Day Thirty Three

 Friends in the UK have written to say it’s increasingly hard to keep up personal standards, especially hygiene and dress codes,  during lockdown.

With no office to commute to, Sarah is working from home and although her husband Julian is self-employed, the demand for a peripatetic chef catering for weddings, has all but dried up.

Sarah says she doesn’t always bother to dress; Julian has not changed for about 3 weeks and of course, not having access to hair-dressers has meant their coiffures have slipped a little.

This has slightly affected their marriage. Julian says he can’t stand the sight of her, Sarah says she can’t stand the smell of him.

The dog has left home.

They sent me a photo.

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A recent newspaper article states that many elderly people in lockdown have been acquiring pets to keep them company. 

 In my experience there’d be no point in asking for a cat, they’re a law unto themselves. Company and comfort is not in their dictionary.

This is MissPuss, she takes no prisoners and if you want to stroke and pet her, you'd be wise to book a bed in ICU first.

  

Given the Lockdown instructions to vulnerable older persons: “Stay home and keep your mouth shut”  (the latter part recently relaxed when it was discovered that many older people were unable to converse because their dentures had seized up)  I wonder how actually getting a pet works?

‘Hello? I’d like a dog please,’

‘Certainly Madam, would that be large, medium or small?’

‘Small.’

‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like a large dog, we have a lovely Manchester Terrier here?’

‘Oh, I couldn’t take that, my late Albert was from Yorkshire.’

‘A Rottweiler then, excellent guard dogs and when you’re able to go out, you could harness it to your shopping trolley.’

‘No thanks, I’d like a very tiny one.’

‘Shi Tzu?’

‘Bless you.’

‘Or we have a Chihuahua, how would that suit?’

‘Perfect, can you post it to me?’

‘I’m afraid that’s not possible, they don’t fit into the $5 envelope. I can deliver it though’.

‘But how can you do that when we have to stay at least two metres apart? If you put it over my gate it might just run next door.  They had a dog until we found out supermarkets couldn’t deliver.  I haven’t seen it lately.’

‘Do you have a bucket?’

‘Eh?’

‘A bucket. You see what we do, now  everyone is in lockdown, is fire the dog over the hedge using a large catapult, or we call it the Dogapult, but you’ll have to catch it in a bucket.’

‘Oh dear, I’m not sure I can do that, I wear bifocals. Perhaps you could just post me a gerbil?’

Day Thirty Two

Day Thirty Two

Just before lockdown, I foolishly left my cash card in a small, local vegetable shop. By the time I realised and  rang them, they too were locked down.

'Sorry, all our vegetables in lock up now.'  I was told.

I can imagine carrots and spuds being locked down, they are, after all root vegetables and locked down in the soil until harvested -  but Spring Cabbage and Spring Onions?  Far too lively.

The staff, who know their onions,  won’t be idle during lockdown. They’ll be mopping up after the leeks and making sure the golden coaches turn back into pumpkins after midnight.

I contacted my bank about the card and they said they would put a temporary suspension or what they called, ‘a warm hold’ on my card.

This sounded far too cosy for a calculating institution like a bank however hard they try to inject friendliness into what is, essentially a business designed to make vast profits from our anxieties. 

My great Aunt Jessie, and most people of her generation, were braver: they kept all their money at home.  Hers was neatly stored in a Victorian chamber pot beneath her bed. 

 She called it  ‘a guzunder’ and had one in every bedroom. 

At home when I was a child, we had several potties because, despite having a bathroom,  our lavatory was outside.

We were allowed to use the po-po, a green enamel thing, not at all like Auntie Jessie's beautiful chambers, only for wee-wees.

During one of my stays with her, I needed the facilities in the night, so hopped out of bed, lit the candle and pulled the po from beneath my iron bedstead and was scared half to death by a gigantic eye looking up at me. 

 Some wag had decided to make it well night impossible to pee on a peeper.   

This pot is called The Good Companion anti-splash Thunder Bowl.

There are various theories about why eyes were once  popular. One of which was to defy the evil eye.  It was necessary to destroy its power by defecating on it.

Eye pots were once popular wedding gifts. In Stockport, Cheshire, the groom's friends would have an eye pot inscribed with his name and that of his fiancee.

 The night before the wedding, they repaired to a tavern where the  pot would be filled with beer and the groom encouraged to chug until he needed the pot for its original purpose.

In France the pot was filled with chocolate.   Can't say I fancy eating from even a pristine potty, I'd be ganaching my teeth.