Week 23: Nae Gaun Oan A Trip

Fate, Chaos and Pestilence are sitting on a log in one of the circles of hell. Yes, they are still there. Can’t go anywhere else as the Satan has forgotten to hand out the face masks.

”I’m bored with meddling with individual lives” says Fate, “Can we zizz it up a bit?”

Chaos looks surprised. As does the entire Spurs squad upon discovering they have two left feet. Shouldn’t make much difference to their chances.

”Zizz it up? We, the Lords of Darkness and Bringers of the Apolocalypse and you want to “Zizz it up a bit”? Alright then, pass me the globe and some pins and we’ll give it a go”.

And so it came to pass that the globe was spun and two locations picked.

And this is how Melbourne rapidly found itself in a revived pandemic, its State borders closed and its residents once again stuck at home. Serves them right for living somewhere fabulous.

And this is also how 20 wee Neds from Aberdeenshire got home from a night out in their local and started to feel unwell. Sore throats, sweaty and tired. Even the obligatory, pre-bed Irn Bru tasted wrong with a hint of actual oranges about it.

”Whit's wrong wi' mah Irn Bru? It tastes o' fruit 'n' health. Ah cannae be daein' wi' that. 'N' how come am ah sweating lik' Prince Andra in a Pizza Express?"

Fate smiles. The three Lords of Darkness are not the only ones who haven’t been wearing face masks it would seem.

Week 22 then; the week in which the forces of chaos and evil turned their attention elsewhere. Except Chaos being chaos, the flapping of a butterfly’s wings in Mongolia can cause a small rock-fall in The Taurus Mountains, or in our case, can bugger-up planned Trips away from Coulsdon.

Gin, so called because she carries an emergency supply in a hidden pocket in her draws, packed her bags days in advance of the Big Trip (with her sister, Piggy) to Auntie F’s in Aberdeen. To say she was excited would be understating it; she’d even gone dry for a day in anticipation. Quite literally, just as she put the last item in her case (a bottle Gordon Castle gin, in case it transpired that all the supplies have been exhausted North of the Border), the news broke that Big Nic Sturgeon had something to say about 20 Irresponsible Neds from Aberdeen. Big Nic broke the news that Aberdeen was now in Lockdown, no one was allowed to drive more than five miles from their home, and the Scots Polis would be guarding the Stonehaven Road to stop naughty, English miscreants getting in. Oh My God. The last time I saw that level of disappointment from Gin was when she was asked to sign the marriage register twenty years ago in Chiddingstone Castle. Frantic calls to Piggy and Auntie F followed, to no avail. The trip was off for now. The ladies (I use the term in the loosest possible sense) have re-arranged it for three weeks’ time in the hope that the Neds will have behaved and lockdown lifted. And Gin’s mood has also lifted having been out for lunch with both sisters (courtesy of Auntie G, to cheer them up), and having had a boozy dinner with Nana & Pops.

Travel disappointment wasn‘t confined to Gin, however. I too have been preparing for a small trip away; me and four chums will be riding from Whitehaven in Cumbria to Newcastle in Newcastle in week 23, and bike preparation, route preparation and General Preparation has been taking place. Except it won‘t be five of us now because our friend Señor T is in Quarantine. He and the family were in Spain when BoJo The Clown announced the immediate imposition of 14 day “stay at home” rules for those returning from anywhere Spanish speaking. Aside from causing confusion for patrons of Las Fuentes Tapas Bar in Purley, this also means that Señor T will be sitting on his sofa whilst we are climbing into the hills of the Lakes and Pennines. We are all gutted that he can’t be with us, but it will probably rain, so he can take some comfort from that.

But Good News! BT (for Boy Teenager) has been out twice with his mates to pursue his new, latest hobby; basketball. He loves it. So much so that he now wants an NBA (national basketball league thing in the USA) team shirt. When I say “shirt” I mean “vest”. And when I say “wants”, I mean he will have to buy it as £80 for something that has less material in it than a pair of Nana’s knickers is taking the Michael somewhat. Not so good news: his first trip out with his mates and his brand new, pucker basket ball saw him seriously discombobulate a finger after only two minutes of playing. One of those instances where the ball landed square-on his outstretched digit. He thought it was broken, but it was just badly bruised. His second trip out saw him a few friends give a surprise birthday present to one of their chums who loves football, but is unable to get a pair of his own Astro-boots. The lads all clubbed together and bought him a very nice pair of Nikes. He was over the moon, as were we that BT is getting out and doing things like this for his friends.

GT (for Girl Teenager) has had a relatively low-key week, although been very excited about her Sims (a video game) characters having twin babies. The excitement died pretty rapidly when she realised that the game requires her to oversee the caring for said babies, and I quote “Urrghh Dad, all they do is cry until you feed them, cry until you change their diapers [yes, I have had words about the use of Americanisations of the language in this house. It’s bad enough that she says “Zee” instead of “Z”], fall asleep, then wake up and cry”. Surprisingly accurate then. I give them a day before she switches them off. Probably just as well you can’t do that in real life; the world’s population would be rapidly shrinking.

To cheer Gin up, the pair of them went to Camden market as a trip out. It seems that spending all of Mum’s money on items of black clothing is a way to cheer Mum up. Still, makes a change for me not to be paying for it.

And so that was week 22. A topsy-turvy sort of affair. Week 23 will be different; a plumber may arrive to fix our out of action toilet, Lack of Communication Simon might tell us when the shower will be fixed, and I might end up Ooop North on the Carbon Steed.

Love & elbow-grease,

Mr H

x