Today is Day 80 of my house arrest. And nothing much has changed since my last report on day 60. It’s all still rather tedious, although most things seem to be trotting along and not as fraught as even three weeks ago.
The great British public are being ever more stupid. Talking to a friend in south London (New Cross) the other day, he says taht everyone there things it’s all over and life will resume next week. And the idiots think that because the roads are empty the speed limits don’t apply; so the police are seeing a significant number of stops for traffic offences (mostly speeding). I really don’t know how we get some common sense into the heads of these people.
Anyway, I thought I’d document a few things (good and not so good) that have happened over the last three weeks or so …
Good
Not So Good
Our friend Tom is OK; he disappeared from the radar in early February. It turns out he wasn’t well then (not Covid-related) and needed some time out; he’s now OK and sitting about home getting terminally bored.
The quiet is wonderful (although there is still too much background noise, especially now the weather has improved).
Our new apple trees look to be thriving; we might even get a handful of apples this year.
Tomatoes and marrows planted out in the gro-beds on our patio.
We have even more roses in bloom, including right to top of silver birch: see my post here and also below.
A while ago I stole an idea from our friends Jean and Helen who had discovered Letterbox Flowers: regular delivery of a bouquet packed in a box which will fit through most letterboxes.
So every month we get a bouquet, sent on overnight delivery, beautifully packed and just waiting to spring into full bloom. The packaging is impressive with the flowers picked while still in bud and with the larger, more easily damaged blooms protected with little socks – what a fantastic idea that is! (See right for how the flowers are packed.)
This is our second monthly delivery. To be honest I wasn’t very impressed with our first delivery as the flowers didn’t seem to hold up well (but that may be the way we handled them). But this month’s is just fabulous …
This is 2-3 days after we received them. They look wonderful! Even Noreen is impressed, and that’s from someone who’s parents were florists and who grew up with floristry.
Letterbox Flowers have a variety of options from a selection of one-off bouquets to a year-long weekly subscription. For my money they aren’t out of the way expensive: a decent bouquet from a good florist would cost around the same (at least in London).
[As always, click the images larger views on my Flickr]
This fuchsia struggles on as a small standard in a
shallow planter; and it has survived the winter
unprotected although in a fairly sheltered spot
No apologies for another shot of the absolutely glorious
Buff Beauty which is ramping up through our biggest
silver birch: a profusion of so many flowers some of
the stems are threatening to break under the weight
Like all the dog roses in our garden this is another
sucker from an unknown rose. We appreciate the dog
roses as much as the cultivars, so where possible tend
to leave them to clamber naturally through the trees
Rose (variety forgotten) flowering 15 feet up one of
our silver birch trees
And finally a different sort of flower …
Birthday Cat: Tilly is 7 years old today (as near as we can know),
not that you would think it. She’s still a big kitten (when she chooses),
inquisitive (as here, investigating the new planters), picky, skittish
and a rascal in her own quiet way
Today is Day 60 of quarantine for me. Yes, I’ve not been off the premises in the last 60 days; Noreen has been out just a handful of times, mostly just to the postbox.
It’s all a bit tedious, although everything seems to have settled down into a new non-rhythm – things aren’t as fraught was they were 6 weeks ago, although the thought of either of us getting this lurgy still induces a fit of the horrors.
Anyway, just by way of a small celebration, I though I would document half a dozen good, and the same number of not so good, things which have happened here in the last 60 days.
Good
Not So Good
We’re managing to eat extremely well – probably better than normal – to keep the spirits up!
I’ve now been in lockdown since midday on 12 March, when I got home from my annual diabetic eye check (which I was surprised wasn’t cancelled). That’s 24 days and counting. I thought I’d just make a few brief notes about the good and the not so good recent happenings.
Not So Good
Being in a higher risk category, which brings on fearfulness and self-isolation.
Being unable to do a supermarket shop, because our decent supermarkets are either a bus ride or a taxi ride away (‘cos we don’t drive), and that feels too risky for either of us.
The total inability to book a supermarket delivery, any supermarket delivery. And when you do, 50% of what you order isn’t available.
The almost total absence of some commodities like bread flour and long-life milk.
An inability to sign up for a “veg box” delivery.
The nice sunny weather means I shall have to do some gardening, as much as my back will allow …
… because the garden is untidy and is threatening to get away from us while we can’t get anyone to work on it.
Two (Arab-looking) guys wandering down the road this morning shoulder to shoulder, the younger wearing a mask and talking to his mobile. Totally oblivious to what 6 feet is.
