Month: March 2020

The C-19 Diaries. Early morning Morrison’s.

Day 8

Day off today – circumstances have aligned in my favour such that – at least for this week – a return to my normal Tuesday-off schedule has been possible. 

Lying in bed, I resolved to have a shower and shave. On getting up, I decided to skip that and go straight to breakfast.

Nicola calls, on the downhill section of a power-walk. We chat about various things including High School Musical, the misogyny in my early blog entries (she has resolved to start at its beginning, in 2006, and read a year’s worth of entries per day. Please pray for her), Zac Efron and the Backstreet Boys. It may be apparent who was driving the conversational content in this chat.

I think about having a shower, but am determined to experience Morrison’s in the morning, rather than at my usual about-to-cook-dinner-and-realise-I-have-nothing-to-cook slot. So I head there in my jogging bottoms and the t-shirt I slept in, accompanied by a cloud of undefined overnight fragrance.

It proves straightforward to maintain the 2m social-distancing bubble today.

Morrison’s at 11am is a revelation. The shelves full of things, mostly. Chicken is still a little thin on the ground. Are the NHS workers and the elderly scooping up all the chicken early doors? It feels churlish to call them out on this, but I may have just done that.

The Morrison’s DJ, confirming his status as the Best UK Supermarket DJ, throws on some ABBA. I try to listen for the chorus effect masking the overdubbing phase discrepancies, but it makes my head hurt and so I sashay out the doors into a mostly-deserted car park and the spring sunshine.

Back home I make coffee, and sit on the back steps, enjoying the view of a partially-cleared “garden area” complete with half a door lying flat on the ground.

Throughout the morning, the argument for taking a shower has become gradually more compelling. I finally cave in just before lunch.

Lunch includes boiled eggs again – which are excellent again, although I cracked one just trying to get it out of the carton, thus maintaining my average eat-2-use-3 egg consumption. Folks, if there’s a national shortage of eggs anytime soon, you know where to point the finger.

Today I should have had a haircut. Whether I pluck up the courage to don the full black-gospel-choir gown and shave my head today remains to be seen. But it’s been four weeks, and four weeks is a long time in the world of my hair. The time is coming.

The C-19 Diaries. Online church, Jack Daniels, and Haribo.

I apologise for the fallow spell, dear reader. I ran out of inspiration. But hey! Here’s a bumper edition with two days’ “activity”!

Day 6

Online church went well again this morning. We put together a worship set (non-churchgoers: think ‘music video’) which entailed me playing keys in my living room, and Neil playing guitar and singing in his spare room, on the same songs.

The feedback from the church congregation represented the diversity of technical knowledge in any group of people that size, from:

“I literally have no idea how you did that!”

to

“I like how you used a chorus effect to mask phase discrepancies across the overdubbing.”

Apparently ABBA were the first to use this technique to great effect.

I would like to make it clear that any employment of advanced dubbing-masking techniques in our recording process is entirely accidental…

Day 7

Meetings Monday. 

Becoming something of a Zoom Master. Something I really want to nail, though, is to somehow broadcast a looped video of me moving slightly, showing an interested face, while I am in fact in the kitchen making coffee. If anyone has the skills to make this happen, I will pay handsomely.

Today my new gooseneck iPhone-holder arrived. Means that I can ditch the car-airvent-phone-mount-attached-to-drying-rack-arrangement that I’ve been using thus far to record video for our worship music production.

A proper iPhone holder attached to a stepladder is slightly less Heath Robinson than the previous arrangement, and I can now hang my clothes up to dry again. The lack of drying apparatus was causing a blockage in the personal hygiene chain, and the dirty laundry has been backing up. So resolving this situation is a bonus for the whole household.

Tonight I celebrated a friend’s 50th birthday via a Facebook group. I toasted the occasion with Jack Daniels, and some Haribo. I would like you all to think that that’s a combination forced upon me by Lockdown and not one that I would ordinarily sanction.

My sister has been coaching me on the art of the boiled egg. Today’s were probably the best yet. I had no idea it was such a complicated thing. So many opinions to navigate.

Late in the evening, I realise that Monday is the traditional day of the week for having my world turned upside down by Boris.

