Rob in the ‘Hood: ‘It’s May, it’s May … the merry month of May’
Last Friday was a holiday, I think. Internment for the duration was partially-lifted and the world seemed a better place.
Hey there! Last week I wrote about April’s chilly weather making us despondent. I had put it down to prohibition; not only a shortage of liquor, but the prohibition of the good things in life, with no thanks to Big Brother who has been watching over you. Any spark of ‘being cheerful, optimistic and positive’ was challenged by the nay-sayers.
To each his own, I guess, but life is still going on; as a former ‘love of my life’, Doris Day once sang to me (and 2500 others): “Que sera, sera: Whatever will be, will be.” On with the show.
ALSO READ: Rob in the ‘Hood: Potteen, romantic sounds of lawnmowers … and missing Klopp
Last Friday was a holiday, I think. Internment for the duration was partially-lifted and the world seemed a better place. On Lilliecrona Boulevard the crowds came out in their hundreds to start exercising once more. Everyone had a smile on his or her face, albeit behind those masks; people greeted each other like long-lost friends. A mental roll-call was made: no, no-one had ‘popped off’; a case of ‘everyone present and correct, sah!’
Of course, after an absence of six weeks, everyone was keen to get fit, going that extra mile, no doubt feeling slightly stiff and sore in the legs and feet department by the morning after. But, what the heck – ‘free again, lucky, lucky me again!’.Y ou know what, this could be the start of something big. After all, ‘it’s May, it’s May, the lusty month of May!’Well, that’s what Julie Andrews of ‘Camelot’ fame once said to me many moons ago. No kidding!
Maybe we should change that to the merry month of May to cool everyone’s ardour! Might be too late now, friends, but anyone wanting to be a May queen, or even a ‘Milly-molly-mandy maypole dancer’ next year, should put their names down now. Our local interpretation of St. Vitus’s dance should be over by then (we hope).We’ll be laughing, and saying: ‘this time last year, do you remember when we…?’
Semi-seriously, though, my friends, this period of ‘ill wind’ has allowed us to take stock of our lives: where we have come from; what have we done with our lives; where we are going. When this ‘scare’ started, how many weeks back, was it?, both the CO and I had the sniffles. Mindful of what was in the air, we went to see our doctor. He looked at me with that ‘medical doctor’s opinion expression’ on his face. He knew ‘something’, I was convinced. ‘Give it to me straight, doc. I can take it. Am I going to die?’
Looking me straight in the eye, he said: “Yes, you’re going to die. But not this week, maybe in the next 20 years, but not right this moment. Sorry, old chap, but you have good old-fashioned bronchitis; nothing more, nothing less. Take a stiff whiskey and lemon at night before you go to bed, and you’ll be as right as rain in next to no time.”That’s when you don’t know whether to laugh or cry – or both. Maybe I took the doctor’s advice too literally; hence the liquor shortage in our home!
Besides the downsides and negatives with this lockdown, there are equal numbers of positives. I didn’t know I had it in me, but I am now a fully-fledged handyman around the house. After a life of slothfulness, procrastination, and being just downright lazy, I have found myself doing all sorts of things in our home. I have learned to actually supervise the CO in the kitchen in culinary fine-art cuisine. Despite protestations, the CO has come to accept how, when and which side I like my bread to be buttered on.
In return I have shown her how to open those difficult tins of exotic foods, like Boston baked beans, how to make toast, and a nice hot cuppa tea.
I really spoil her: nothing but the best, I say. The CO also told me that ‘she couldn’t wait for the restart of English football being on the television again’, mooted to be June (that’s next month!). I think she also added: “By the way, you are not watching every match televised; get that into your head.” She’s a real comedienne when she’s in the mood.
One (of many) downsides we are having to endure in Uvongo is the ever-larger potholes, here, there and everywhere; eyesore grass verges uncut, growing taller by the day. I suppose they (and we know who ‘they’ are, don’t we?) have an irrefutable excuse, that the lockdown has closed down every municipal service delivery, save the refuse collection teams, who are doing a mighty fine job. Thanks, you guys. Now, if we can get those pot-holers, plus the grass-cutters back on the job, we might be grateful for big mercies. Dream on, amigos, don’t hold your breath; and do keep those masks on! See you, Rob.
HAVE YOUR SAY
Like the South Coast Herald’s Facebook page, follow us on Twitter and Instagram