The government’s pathetic response to the crisis: too little, too late; inadequate support for healthcare workers; delayed lockdown; stupidity of expecting herd immunity; inadequate self-isolation advice for the infected; almost complete absence of testing, so they’ve no clue what is actually happening … it goes on …
All of that covered by wall-to-wall rolling TV news (which I’m mostly ignoring).
I’m missing my fortnightly massage: it does keep my damaged back working but it is also enjoyable socially too.
I know I’m not someone who is always out and about, but even so being forced to stay grounded is somewhat wearing.
The inability to rise above (or kill off) all the stupid things I (feel I) have to do so I can sit and relax and read.
A feeling of vulnerability and impending doom. Suddenly one realises one is all too mortal. And I’m unable to get my head round what it’ll be like not to be here, and not to be able to do the things I am doing.
And then one feels like a helpless mesmerised rabbit in the headlights due to the stress and anxiety which feed the depression – rinse and repeat.
Good
All the valiant and heroic NHS people, transport workers, and food supply-chain workers who are putting themselves at risk to help people and keep things moving.
There’s certainly a sense of history: that we’re living through an historic period much like the Black Death (1349) or the Great Plague of London (1665) and beginning (but only beginning) to understand what it must have been like then. Yes that’s macabre, but also interesting and in a way rather fun.
The quiet! It is just so quiet: no traffic noise, no planes in/out of Heathrow, not even many screaming kids. If you added back in a few mooing cows and whinnying horses this must be much like it was 600 years ago.
Add to that the light and air quality. The lack of traffic, planes etc. has really reduced the pollution. The air is fresh, clear and not smelling of diesel and kerosene. And the light is bright, almost with that special clear quality one is used to seeing in East Anglia.
The friend, who despite being an NHS worker with an elderly mum, is helping us by getting the odd few provisions and a bunch of flowers.
One of the supermarkets (which I won’t name) seem to have decided (how?) that I’m on the vulnerable list for deliveries. This could be useful.
Meanwhile Noreen has been able to get to the (pretty rubbish) local shops for the odd essentials.
At the beginning of all this I had managed to book several Waitrose deliveries and have struck lucky with the odd slot ere and there – so we’re doing OK for food.
It’s a lovely warm sunny Spring day today (Sunday) and the week promises to be largely the same. That means the garden is getting green and the apple blossom is coming out.
Although I’ve been retired for 10 years, I worked from home for most of the last 10 years I was working. And I still work from home on most of my current community give-back activity.
There are now a lot of people around the world who are having to work from home for the first time, and maybe wondering where to start.
There are a lot of website out there which tell you how to work from home, but I have to admit I wouldn’t be finding their hints and tips always very useful – at least initially.
Working from home isn’t rocket science, but it does need a little bit of organising and discipline. Most of it is common sense, but not always obvious common sense. So I thought I’d put together a few of my thoughts in the hope that they may help some of you. Here goes …
Working from home is brilliant … Until the cat throws up on your laptop or your neighbour decides now is the time to rebuild his house (don’t laugh, the latter happened to me!). It won’t be long before you wonder why you ever bothered going in the office.
Basically you need to treat your home workplace up as if it is your regular office.
Have a set workplace. It doesn’t matter whether it is your study, the basement or the kitchen table, as long as it is always the same place. Resist working from your bed or sofa; or in front of the TV. I used to work at my desk in the study; this became my office when I took my laptop out in the morning; and it became mine again when my laptop was put away.
It doesn’t matter whether you get dressed, spend the day in your nightshirt or even nothing, as long as you’re comfortable and aren’t having a videoconference with your group director. However some people feel more professional and work better if they’re wearing reasonable day clothes.
If you’re spending the day in your pyjamas, don’t go out in them! If you need to pop to the corner shop, the post-box or to collect the kids, do please put on jeans and a t-shirt.
Know when to “log on” and “log off”. Try to have a regular start and stop time. If possible use the same schedule as you would in the office; you’ll probably stretch it a bit at both ends but you should still get some extra time to yourself as you’ll not be commuting. I used to start about 8am and stop no later than 6pm. Do not be tempted to either lie-in or keep working into the evening; you can prevent the lie-in by having 9am team conference calls.
On the other hand you do have the flexibility to work when you’re most productive, whether that’s 5am or midnight, although this must not be an excuse to work longer hours. You’ll still need to be available during office hours, so you still need that regular schedule.
Remember, if you’re sick, then you’re sick and shouldn’t be working – just like you wouldn’t go in the office.