I check in on the latest Government updates. Nothing big. It’s a relief. For the first time in what feels like several months (but is actually only two weeks), I think this week will look a lot like last week.

The C-19 Diaries. Limoncello and The Back Garden Offensive.

Day 5

Day 5 of Lockdown, people. That’s almost a week. 

Here in the OHFTC bunker, nestled on the northeastern slopes of Arthur’s Seat, we press on. We aren’t wiping down door handles and the like – we find it’s easier to just use The Force to open doors. No contact required. Job done.

I had a spot of video-editing to do today to pull together tomorrow’s online church service. There’s a risk that there might not be quite enough limoncello left in the bottle to fuel the video-editing. So, St Mungo’s church viewers, if the service kind of grinds to a halt halfway though, you’ll know what’s happened.

On the subject of limoncello, one lunchtime last week, a friend – who may or may not hold an important position at a prestigious university – sent me a photo of the bottle of limoncello he was proposing to sample, to – as he put it – “help this afternoon’s meetings.”

I think Limoncello-makers could make this into a great advertising slogan.

Lunchtime Limoncello. Helps your afternoon’s meetings.

I haven’t heard anything from him since. I do hope he’s ok, and still employed.

My flatmate is not working today. Not that he’s not employed, it’s just a Saturday, when normal people don’t work. He has not yet appeared in the shared Multipurpose Facility we used to call the living room. I can only deduce that his buttocks are more accommodating to hard chairs than mine.

However, later on I spot him scraping moss off our back steps. The back steps lead down to our Back Garden, which is a euphemistic description at best. My flatmate and I decided, quite recently, that this Spring we would attack the undergrowth, and indeed the overgrowth, of which there is quite a lot, in the Back Garden.

This is not as straightforward as it might seem, because in order to access the back steps leading to the Back Garden one must open the back door. And after a particularly vigorous appearance by one of the Storms (it may have been Dennis) earlier in the year, we got a kind note posted through our door from our neighbour, explaining that half our back door had blown off and landed in his garden.

It’s quite fortunate that it was his garden it landed in. His garden is of an award-winningly immaculate nature, and thus a blown-off half-door is quite an obvious addition. If it had landed in our Back Garden it’s fair to say it might never have been found – in the undergrowth, or possibly the overgrowth.

In case you’re wondering how we didn’t notice, without a note being posted to us, that half our back door was missing, I should point out that it was the outer layer of the door. So from the interior, which is where we were, everything looked completely normal.

However, it now became very difficult to open the door. Even though there’s only half of it left. Even using The Force – both of us concentrating madly for some time. I would defy your average Jedi to open this door using only The Force. And so my flatmate deserves a lot of credit for getting out there at all, never mind beginning the Back Garden Offensive. I believe he used the Force in conjunction with the Shoulder Charge.

A word about this blog.

Am conscious that I am – in my usual manner – writing in a whimsical tone. I am not the only one, of course – funny videos and memes abound poking fun at social distancing, and Coronavirus, and lockdown, and all the rest.

It’s a strange thing. I am conscious that Coronavirus is having a very serious impact on some people. People are actually dying from this, and although it still seems somewhat distant to me, it’s becoming closer as I learn of people I know who have been hospitalised with it. I hope nothing of what I write comes across as blasé about the stark realities of this for some people.

I can only write from my experience, and my experience currently involves nothing more serious than being confined to barracks for the foreseeable. I will continue to try to find humour in the mundane, but want you to understand that I am not blind to the more serious side of all this.

So… after yesterday’s 10-press-up workout, I spent most of today recovering from my exertions. But I did venture out to Morrison’s to pick up some important provisions. Just as I left the house, a hailstorm started, which was pretty great. Walking through a hailstorm isn’t an experience you can have inside, now is it.

Sometimes it’s the little things.

Stay safe and well folks. ❤️

The C-19 Diaries. Day Off.

Day 4

I had a day off today. I sashayed all the way through to the dining room for a bit, but the seats were too hard, so I returned to the comfort of the office-studio-living room.

Did a light workout in the morning. I say light, it was pathetic really. But ten press-ups is better than no press-ups, surely.

