A few days ago my elderly, belligerent mother received a pack through the post from her doctor. Inside was information explaining why she must not, under any circumstances, go out. Her lung condition, poor diet, drinking habits and advanced years meant that she was classified as being at ‘very high risk’. The only solution was to ‘Shield’, because if she got the merest wiff of the virus she would drop dead on the spot.
As with most old people she took the hump at being told what to do by some young whippersnapper with a stethoscope. As soon as she had read enough to make up her mind which was probably the first couple of lines, she phoned to share her displeasure and tell us she would not be changing anything. She had been walking her dog every morning for years and not come to any harm and she was certainly not going to stop walking him now!
The next weekend she revealed she had indeed been following her usual routine, but when out with the hound had taken to wearing a balaclava to hide her identity. This was because she didn’t want anyone grassing her up to the doctor. I can imagine the conversation in the houses she passed when walking the dog:
“I say Mary, who is that mysterious figure?”
“I don’t know Gerald! We usually see Margaret at this time of day. She is wearing Margaret’s coat, carrying Margaret’s bag and is walking Margaret’s dog, but due to that balaclava her identity is a mystery!”
I do hope she doesn’t get reported to the police and arrested for acting suspiciously.
Furlough
Once the government gave the word, both myself and the Domestic Manager spent three weeks working from home. As I needed a lot of IT kit I got the box room or ‘office’ as we rather grandly call it. The Domestic Manager had to make do with the wobbly kitchen table, where she repeatedly complained about how cold it was.
On Monday 20 April things changed, because that was when I was put on furlough leave. I know some people have found furlough difficult to cope with, but personally I think it is fine. It is a lot better than being made redundant and you still get most of your pay. No-one knows what will happen when furlough stops of course, but it is essentially a paid holiday at home. One way to look at it is that your employer doesn’t need you just now as they are standing still, but they will need you when they start to move forward again. With any luck anyway.
I am now in my fifth (or sixth) week of furlough and I have already achieved a great deal. This is due to my approach of being ‘Double Busy’. Being ‘Double Busy’ is a lot like being plain old ‘Busy’, only you get twice as much done. Case in point – at the bottom of our garden is a fence and a river. I removed one of the fence panels and said to the Domestic Manager
“I’ll put a gate in there at the weekend luv. Might give the fence a lick of paint too.” That was three years ago. But now thanks to furlough and being ‘Double Busy’, both jobs are complete:
As well as doing jobs, I was forced to surrender the office to the Domestic Manager. It seemed the path of least resistance. Not only would it be a bit warmer, she would only have to look out the window to have the pleasure of seeing me out in the garden in the sunshine, doing a job, preparing for a bike ride or sitting about doing nothing. When I pointed this out the reaction I received was less favourable than I had anticipated.
It has not all been fun in the sun though. On her first day in the office and at exactly 9:00am the Domestic Manager informed me the office was ‘cold’. So I went round the house and shut all the windows.
By 9:15am it was ‘stuffy’, so I opened them all again.
By 9:30am the temperature was again lower than acceptable, so some of the windows were shut and some left open. And so on until I developed selected deafness in both ears.
I also have to tolerate the minor irritation of the Domestic Manager now calling herself “the main breadwinner” and referring to the office as “my office”. Be in no doubt, the latter is a topic for future discussion.
Child
The child was meant to be doing her National 5 exams this month but as we know they were all cancelled. This was most disappointing for both of us. The child was keen to improve on her prelim results (mock exam) as her grades were not to her satisfaction. And after many hours assisting with revision I am left with an understanding of radioactive isotopes I doubt I will ever need again.
Keen to ensure we do not demand a refund of this terms fees, St Junipers School for Ladies of Distinction are running all their classes live online. This includes a morning assembly where the singing of hymns is encouraged, but to date we have yet to hear the strains of Kum Ba Yah waft down the stairs from her bedroom. Fall out of bed 3 minutes before lessons start, login, then come down for a leisurely breakfast of bacon and egg muffins is the norm most days.
Virus
The two instructions against which every action is now judged are:
a. stay at home and
b. don’t go out
as demanded by her majesty’s government. Quite literally under pain of death. If you’re really unlucky.
To ensure I meet both these requirements, I have limited my weekly exercise to three bike rides, two long walks and the horror that is ‘the big Saturday shop’.
It must be said exercise is popular with many at the moment. Spend ten minutes looking out our kitchen window and you will see lots of cyclists. Occasionally it will be the lone semi-professional encased in branded cycle wear. Their only concern being how quickly they can complete the remaining 83 miles.
Most often however they appear in rough packs, strung out along the road, silent but for the shouts of their aggressive leader as he provides swear words of encouragement from the front. Being close to the notorious Cairn O Mount, a well known challenge for the serious cyclist, we often see red-faced, overweight, amateurs puff past the window, bitterly regretting the moment they agreed to a “…quick 20 miles over the Cairn”.
Bicycle
When I mount my trusty velocipede and head out for a couple of hours, it is always along the back roads as they are usually car free. My favourite route takes me through the middle a large fruit farm. The road is lined with poly tunnels bursting with ripe strawberries and the smell is quite intoxicating. The closest strawberries are only 10 feet from the road and in the evenings I would sometimes stop and steal one. At the moment though I go past in the middle of the day and I tend to just keep going, fearful of being chased off by an angry Albanian.
I sometimes go past when the pickers are on their break, sitting by the side of the road in near silence. Occasionally I’ll try a cheery Hello, but rarely get a response. They look up and stare at me with either mild curiosity or deep irritation. I suppose if I were sitting by the side of the road in Romania and a fat, sweaty, middle aged man encased in black lycra so tight it affected his breathing said “Hello” to me, I’d probably not answer back either.
Shopping
Compare and contrast the joy of cycling with the nightmare that is every Saturday. The Domestic Managers charitable demeanour means we now do the shopping for four people including ourselves.
We purchase goods for my mother, the Domestic Manger’s work colleague and the work colleague’s sister who I have never met and have started to believe doesn’t exist. All are considered highly vulnerable so it is only right we do our bit, but I am sure the implications of what this entails are completely lost on them.
The outward journey requires a detour to pick up several large shopping lists, an inadequate number of shopping bags and to receive instruction on replacements and the suitability there of.
On arrival at the supermarket two trollies are required which we then spend the next 4 hours filling. This does not include the time spent queueing outside to get in.
As the weeks have passed I have noticed the shopping lists get ever more demanding. ‘Two medium onions – firm’ was one request. ‘Three good carrots’ was another. As if we might get manky ones. ‘Eight Sprouts’ was one entry that made me want to get eight bags of the things, then on delivery say “Well you weren’t very specific were you?”
Going through the till people clearly think we are hoarding and look at us with daggers. I always smile and say gaily “This isn’t all ours! It is actually four people’s shopping!” but this cuts no ice with the stony faced, joyless souls unlucky enough to find themselves in the queue behind us.
The boot and back seat are then filled with the overflowing bags. Escapee items are re-captured and returned to the car. The homeward journey is completed in reverse order with goods being delivered on route.
This whole exercise may sound simple enough, but people write shopping lists in the order they remember things, not in the way the supermarket is laid out. Then there are the requests for things you can only get in one particular store. What do you do –substitute it for the closest equivalent or get nothing? It a minefield! We all know how twitchy old people can be. Especially when it comes to their diet and their many intestinal complaints.
I remember many years ago when working part-time as a home shopper for Asda Wallmart one of my colleagues substituting an electric kettle with a toaster. The customer sent it back apparently. Can’t think why.
Murrays Musings 