Keep to your normal time management method; this will help you keep focus. If you’ve never been taught time management, find an online course and start now. Try to avoid taking a quick break to do the laundry/bath the cat/pop to the supermarket/whatever. It all too easily becomes an hour and a half.
You might want to have a separate phone number for your work – possibly a second mobile. Likewise a separate laptop and email address.
If you don’t have the technology you need (whether it’s a new laptop, or printer, or a piece of software) nag your boss until you get it. Without it you will not be optimally productive.
Communicate, communicate, communicate. In fact, over-communicate. Ensure your boss and your colleagues know you’re there, and you’re being productive. All it needs is the odd phone call, an instant message or two a day, or emailing in that special report you wrote.
Keeping in contact with other humans is allowed – preferably by phone or video, rather than just by email. If nothing else my wife and I talked briefly on the phone at some point most days. Instant messaging can also help a lot, especially if everyone you need to talk to is on the same platform. But voice is best.
Don’t be frightened of phone/video meetings – they’re just like normal meetings, with maybe a bit more discipline, except you can’t spill coffee in Sharon’s lap.
If you’re having a phone/video meeting, remember that you need to circulate any papers in advance by email.
If you’re having a videoconference ensure you know how to share your screen so you can display your visuals and the whiteboard.
Look out of the window. I found I did this quite a bit during 1-2-1 phone calls (and boring teleconferences) and I did quite a lot of garden birdwatching (no, feathered kind!) this way.
In my opinion do not have music on, or the radio, or the TV. Despite what you might think you will concentrate better if it is quiet and there are no distractions. If you must, catch up on TV news at lunchtime.
Do not be tempted to look at social media. I found that easy as I had a separate laptop and mobile phone.
Do take proper breaks; refill your tea/coffee/juice; and go to the loo. Just ration the biscuits!
Also ensure you stop for lunch, if only for 20 minutes. But do not waste time preparing and cooking a meal: either have a soup or sandwich type lunch, or prepare food the night before. This was something I found hard too do; with no-one to sit with at lunch it was too easy to grab some bread and cheese and eat it at my desk.
If there are other people at home with you, set some ground rules, ensure they respect that you’re working, and they know what your routine is. If they’re children, make sure you work out in advance how to keep them amused and out of your hair. Do have joint lunch or breaks, but keep them to a normal length.
Those of you who are seasoned home workers will doubtless not agree with everything I’ve said, and have different things which help you. That’s good. The moral is that ultimately you have to find the way that works best for you – for me that was being totally focussed. YMMV.
Over the last weekend I started writing what I hope may become an occasional series of comment/diary entries emanating from the current mess known as Coronavirus. Here’s what I wrote on Sunday (lightly edited).
Sunday 15 March 2020 – Ides of March
This Coronavirus (Covid-19) is getting a grip of everyone. It looks like we’re in for a long haul, and a very messy one. Few of us trust the government’s strategy, which is at total odds with what the rest of the world are doing (except for the USA, and President Trump is an even bigger moron that Boris Johnson). The strategy may protect the over-70s for a bit, meanwhile it will rip through the rest of the population. Then the over-70s will succumb as soon as the restrictions come off, creating a second (and third etc.) wave before we’re near to having any treatment or vaccination options – don’t expect those within a year. Anyway it is now much too late; the genii is out of the bottle and in my estimation has been since probably mid-December (because the first case is now thought to have been in mid-November, but not recognised for what it was). So we needed to impose draconian social distancing measures very early, like back at New Year, if we really were to nip this in the bud.
I’ve already cancelled one of our doctor’s patient group events for this week, and my meeting the same morning with the Practice Manager. More will doubtless follow over the next few days. Others organising events I’m involved with as far ahead as mid-May are discussing cancelling them too.
Unfortunately I’m also minded to cancel my fortnightly massage sessions: not only because it’s a risk to me but also because my masseuse is newly pregnant and others working in the same practice are at significantly high risk. That makes me really sad as I enjoy the massage sessions and the chat, and it does help keep my back going. But we need to consider others in this as well as ourselves.
Amongst all this I’m really frightened and depressed. I’m almost 70 and with diabetes, obesity and sleep apnoea so I’m in a high risk category for serious complications if I do get Covid-19. And if I do I fear that it will kill me – either because my immune system is too compromised or because the hospitals won’t be able to cope and I’ll be a low priority for treatment.
I know the chances of me succumbing to this are relatively small, but that doesn’t make it any less frightening. So I feel my best hope is not to get this and be around long enough for either a good treatment or a vaccine.