Daily exercise duly accomplished, I set about replacing all those burnt calories. Having failed to master the Eat-10-Traybakes-in-a-Day Challenge yesterday, I set about it with renewed vigour today, but still failed. 

And with that, it was time for lunch. 

Yesterday, I boiled the first egg of my egg-boiling career. It didn’t go all that well, but the second one was better.

Today I thought I had nailed both of them, until some tell-tale egg-white leakage betrayed the fact that I had cracked the first one with a slightly over-enthusiastic egg-drop. 

Given that boiling an egg was one of the culinary feats my dad claimed to have been able to manage (I think heating up a can of baked beans was the other, although I am not sure I ever saw either happen in practice), I am confident that I can master it. I shall press on.

Last night there was a clapping tribute to NHS workers, and people came to their doorways and clapped solidly for a minute or something. 

I had no idea this was happening! Did I miss a memo? Can we do it again? NHS legends – forgive me for not taking part – thank you for being amazing (all the time) and incredible just now. We love you.

This afternoon I read the instructions for my new hair clippers and put it on charge in preparation for the Big Hair Event. My next scheduled haircut would have been this coming Tuesday. Not sure I will hold out until then, it’s getting bushy up there.

Under the Guide Comb Function section of the instructions, I read this:

  1. Determine the hair length of your pet that needs to be shaved.

My sister has bought me dog-hair clippers. Splendid. I’ll keep you posted on how this works out.

The C-19 Diaries. Traybakes and Queuing Protocol.

Day 3

Slept great last night. Clearly limoncello just before bed is the way forward.

Woke up to a message from a friend, linking to a series of Tweets from Nick Heath, who – as a sports commentator – has taken to commentating on scenes in everyday life, and recording them in a series of short videos.

If you need your day brightened up… check them out here.

Mum included traybakes in yesterday’s mercy package. Chocolate-covered fudge squares. Disappointingly, my flat mate is off chocolate for Lent, so I am having to power through them myself. Two down, eight to go. I am confident of hitting the target by lunchtime.

It feels like everybody is online, all the time, right now. I am usually someone who keeps on top of their notifications, emails, etc. But for the last week or so it feels like everybody I know has been emailing me, tagging me on Facebook and WhatsApping me all at the same time.

So if you’ve sent me a message via one of these platforms (or any other platform) recently and I seem to be ignoring it, please accept my apologies, I might not even have read it yet.

Didn’t manage to leave the house today. Didn’t so much as open the front door to a startled delivery person.

My flatmate did, though, and brought news of the Great Outdoors.

Morrisons, he reports, have brought in the queuing-with-enforced-2m-separation just to get in to the store. I witnessed this phenomenon yesterday, as I drove into Tesco. It’s what inspired me to drive straight back out again. People standing 2m apart down the side of the building. It’s a queue-jumper’s DREAM. 

I discovered this at my next port of call – Margiotta – when an old dear sailed straight up to the checkout at an oblique angle, before the kind checkout operator gently pointed out that I – the mildly disgruntled man standing against the far wall of the shop – was next in the queue.

But I’ve forgiven her. She probably had zero peripheral vision due to the vast array of apparel she had wrapped around her head, to ward off viruses, one assumes. She might even have been foreign, and unaware of how seriously we take queuing in this country.

The London Branch of the family have had a disturbing development. My sister-in-law accidentally drank some Turmeric-infused tea and has turned yellow. Or so says my sister, who can’t always be relied upon to relay turmeric-related information with a great deal of accuracy.

Sleep tight y’all.

The C-19 Diaries. Birthday in Lockdown.

Day 2

First thing this morning, Disco Dave sent me a video birthday message on WhatsApp. Disco, being the father of 3 young girls, has an encyclopaedic knowledge of videos that YouTube would never consider adding to my “Up Next” list. This one involves a silly song (they always involve a silly song) about a cat licking my birthday cake.

He goes on to assert that Baileys (of which he has been known to partake) is widely-known to improve video-editing skills by 13%.

I myself am fairly sure that one’s video-editing skills improve by a percentage roughly equal to the ABV of the drink you’re currently having. So I went straight to the limoncello this morning.

Shortly afterwards I remembered that I wasn’t going to be doing any video-editing today. 

