A Tad Normal

A Tad Normal.

Sunday, 12^th of April, 2020.

So, week three of my lockdown is nearly upon me – it has gone quick but just where have the days gone?

‘Have a routine’, so the experts suggested. Well, I have, sort of. I set my alarm for 8.40 – now that is way too late for a normal shift; try 4.40. But as the days have passed, I find that I am waking-up before the alarm. Just naturally. My body-clock kicking-in. I wonder if anyone else has gotten like this?

I spend far too much time on my phone and scroll  on it for a good twenty minutes, just lying there, rubbing the crusty sleep from my eyes and think of the guys still in work, as they look towards their break – conscious of the fact I should really be there. Just hoping everyone is keeping at a safe distance.

Twitter occupies me like a magnet which I can’t resist or get away from. Then it is Facebook and I say to myself at 8.30, ‘That’s it, I’m getting-up!’. By the time I’m brushing my teeth, my alarm goes off on one, wanting attention like my old dear cat Sooty, meowing for food. I glare at my phone as it lies on my bed – and say, ‘I’ll be there now’ whilst discharging a mouthful of white foam down the plug-hole.

My aim is to make it in front of the tv for 9. Sometimes I get there before this, with my breakfast hardly changing of porridge or Weetabix with blueberries, nuts and grapes and of course, my first cuppa of the day! It will be one of at least five. BBC 1 – and I get to see the girl on there. She is becoming increasingly attractive and funny as well, especially as she took the mick out of her co-presenter, a stuffy chap, the other day, by ribbing him that he had not known the name (Olaf) of the one character from the children’s cartoon fantasy. At a time of national stress – it helps to see a smiley attractive face bantering.  

The news is never good. The one bit which I really want to know is just how many poor people have lost their lives to this ‘Txxt’ and more importantly, if the figures are going down at all. Also, if the nurses who are so bravely tending people with it, have finally been given complete and utter protection – like a knight going into battle in full body-armour. To my mind, and by the way, I’m not political, they should all get tested before and after they go onto treat any suspected cases and not just then either, but every day. Then any suspected patients should be tested – ASAP. That’s it, I’ll get down off my soapbox now.

The headlines – such as they are, get repeated at 9.15 and by now breakfast is over and my hands are twiddling and idle, instinctively they grab my mobile and go straight into Twitter, with me half listening but immediately I put my phone down when they show real people – like nurses in the ward  or people in care homes or on rare occasions, pharmacies or volunteers etc, battling away. No wonder the other day I was nearly going-off on one when ‘the Beeb’ spent half an hour on Boris Johnson being in hospital. I understand he is the PM and all that but I felt they went right over the top. I sincerely hope that he recovers, just like hoping anyone else will. Boris is just as much a single statistic as Kenny Dalglish – my number one Liverpool hero or the inspirational 99 – year-old fella, who came out of hospital.

Fortunately, the sun has been out. Luckily, I live in a house with a front and back garden. I chase the sun. Setting-up my table and chairs in the bottom left-hand side of my garden and start on one of the crosswords I’ve stashed away.  As I sit there, it is quite peaceful for a while. Again, I count myself very fortunate. It’s the people who live in flats – high up too, with children as well who I most feel sorry for. It must be a nightmare for them. As if right on que, I hear the little girls from next door, pile out into their garden and start to play. I am glad that they are so innocent, though guarantee one of them, sometime along the line will scream; it signals that this surreal life we are all living is at least a tad normal…

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