at present but it’s a let-down for the students.

Boredom and frustration at the turn of events, plus fulltime incarceration with the ancient ones has led to unusual ideas being floated over lunch.  Housework and garden maintenance, where real help would be appreciated, are shunned, obviously not cool enough.  Why spend so much time on the lawn or cleaning windows, we are seriously asked?  Cleaning windows, my present weakness, 51 down, just as many to go.  „I’m going to build a hen coop“, son declares.  We argue that we’d rather he didn’t, we’d rather not have the responsibility of hens.  At our age.  Besides, which ones?  A compromise is struck and I might get a bird house instead.  On the subject of DIY, Mr E. wonders if the redundant bread making machine can be turned into a ventilator.  He laughs.  Then becomes deadly serious and decides that the hoover would be much more appropriate.       I worry about them both.

More to come, I’m sure.  Stay tuned.