Managed to leave the house today. I made a trip to the supermarket (two supermarkets, a local grocery store and a corner shop, actually) and got some shopping for mum. Which therefore entitled me to legitimate house-leaving on two distinct grounds: “shopping for essentials” and “providing care to the elderly” (no offence mum).

Technically I got some exercise too, since my car was parked at the top of the hill.

So, the only cakes I got today were cake-emojis. Although in a furtive doorstep-shopping-bag-exchange with my mum I got a couple of birthday cards and a beef roast. She got a couple of cans of condensed milk and some small-headed broccoli. I am still unsure as to what recipe requires this combination. 

I’m only joking about the limoncello, dear reader. I didn’t start on it until after dinner.

Stay healthy everyone!

The C-19 Diaries. Lockdown.

Day 1

Approximately two hours after I write a blog post entitled “Not in Lockdown yet…” the PM – wilfully ignoring my blog activity – broadcasts to the nation that we’re now Locked Down. 

Of course he doesn’t use that phrase. But we’re not allowed to leave the house, mostly. There is no definite time given as to when the new restrictions come into force, apart from a vague “from tonight”, so I drive through eerily-deserted streets to make an emergency visit to the office, where I forage for some equipment that will make video-production from home more achievable. 

Along with some decent headphones, I find coffee beans, pasta, and PINE NUTS. Glory be, as my granny would have said under similar circumstances. I also rescue a half-full packet of Tunnocks Caramel Wafers. All of the above are known ways to improve video production.

Then, as an afterthought, I retrieve my Nerf Gun from my desk. You just don’t know when you’re going to need a personal firearm at times like these. Disco Dave has been self-isolating for days, and we are fearing a rampage sometime soon.

Today, I spend the morning reorganising my “office” space, aka the living room, which I will now be sharing with my flatmate. I spend so much time on the reorganising and tidying that I don’t get any actual work done before it’s time to stop for lunch. It’s a nostalgic throwback to the days when I would find any manner of domestic tasks to do rather than sit down and revise for exams.

Myself and the ops team work on a new plan for how to produce an online church service, without access to our church building, and working remotely from home. The main problem we foresee is that some of our content-providers – who will record themselves on video – reside in the Sticks, where the broadband is so slow it would make you crave the good ol’ days of dial-up.

We speculate on ways that we could more efficiently receive the video files from them. Suggestions include training up a carrier pigeon. Or taking the SD card containing the video recording, strapping it to a nearby sheep and hope that it wanders into one of our gardens sometime soon.

We’re a resourceful team.

Yesterday I ordered a few things from Amazon. This morning I get a text message:

Your driver will deliver your parcel today between 17:18-18:18, you do have options if you’re not going to be in.

Oh, it’s ok. I think I’ll be in.

I have another delivery earlier in the day. On opening the front door, the driver jumps back, sort of like a startled rabbit, so as to maintain the 2m distancing. I think she overdid it and it was more like 3m. I am trying not to take that personally. 

My delivery included a birthday present from my sister. I had originally requested a new pair of ski poles, having snapped one in an unfortunate chair-lift incident during this year’s ski trip.

However, on account of the PM’s announcement last night, and the sudden-dawning realisation that my hairdresser would now be closing, I felt that hair clippers would make a more pragmatic gift. So I am now quite excited to try these out. I am also nervous about the results.

No photos will be posted here, don’t even ask. But anyone with a Zoom meeting lined up with me anytime soon (there are a few) is in for a real treat.

Not in Lockdown yet…

The pre-Coronavirus Diaries, continued

Tuesday/ cont’d

Download and watch Salt, for perhaps the third time. I consider it to be one of Angelina’s finest works. My flatmate elects to stay in his room.

Given that the government advice precludes meeting together, church is now off for the foreseeable. Preliminary plans are made to begin filming and editing a video-based online church service.

Wednesday/Thursday

I have very little recollection of these days. Video editing was involved.

Friday

I do remember having an Empire Biscuit on Friday, so some of life’s rhythms are still intact. 

I make various visits to various supermarkets. The food items-shopper ratio is gradually decreasing.

Where are all the stockpilers putting all their stuff? Surely they’ve run out of space by now?

