A four day weekend, easy to do without using much leave when you tag an extra day onto a Bank Holiday weekend. Which is what we did, so there was no rush to get up on Thursday when the alarm didn’t go off. But the pets did, whining and barking as it was light and they felt food was needed. For those in lockdown who were struggling to know what day it was anyway, we were helped immensely by the fact that May Day Bank Holiday Monday was on a Friday this year.
I could tell you all about what I did on Thursday on the first day off, but either I didn’t actually do anything, or it was so insignificant that it didn’t register. Apart from the fact we saw the ten o’clock news. I can see why we don’t watch the news. There were lots of clips of people from all around the country out in their streets clapping for the NHS. No matter where in the country it was, every street had a god damn bagpiper screeching away. If some moron in our street tries that they’re going to need the NHS, and it won’t be due to COVID-19 symptoms.
Friday. VE day, 75th anniversary. Helen had dropped leaflets around the close for a social distancing street party. I’m sure you can all imagine how up for that I was. But I made a bit of an effort, helped with some mixing of cake ingredients and whipping cream, and making some sandwiches, and we were out on the street at just after four. A nice respectable start, tables and chairs set up on either side of the street in front of people’s houses. Absolute radio 40’s station playing from people’s houses, or Vera Lynn CD’s or Glenn Miller albums. Our neighbour Andy came out and shouted “I’m glad I wasn’t born in the forties, the music’s sh1te”.
I hid in the shade, as it was hot and sunny, plus there would be less chance of social interaction when you’re hiding behind the bin area. It was soon too hot for proper shoes and shirt and so after a quick change, it was OK to sit on the pavement as the sun was disappearing around the back of the houses. The sedate start was beginning to change as well. One poor delivery driver drove past the gauntlet of hungry people on either side of the road with a rictus grin slapped on his face, as if he was worried we were going to hijack his food delivery. He looked even more nervous on his way out of the close.
When those out eventually got bored of the forties music, inevitably, there is that one person who says “I’ve got a big Bluetooth speaker I could bring out”. Invariably it’s about the size of a book and is loud close up, but it doesn’t carry. What you don’t expect is for them to bring out a three foot high bass bin. Andy put his play list on, but amusingly considering his earlier comment, it was binned off for a more upbeat one before he got to the end of track one.
Yes, then the shots got involved. 75.5% ABV spiced rum kicked it off, 70% Absinth followed before it came down a couple of steps. Rose tequila, Fire-eater, Chocolate Baileys, Honey Rum, and Black Sambuca. It’s amazing how quickly things change and time speeds up when there are shots involved. When you suddenly look down on the pavement next to your chair and there’s a spinning set of shiny disco balls next to you in the dark.
If the guy on the moped looked scared, the Pizza Hut delivery guy who turned up with enough pizza and chicken strips to feed a small army looked positively terrified to be met with what may well have appeared to be a street disco. He piled the boxes up on the pavement and sped off backwards up the cul de sac in a kind of Fred Flintstone spinning feet style.
Even I spoke to neighbours, granted not until there had been alcohol imbibed. I managed to exceed my year’s quota of talking to neighbours in a single day. Probably won’t speak to most of them ever again. One of our Bulgarian neighbours suddenly disappeared at one point. It was suggested that the shots had killed her off, but seeing as she was dressed in black and white Dalmatian print, I did wonder whether Cruella de Vil had sneaked into the close and kidnapped her.
It was already tomorrow by the time everyone had packed up and gone home. There were quite a few dead spirit bottles in the bin the next morning.
On Saturday we lost the two younger “adults” from the house as they went to Portsmouth (back to Uni for one of them). And peace descended. However before leaving they did manage to show the idiot dog a new trick of how easy it was to push over the back gate and walk out into the park at the back of the house. A trick he managed to perfection Saturday night. At least I wasn’t only wearing trunks this time when retrieving the little sod. I propped some additional weights behind the gate, and he hasn’t managed to push it over since, but he has tried every day since.
Sunday was a proper rest day, even Helen managed to resist “just doing” anything, and we just lounged on the sofa watching TV and relaxing in the peace and quiet. And it was good.
Right up until the point where I logged in and found twelve meeting requests lined up for the week that weren’t there before. Cursed by sociopaths to lose half the working week. And then to spend lots of time rushing around to get things done to tight deadlines only for the business to not have the data ready. More flapping than when a cat is let loose in an aviary.
Four days’ worth of relaxing had dissipated in a little under four hours. And the week didn’t improve. One of the safety messages this week was around e-mail etiquette. One suggestion was, the best way to improve it would be don’t send any e-mails. Yes, that would be great if people didn’t send me any e-mails. However, I would much prefer them to send me an e-mail than them to skype me. I may be a bit of a dinosaur, but I hate skype. To me it’s an excuse for impatient people to interrupt others because they think they are more important than the person they are interrupting; they don’t care that the person they are interrupting has their own work to do. And, if you don’t acknowledge the damn skype message it flicks over and kicks you out of whatever you’re doing. Especially annoying when you’re picking filter items in a spreadsheet and have to start again. I need to remember to go onto do not disturb all day every day.
The worst aspect of the week is that the National Lottery has forgotten to e-mail me to tell me I’ve won the jackpot. I hope they didn’t try to skype me whilst I was on do not disturb. Hopefully they’ll get the correct e-mail address this week.