Well, it is day 17 of Lockdown and I am pleased to confirm that all 5 adults currently living here are still well and have not sustained any injuries caused by me, or any other residing family members. I think we have all decided, independently, that the best way to get through this incarceration is to bite our lips when we get totally hacked off with each other, and to regularly socially isolate ourselves, whilst self-distancing. For me this means spring cleaning the loft or the shed… AGAIN. Husband has an excellent excuse; he still has a Proper Job and so he can retreat, justifiably, to his ‘office’ for 8 hours a day.
24-year-old daughter has changed beyond all recognition in the past 2 weeks. This London-loving party animal, who adores nothing more than a glass of Prosecco and a pair of high heels, has taken to doing jigsaw puzzles and going running. Moreover, I have actually seen her without full make-up for more than 2 days on the trot. Obviously, she is not posting anything on social media at the moment, as doing that without a flawless face and couture is totally out of the question.
Son, 21, is growing facial hair, which he is terribly proud of. By the time he returns to university in September it might actually look like a proper beard. He currently looks like a younger Ed Sheeran. I have never worked out why men grow ginger beards when their hair isn’t even ginger. I am pleased this is normal, as I really don’t want Husband requesting a paternity test in the midst of Lockdown.
Husband in the meantime, who never goes for more than 4 weeks without a ‘Good Haircut’ is starting to look like an ageing rock star and sporting true lockdown hair. I did suggest he could rock a Mullet, but it didn’t go down too well. If he too decides to grow a beard, we will have our very own Father Christmas by June.
Even the poor Schnauzer Zac, who goes to the poodle parlour every 6 weeks is starting to look like Bob Marley, shame he can’t sing. I am, meanwhile, watching numerous YouTube videos on ‘how to touch up grey roots,’ and I have already ordered a tinting brush and mixing bowl in readiness. I don’t mind being released from Lockdown wearing my pyjamas, but I am not emerging with a blonde mop that starts halfway down my head, that would really let my secret out the bag.
So, what else have I been up to? Well, I have been pairing odd socks! I know there are numerous theories on why two socks go into the washing machine and only one comes out, but none of them are terribly convincing. We have a large plastic bag of odd socks and every week a few more solitary souls are added to the collection. Sorting them out has been on my list of ‘Things to do when there is absolutely nothing else to do,’ for at least 2 years.
Fortunately, up until this point in my life, I have never been that desperate for entertainment. Well, yesterday that day came; I tipped the bag out and spend two joyful hours reuniting socks with their lost partners. Every time I got a pair matched a wave of excitement came over me and I let out a resounding ‘Yes.’ God, it hasn’t taken long for my datum to change on what constitutes an exciting afternoon. If I still think this is fun in a year’s time, can someone please shoot me?
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