Paul Davidson
Weeknotes 067: Love you five.
Tuesday was crap. The Chef had one of the days that hospitals can throw your way. I dropped the hated phone on the drive shattering the screen. Before I spotted my positive Covid test on the dashboard.
What was supposed to be a gig and meal out for date night was re-planned as takeaway and without wine. New Year was postponed till February.
Trying to be upset about it while a toddler sprints around singing Old MacDonald at the top of her lungs can’t be done though.
Piglet’s got her pecker back since being allowed out again. She survived the ordeal of her (hopefully) last lateral flow test to be allowed back to Wildlings and the park. While they were out I did the procrastinating thing at work and it unblocked everything else. For what was going to be a productive week. Hey-ho.
Wednesday felt like a beard hair stuck in my tonsil. Irritating and on the cusp of solvable. By Thursday, I was symptom free bar a feeling of guilt for exposing friends to it. I worked through, albeit with longer lunchtimes to recuperate and avoid actual illness. Our moods weren’t set for cooking anything for the kitchen gods and we copped out with midweek takeaway.
JoJo and Gran Gran live in a world which is just the right size. Home, the park, the shops, videocalls, the bus. The animation wears its book origin on its sleeve. It’s a truly lovely show and juxtaposes with the fantastical of kids TV.
We have a smart blackbird that waits under the bird feeder for the blue tits to disturb and drop food. Piglet disturbed my watching with a mafioso declaration of “Put. It. In. There.” when The Chef tried to take food from bowl.
Piglet and The Chef left me isolating to enjoy at least some New Year festivities. I’ve my first negative lateral flow and could be free to join them tomorrow. I’m more relaxed about not catching Covid in London in a few weeks.
It gave me the chance to catch up a few odd jobs. The Trofast is fixed to the wall before disaster. I built the office chair I should have bought a year ago. The decking is gradually being ripped out and binned. The tulip bulbs are in a vase for forcing. The wood is cut and drilled for a milk crate. Spotify threw this at me.
In attempting to miss nothing in these, I’m at risk of missing everything a.k.a. I still haven’t published all last year’s notes.
30 January 2022