You might be sick of COVID stories by now, and fair enough, but part of the reason I write this blog is to remind myself of what happened. It’s a shipwreck diary.
Day 100. Ate canned baked beans. Vomited.
Note to self if I survive: don’t eat canned baked beans.
When I wake up every morning I spend a few moments enjoying the vast spaces of our bedroom. There’s art on the walls, cat at my feet, Welsh cleaner beside me, shreds of light through the blinds, bird calls in the valley, and soon I recall who I am and where I live.
But unless I blog something down occasionally it’s gone forever.
So. Today I found some old paving stones in the lane for my planned garden redesign. They are perfect. I prefer old things to new things. Robinson, for example. Me, for another example.
I’ve also contacted a builder to extend and reconfigure my back deck. Three months of lockdown convinced me it’s too small. I can barely unfurl my long and skinny legs there. And my new design will magically increase the size of my garden and improve views across the meadow. It’s like magic.
The meadow, of course, will be tramped into oblivion by my builder.
We had the neighbours over for drinks last sunny Sunday afternoon. They were the first other people in our house for months. Nina was astonished. So were we, actually. We’d become inured to how weird Life has been.
Nina celebrated her first birthday yesterday, as guessed by the vet from her foundation story as a runaway kitten rescued from the Anzac Bridge.
Note to freed self: start a campaign to rename Blackwattle Bay as Anzac Cove in honour of Nina and her bridge; ignore the ensuing shitstorm from The Old American (The Australian).
Earlier in the week we caught the bus to Coogee beach. It was the first time we’d been on a bus for months. First time we’d seen and smelt the sea for months. First time we’d been to a beer garden and drank beer and eaten fish and chips for months.
Even Robinson drank beer under that blue sky. Then she played pool and got into a fight.
No she didn’t. I’m just vaguely remembering what happens in hotels on the coast.
We still haven’t had haircuts, but Sydney is reopening. It’s lovely. I hope it works, for us and all the medicos, and all those businesses who pay award wages. I hope it works everywhere.
Tonight we’re off to a pub quiz night. First time in months, etc. I’ll have to get used again to standing three deep at the bar to buy a drink. Maybe lockdown wasn’t so bad after all? You just had to go to the fridge. No queues.
I hope I don’t surrender to my impatient instincts and go home instead. Put the shutters up. Fill the moat.