But then I’m worried too that Noreen will fall ill. She’s not far behind me in age and she does have a long-term hereditary condition, although that doesn’t seem to affect either her immune system or lungs. Indeed her immune system, hitherto, has been so good it keeps many things under: she’s a Typhoid Mary. If Noreen does fall off her perch before me I know I shall be absolutely sunk: not because I can’t do what has to be done (although that may not be easy) but mentally; the depression will be completely overwhelming. Equally I know Noreen will struggle without me.
But what can we do? Both of us being risk averse as we are we’re inclined to behave as if we’re over 70, and self-isolate as much as we possibly can. Luckily we can (for now, at least) get grocery deliveries – not ideal but OK – and we have the reserves we built up against Brexit to help.
Even before all this I was beginning to feel my mortality and realising that I likely have only a few more years. The thought of not being here leaves me feeling deeply sad and almost terminally helpless. I’m starting to understand how, in his last years, my father just gave up the will to keep going.
It’s also interesting to start to really appreciate how frightening in must have been for people during the Black Death of 1348-9, the Plague of 1665, and the Spanish Flu of 1918-19; especially given that they really didn’t understand how any of this worked and what they could do to mitigate the diseases. In that sense at least we stand half a chance.
Today my late father would have been 100. Unfortunately he died in May 2006 at the age of 86. He was surprised to make 86.
He was about 67 when my parents moved from my childhood home in Waltham Cross to the outskirts of Norwich – somewhere my father unexpectedly found he didn’t like. I don’t recall my mother ever saying what she thought – she was one to just get on and make the best of what was there – but Noreen and I were delighted as we both love Norwich.
He didn’t expect that he and my mother would have more than a few years there. So they made their bungalow comfortable, but he admitted later that had he known they’d have almost 20 years left they would have done a number of things to adapt the bungalow more to their liking. This, plus the fact that he never adjusted to having a stoma following bowel cancer surgery in his late 70s, made his last few years exceptionally miserable.
In many ways Bob was a “miserable old git” who believed that life and everyone were out to get him and his money. If there was a negative take on anything, he’d be right there. Whether this was because he was depressive, or vice versa, or both, I’ve never worked out. His depression could have been partly genetic as his father was also depressive; and his fairly awful childhood through the depression preceding WW2 would only have exacerbated it all.
Probably because he’d never been allowed to achieve academically, despite being able, in retrospect he put a lot of covert pressure to succeed on me as a kid. This, together with the depression and general angst, left me with a very negative attitude and has doubtless contributed to my depression. Luckily I managed, in my 40s, to somehow (I still don’t know how) to a large extent overcome the negativity and let much of the annoyances and stupidities of life just wash over me.
Me (centre) with my parents in the early 1980s
Bob also viewed me as profligate, lacking in common sense and a failure – because his values and common sense didn’t match mine as I beat my own path through life: I didn’t get a proper academic job, refused to be a teacher and sold out to the commercial world.
Having said that he was clearly loved when he worked, for a few years in the early 70s, as a personnel manager, and went out of his way to support his staff – even in one case where one of his junior staff got pregnant out of wedlock and he gave her support against both her parents and his colleagues. In that sense he was quite progressive – indeed my parents were decidedly bohemian, as evidenced by the fact that they lived together for two years following the war while my mother’s divorce was settled. And that I was encouraged to call them, and anyone else, by their first names.
I also have to appreciate that I was encouraged (by both parents) to read, to think, to know about history, and to understand natural history and the environment. There were books in almost every room when I was growing up, and none were off-limits. I recall he bought Lady Chatterley’s Lover as soon as it became available; I read it in my very early teens and found it terminally boring. There was also a copy of Havelock Ellis on the living room shelves, which I devoured at 16/17 when I had my first serious girlfriend.
I’ve never quite forgiven Bob for the effect of his overriding negativity on me, and the constraints (I felt were) placed on me as a kid; although I recognise that he was doing the best he knew how, and I am extremely grateful for the very open, liberal and bohemian upbringing. All of this clearly shaped me, and once I managed to throw off the worst of the negativity, has made me the slightly maverick thinker I like to believe I am today.
Having had a birthday recently, I bought myself a present. As as one of my aims for this year is to do more photography I bought an expensive new camera: a Canon EOS 90D and three lenses (plus some bits & pieces), to replace my ageing Olympus E620. The Canon’s a beast of a 32 megapixel camera with far more facilities than I’ll ever understand, let alone use – although it’s going to be interesting trying.
Of course having got the camera it has had to be tested. So here are the first four serious shots I’ve taken with it: of our cats, of course.
