Weeks 25 & 26: Results!

“You two! Get back to your table! Now!”

The gentle words of the Duty Manager at a large hotel in Peterborough, determined to keep us Covid-safe. I’m away (again) for a few days playing golf with three chums, an annual affair that we all thoroughly look forward too.

”But we are in the same bubble“ my mate Seamus ventures.

”Doesn’t matter. In public areas YOU WILL WEAR YOUR MASKS and in the bar and restaurant YOU WILL SIT TWO TO A TABLE”.

Never mind that we’ve travelled in the same car and the four or us are sharing two rooms. Our Bubble is popped and separated we are.

It’s a tough to get it right in these times, but Common Sense appears to be a rare commodity. On the one hand, there’s the Covidiots, who believe the Covid to be a Scamdemic, protesting themselves into mass herd immunity by Shouting in each others’ faces in Trafalgar Square. At the other end of the scale, hotel managers deploying the interpersonal skills of an angry Sergeant-Major in enforcing rules which are at the nervous-breakdown end of cautious. As is usually the case, somewhere sensible in the middle is probably for the best, but it’s hard to be rational where there is fear.

Being away has shocked me as it has brought home just how big an impact the pandemic is having on our way of life and our economy. Staying in a hotel that sleeps 500 and hearing that it is having a busier week with a peak of 60 people says it all; economically unsustainable. There’s so much that we have accepted as normal that is on the cusp of massive change; many of us are now shopping on-line, will there be a need for thousands of large shops? Working from home has been largely successful - seems likely that large firms will hoik their offices out of cities (because expensive rent) leaving hundreds of tower blocks empty. And then there is the entertainment sector. I really fear there won’t be one (unless you like golf or cycling, which is bloody handy for me, but less so for most) if the pandemic rumbles on for another 12 months. Don’t know what the solution is, but I’m starting to worry about my chances of finding a job in a couple of years’ time when I (hopefully) emerge from the ”Caring” part of being at home.

Wait up Mr H, that’s a whole load of dangerous Thinking that you’ve been doing? Hadn‘t you decided to stop that sort of behaviour as it leads to nothing but Trouble? Well yes, but in the last three weeks I’ve spent 17 hours travelling in cars, and 5 days at home alone, looking after the Young People. That’s a whole lot of time to ponder. Gah.

Talking of being home alone, this came to pass as Her Ginesty (so called because she is the Queen of keeping the Distilling industry afloat) and her sister, HRH Piggy (also honoured for services to Messrs Tanqueray & Co) managed to drive to Aberdeen to see Aunty F after Big Nic Sturgeon relaxed the lockdown. Sporadic messages during their stay suggested they were having the most wonderful time. It came only as a partial surprise therefore when Gin texted me to say that she’d bought Gordon Castle. Now I know RightMove surfing is her favourite hobby as she is considering where we might live when we retire (no you cheeky buggers, I haven’t retired yet .... wish I had, but .... mortgage), and Scotland is a place that crops up in her searches. But, you know, buying a bleeding castle when I am unemployed? This feeling of Royalty has gone to her head. Or the gin has. Either way. A castle? She’s bought a castle?

Well no, she’s bought her new favourite gin called Gordon Castle whilst visiting Gordon Castle. Phew, although sort of disappointed. Quite fancy owning a castle. Not necessarily the heating bills that go with it though.

I posted the last blog on the day that GT (Girl Teenager) was awaiting her GCSE results, and oh my God the tension! It bought it all back to me, knowing the letter was due to arrive on a particular day, in an envelope that I’d written myself (back then we had to provide the school with an addressed and stamped envelope for the results to be sent home in), hearing it arrive, coming downstairs to find Pops had opened it because his first initial is the same as mine. Anyway, I digress. Brilliant news! She and all of our friends’ youngsters did really well. GT did so well in fact that she has been invited on to the “Aspire” programme at her new college which aims to get students into one of the best Universities (if that’s what she wants to do). I couldn’t be more proud of her, and thank the Gods that she has inherited her Mum’s brain genetics. She’s had a couple of intro sessions at the new college and, despite being nervous of the new people and environment, seems to be happy with it all. Amen to that.

BT (Boy Teenager)’s fortnight has been largely consistent with other recent fortnights. He has sorted his sleep pattern once again and seems to want to address it once and for all. There was a dodgy few days when his friendship group decided to split itself in two, which caused him a great deal of distress and sadness. Needless to say, the “beef” has been resolved and they are all shouting and laughing, playing together on-line, once again. BT has also recognised that once his friends are back at school, he will need a reason to leave the house. He’s not sure playing football is it any more as he is not enjoying it very much, and has settled on wanting to own a dog. Gin and I are quite happy with the idea of having a dog about the place, whilst GT is ambivalent. The big issue is GT’s resident killer-of-all-things-that-move-no-matter-how-big, the cat. He’s an old fella now, but wouldn’t be out of place at a Chelsea Head Hunters’ meeting; he’s a thug that doesn’t tolerate anything else that doesn’t look the same as him, and even then he’s been known to have a go at his own reflection. Usually cats are afraid of dogs. In our case, we are afraid of what the cat might do to the dog. To add to the complexity of the picture, the cat is due at the vets in a couple of weeks because of unexpected weight loss. He’s always been a Larger Chap, but not any more. It might just be that the old bloke who lived over the fence at the end of the garden karked it 6 months ago; we’ve always had a suspicion that he was feeding our pusskins. But it might be Something Else.

To add to the dynamic in the house, BT is hoping that it is Something Else (Serious Version) as this may hasten the acquisition of his hound. We aren’t so keen on it being anything Serious as it will break GT’s heart if the old fella is poorly. So we have settled on asking a chum to bring a soppy and defenceless dog round to see how the cat reacts. I suspect the next blog may have a tale to tell (and we may have a trophy tail to hang on the wall).

And with that, we enter week 27. Good Lord that’s more than half a year that I’ve been doing this Caring and House-husband thing and it still feels like its only just started. I suppose it has, given the lockdowns and all that stuff.

Love & elbow-grease,

Mr H

x

PS A special mention to might mate Stu who came under the scrutiny of Pestilence whilst we were away golfing. Without getting into detail, he had the same Arse Plague that I had a few weeks ago over night on the first night, and yet somehow managed to get round the golf course twice the following day. Glad I wasn’t sharing a golf buggy with him.