UK Lockdown Week-2

A stroll around an English Village in lockdown

Never has it looked so pretty
with its barber shop lawns
and wallpaper flowers
rainbowed colours
saluting a Nation's change –
no sound of words or laughter
no humming noise of passing car
just an eerie, weird silence
as death hides beneath the hedgerows

Annie Elliott

My habit each morning is to listen to Bach Before Seven on the wireless, before catching the seven o'clock news. This morning, there was no news broadcast. The BBC has cut back on the number of live presenters as part of their stay-at-home policy. Petroc Trelawny, whose calm, mellow voice eases in the day, has been presenting Breakfast on BBC Radio Three for years. He at least was still in the studio, but he didn't read the news - perhaps it is against Union rules.

The boys came yesterday, Edwin and Andre. They too are confined to their Cambridge flat, working from home. Edwin is still getting work from the University, setting essays and marking, so came to collect his big desktop computer rather than struggling on a laptop, and brought some shopping we needed: bread, milk and a Sunday paper. They left the bags on the doorstep and we left the computer in the Saloon in the garden. It had been snowing and was bitterly cold, but Ann would not let them in the house so we could only speak to them from the door, shouting above the wind. We would not even let the dogs down to greet them, and were both in tears when they left, not knowing when we might see them again if this lock-down hardens with roadblocks round the cities.

Now the clocks have moved forward, Ann walked the dogs round the village in the light evening. She was struck by the total silence and absence of cars or people, recording it in her new poem. We hoped to do some gardening with the idle hours, but even the bin men are providing a reduced service. The council have notified us that the brown bin collection has been suspended for the duration, so hedge trimmings and grass cuttings must be piled up to rot in the corner.

Meanwhile, whatever happened to the wine lake we used to hear about? There are rumours that wine is running low. Certainly, it is getting more difficult to order through Amazon or Tesco. A trip to the pub for afternoon wine was one of our regular pleasures. Since we can no longer visit even for lunch, or dinners, we have transferred our socialising to the home, so naturally we need more wine. This is not hoarding, but a necessity for simple survival. Cheers!