Click the images for larger views
Boy cat washing paws
Boy cat looking astonished: just look at those curly whiskers!
Rosie trying to charm tea from the food provider
Tilly looking cute and trying to doze
Now all I have to do is to get out and get my money’s-worth from such an extravagance! So hopefully more images to come during the year. And possibly a photographic 100 day challenge.
So today is “Happy Birthday to Me” day and here’s the traditional birthday meme. Enjoy!
Have you ever been camping? Yes, many times, although not since my teens.
What terrifies you? Dementia; cancer.
Do you like makeup? Not a lot, which is why I never wear any.
What piercings do you have? One, somewhere you don’t want to know about!
Do you fear thunder and lightning? No; thunderstorms are fun.
Do you feel you had a happy childhood? No, I didn’t have a happy childhood, for all sorts of reasons.
Do you go to church every Sunday? No. It’s probably almost 40 years since I went to church on a Sunday.
Do you go in a fast food place or just use the drive thru? Neither; I don’t do fast food.
Do you use the word “hello” daily? Who doesn’t?
Do you like to wear perfume/cologne? No, but I do sometimes wear aftershave.
Have you ever slept with someone at least 5 years older or younger? Yes, she was 9 years older than me (32 to my 23); I learnt a lot and it was fun.
What would you name your future children? Nebuchadnezzar PearDrop and Nefertiti CherryPie. (Oh come on! You mean you didn’t expect a stupid answer?)
Do you wear glasses/contacts? Yes, I’ve worn glasses since I was about 14 and I’ve never wanted to switch to lenses.
Do you have a creed? Yes: “Treat others as you would like them to treat you”.
Do you hold grudges? I try not to; I can think of only two which are mostly still there; both are over 40 years old.
Which are better black or green olives? Both are good; black are better.
Do you have any strange fears? Not that I can think of.
Do you have any strange interests? Don’t think I have any of them either.
Are you envious of anyone? Not really, and certainly not in an overwhelming way.
Is anyone envious of you? I’d say they were fools if they were.
Any specific textures that bother you? The fuzz on peach skin.
Do you ever go barefoot when you’re outside? Yes, quite often in the garden or on the beach.
Can you say the alphabet backwards? Of course.
Favourite pair of shoes you wear all the time? Yes, although I don’t wear shoes often these days, mostly trainers. But I’ve worn the same pair of Clarks deck shoes for well over 10 years (I had them ages before I retired); they’re just so comfortable.
Do you believe in ghosts? Probably maybe.
Do you wear rings? Yes, six of various sorts.
How would you describe your style? Haphazard casual.
What would you say if the person you love/like kissed another girl/boy? Why would I need to say anything? Why comment on something perfectly normal?
Have you ever been in a car accident? Yes, four. Luckily none of them serious. And, no I wasn’t driving (‘cos I don’t).
Are you very sensitive to smell? I have quite a good sense of smell, but it isn’t sensitive in that there are lots of smells it it recoils from other than ordure.
Do you believe in aliens? Possibly maybe.
What’s your most common mistake? Being truthful; people really don’t like it!
When was the last time you had a portrait taken by a photographer?Laura Dodsworth, October 2016.
Have you ever sat on a roof top? Yes, quite a few times.
Do you like going on airplanes? Yes, I quite like the actual flight (though I used not to) but I hate all the airport hassles.
Do you ever write in pencil any more? Old programmers always write in pencil.
Do you like to organize? I suppose so, I just do it naturally.
Dinosaurs or dragons? Always dragons.
Do you believe in god(s)? No.
Have you ever laid on your back and watched cloud shapes go by? Many times.
Can you curl your tongue? No; that’s a gene I didn’t inherit.
Opinions on sex before marriage? Where’s the problem?
Have you ever been handcuffed? No.
What do you label yourself as? Village idiot.
How did you get your worst scar? Appendectomy in my late 20s; I think they let the trainees loose on me: huge scar and big blanket stitches to close it.
Do you take vitamins daily? Only vitamin D.
Do you have freckles? No.
Have you ever been to a strip club? No; why would I?
Do you believe in auras? I don’t know; they seem incredibly unlikely but then so do so many things.
An angel appears out of heaven and offers you a lifetime supply of the alcoholic beverage of your choice. “Be brand-specific” it says. What are you going to choose?Adnams Dry Hopped Lager or Adnams Ghost Ship.
I must find something a bit more exciting for next year (assuming the Kindly Ones permit me to continue to exist that long).
Eccentric looks at life through the thoughts of a retired working thinker
A while ago I stole an idea from our friends Jean and Helen who had discovered 