Sister is in touch on WhatsApp. She raises the thorny question of what would happen if the Queen passes on in the middle of all this. What will we do? Will all the meticulous planning be for naught?

“I’m sending turmeric to the Palace,” she affirms.

“Make sure you keep enough back for yourself,” I remind her. It’s easy to overlook one’s personal needs in times of crisis like this.

“I have 25kg” she replies.

Saturday

More video editing. I watch “We were soldiers” with my flatmate. He cooks a roast chicken for the occasion.

Sunday

First online church service passes off well. It’s a gorgeous sunny day. I spend the afternoon walking in Holyrood Park, along with hundreds of other people. It proves quite difficult to maintain a 2m bubble without appearing to be offensive.

Monday

I stay at home and join a series of four online meetings, which is a surprisingly exhausting pursuit, given the lack of physical movement involved. 

Having suddenly remembered that all UK McDonalds restaurants were closing tonight “by 8pm” (nothing like a vaguely-communicated deadline to ensure some McDonalds panic buying), I nip out between two meetings to pick up some Chicken Selects for the last time for goodness-knows-how-long. (Four hours, as it transpired).

I join an epic drive-thru queue. By the time I reach the order point, with the help of Nicola’s advice on the matter via WhatsApp, I realise I need to make the most of it, and so order a milkshake AND a McFlurry.

However, the “ice cream” machine is being cleaned. So no milkshakes or McFlurrys available. I settle for the a 3-Selects meal.

Make it back narrowly in time for the next meeting. Switch my camera off for the first part so as not to make everyone jealous while I scoff McDonalds.

Realise afterwards I had missed a solitary fry, which is lurking in the corner of the cardboard container. 

Is this in fact the correct singular spelling of fries? I have never before had occasion to refer to one on its own. Today’s fries were perhaps the limpest and most disappointing I’ve had from McD’s in recent years. And so the solitary lonely fry, now stone cold, having not been the warmest to begin with, is not an appetising prospect.

I optimistically throw it in the food recycling.

Two meetings later, I head back for my belated McFlurry. Join the drive thru queue again. Still no “ice cream” products available. I order another 3 Chicken Selects.

Still hungry. Maybe I’ll crack open some tuna tonight.

Avoiding non-essential social contact

The pre-Coronavirus Diaries, continued

Sunday

Life continued as normal today. Was at church morning and evening, where we sang songs about God’s goodness and love. Nobody sounded fearful, but it felt like there was an air of resignation that this would be our last ‘normal’ Sunday for a while.

My fellow tech team member tonight was George, whose self-isolation game is strong all year round. I hope he starts blogging with self-isolation tips for the masses.

Phoned mum in the evening. She stayed away from church tonight, on social-distancing grounds. On the upside, her forthcoming 80th birthday will see her receive an additional 25p per week in her pension. She is understandably over the moon about this and unsure of how to invest her new-found affluence.

Tomorrow I am theoretically up for jury service. But a phone-call this evening confirmed that I am not required to attend tomorrow. 24hrs stay of execution, at least.

Monday

In the whirl of coronavirus-related uncertainty I put on a clean pair of trousers this morning, but forgot to add a belt. However, it’s ok – it turns out that my trousers are self-tightening. Should be ok so long as I don’t stash too many tins of tuna in the pockets.

My trousers’ new-found self-tightening status may or may not be a result of me powering through the 90kg weight barrier recently. Smashed it, I did. Left it choking on my dust. I look forward to renewing acquaintances with 90kg on the way back down sometime in the future.

Just after I’d sent an email to my work teams saying largely “business as usual this Sunday” the PM, without checking with me first, holds a press conference and instructs us to avoid “non-essential” social gatherings.

So we’re into the next phase.

My Sister gets in touch on WhatsApp: 

“Y’all ok? Enough turmeric?”

Then she sends me a link to where I can buy a 25kg bag of it online. I am grateful.

Not required for jury duty tomorrow either. On reading the “Coronavirus Update” page on the Scottish Courts website, I am fairly sure that they consider the judicial system to be “essential” social contact. So I don’t think Coronavirus is going to help me here.

Tuesday

On reading my previous post (I originally wrote “last post”, but a slow trumpet sounded in my head and I realised that has other connotations), some pointed out to me that I visit the supermarket a LOT.

I confess I hadn’t thought about this. But, perhaps because I live very close to Morrison’s, and not that far from Sainsbury’s either, perhaps because I have very little freezer capacity, and perhaps also because I don’t plan very far ahead, I am probably in a supermarket at least every other day. So my regular supermarket visits are not a result of coronavirus-related panic, but rather just the outcome of a permanent state of semi-disorganised food planning.

Is this a single-person thing? Or just me? It may be just me.

Today is my usual day off. I am accustomed to spending Tuesdays without much in the way of social contact, and some Tuesdays I don’t really leave the house anyway(!) so today probably won’t feel all that different.

The pre-Coronavirus Diaries

Tuesday, 10 March

I catch the bus into town, to meet a friend for lunch. Suddenly I am aware of every surface I’m touching – the handrails up the stairs, the button you press to ask the bus to stop, everything.

Looking out the window; no-one is wearing face masks. I wonder how long it will be before they appear.

I’m down for jury service next week. What happens if I contract COVID-19 before then? Will they accept my call-off over the phone? It’s not like I can produce a doctor’s note – I can’t visit my GP to get one, and I can’t leave the house to deliver it.

Which makes me think that the chances of people calling in and crying off (legitimately or not) jury duty might be quite high… I suspect the courts may grind to a halt soon, for this reason, if not just because everything seems to be being cancelled at the moment.

I have slowed down on my Easter egg consumption a little. With all the panic buying at supermarkets I didn’t want to rush through my supplies of essentials.

Wednesday, 11 March

I pay a visit to Morrison’s. They’re playing INXS on the in-supermarket radio. They have a better class of playlist at Morrison’s than your average supermarket. I applaud this, although all in all I would prefer if they had my favourite marmalade brands in stock, as I can get good tunes from elsewhere. But they don’t. I consider writing to the management. 

I speak to my Sister on the phone, in the process reintroducing myself to voice calls, which are a long-forgotten friend, and limbering up for when I might be needing them on a daily basis.

“Have you got enough turmeric?” she asks, with a concerned note in her voice.

I hadn’t even thought about that.

But it’s all a little academic, as I need milk for my turmeric milk, and milk won’t last 14 days. Unless I was in America.

We discuss more prosaic matters, like toilet roll stockpiling. I discover that her household runs through two toilet rolls per day. TWO PER DAY. I am beyond flabbergasted. 

Here at OHFTC Towers, we are a much more toilet-toll efficient household. Perhaps we are not as regular.

My Sister reckons she keeps the cellar (which I like to think of as the Baileys Bunker) stocked up with enough of everything to keep the family going for at least four months, under normal circumstances. 

When I grow up, I want to be like my Sister.

Thursday, 12 March

I notice that the pile of pine nuts is getting a little low. And coffee. It might be time for another visit to Morrison’s. I don’t think there’s been a run on pine nuts just yet.

Friday, 13 March

I bump into a friend at Sainsbury’s. She is gazing at the handwash shelves, which are so depleted that her choice is restricted to Posh or Super Posh. I move on in search of more tins of tuna.

In the supermarket, and driving home, I see 5 people wearing face masks. All of them are Chinese/Oriental.

Here at OHFTC Towers we now have plenty of pine nuts and marmalade, easing concerns somewhat. We also have enough tinned tuna to sink a ship, and the usual amount of pasta, which should be enough.

Saturday, 14 March

My regular coffee shipment arrives. Hurrah. I pop back to Morrison’s, and stock up on cereal, which I rarely eat. But you never know. I avoid All-Bran, as I feel it might deplete the Toilet Roll Stockpile somewhat.

It all feels a little surreal. I think it’s because I don’t actually know anyone that has contracted the virus. If and when that happens, I suspect it will become a little more real.

I am avoiding making any meals with tuna, which rules out about 40% of my usual weekly menu, on the basis that if I have to self-isolate I don’t want to be bored of it before I even begin.

I discover, via the BBC website, that the Italians are dealing with their enforced captivity quite beautifully. I suggest to Nicola that, after a couple of gins, she could do the same thing in Polwarth. She is working on a playlist as we speak.

Stay tuned, and stay healthy!