#flattenthecurve Episode 5. The First Weekend.

Saturday

Well, I have news*

As the daily readership of my blog has surged into double figures, my contribution to maintaining the spirits of the public has been recognised by the great and good of this fair nation: I have been classified as a key worker and must return to the office with immediate effect.

This of course prevents me from completing a WFH blog, rendering me immediately a non-keyworker. Which means I can recommence my blog, which has a readership of more than 10 and so designates me a key worker and I must return to the office.

As this news is being relayed to me in real time, I am currently stuck going backwards and forwards between Pelaw and South Gosforth metro stations. It could be a long day. I reckon I'll get home when the work network goes down though and the live emails stop coming through, so maybe not too long after all.

In future this episode will, I am sure, be known as the Covid-19 Keyworker Paradox. Lessons will be learned, people will be fired, and a Hollywood film will be produced. Maybe. Wonder who would play me ....

(*if newspapers and politicians can make 'news' up, then why can't I? At least I put a warning on my made up stuff!)


Panic Buying part 1
I'm starting to get worried that we haven't been panic buying. While we're usually so up with the latest trends we do feel like we're behind the curve on this one.

The positive here is that the only thing we have run out of so far after last weekend's normal shop is dried apricots. And I'm the only one who eats them.

The negative is that, if left unrectified, this will cause a considerable downward pressure on the household toilet roll situation. I'll spare you the details on that one, though I'm sure you can all joint the dots.


Hairdryer
I turned the hairdryer on earlier and cat number 2 nearly shat herself (If any of you thought "What do you need a hairdryer for, baldy?!" rather than "oh, poor cat" then shame on you!)

She's still eyeing me suspiciously, I reckon I've lost a friend there. Ah well, if push comes to shove and the apocalypse does arrive we know which cat is getting eaten first.


Hold Me Closer Tiny Dancer
Eva loves her dancing, and she's on a bit of a high as she did really well in her dance exams. When asked what her favourite style of dance is, she tells me she "loves the noise of tap and the movement of ballet".

I do not love dance. I never consider expressing myself in the medium of dance and I have two left feet. Eva's dance lessons do however give me an hour long break on a Saturday where I can sit in peace and quiet waiting for her lesson to finish, so in that respect I am a big supporter of dance.

I definitely, however, dislike immensely the noise that comes with tap. So I'm 'delighted' when Eva decides to give an impromptu ballet-tap performance that generates more noise than (*insert something horrendously noisy here) so I excuse myself and go to count our toilet roll stash.


Panic Buying part 2
I popped out to Tesco's for a few bits and pieces earlier. It was amusing (well, I found it amusing anyway) to see the things that were left behind on otherwise empty shelves.

What do people have against spinach pasta, for example?

The handwash aisle was barren, except for the bottles in the fancy section. People will risk life and limb to get their hands on the reasonably priced run-of-the-mill products, but £4 a bottle for some florally decorated, elaborately named rose and bergamot scented stuff and it's like 'nah, I'll take the risk'.

It's the pancakes I feel the most sorry for though. A couple of weeks ago and they were all the rage. People sharing social media images of carefully prepared stacks of imaginatively constructed flavour combinations. But now? Now they are the only item available from the bread and 'tea time' products section. Where did it all go so wrong?

I've no sympathy however for Mr Brains and his pork faggots. Why has nobody told him just to call them meatballs and get over himself?

There was some supermarket related good news though: I managed to get hold of some dried apricots. Just hope they are fast acting.

I left with most of the things I came in for, and only in the quantities we actually need; I clearly don't have the stamina for panic buying. And besides, cat number 2 still wasn't speaking to me after the hairdryer incident, so she remains our back up option if things do get desperate.


Monopoly
The kids insisted I played monopoly with them this afternoon. Apparently it's 'not fair' that I owned hotels on Mayfair and Park Lane. Welcome to the real world kids, now hand over your 2,000M or I'll mortgage your asses outta here.

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Sunday

Mother's Day
I hope each and every Mother, Mam, Mum, Ma, Mammy, Mummy, Mama, Step Mother (not the evil fairy story ones) and Mother in Law out there had a wonderfully relaxing Mother's Day.

I've deliberately left 'Mom' off that list, it comes across a bit too American for my liking. Sorry. Please let me know if I've missed anybody else off that list though, I do aim to be inclusive.


Breakfast in Bed
Henry made everybody breakfast in bed this morning. Sweet waffles with salty butter and golden syrup. While this was a lovely thought, we did have to pop downstairs to make sure he hadn't set fire to the kitchen. He hadn't.

I'm not a fan of sweet breakfast things, so I was all set for a good grumble (I enjoy a good grumble) when the little sod brought me my usual breakfast (complete with dried apricots).

I hate not having anything to grumble about.


Hey Macaroni, Aye
The boy is working towards his Scouts cooking badge. He is also ham fisted, forgetful, not to be trusted around sharp objects and can't use the induction hob because of his pacemaker. And as his 'special occasion meal was a mother's day lunch, I have also working towards to Scouts cooking badge this weekend.

The wife is an excellent cook and, for the most part, enjoys cooking. The difficulty with reluctantly stepping into somebody else's shoes on an interim basis is finding that happy balance between doing a good enough job but without excelling, thereby not disappointing but not being asked back for a repeat performance. I'm happy to say the boy and I nailed it.

Our Macaroni Cheese with a breadcrumb and bacon topping, followed by homemade sticky toffee pudding was a qualified success: a passable effort, edible and tasty, but with sufficient errors not to be asked back any time soon. The cheese sauce was delicious, but a little too thick, while the use of muscovado sugar was a schoolboy error (apparently) and meant the sticky toffee pudding was a little too dark and molasses-like.

If we had been on MasterChef I reckon Greg would have gone back for a second spoonful but John would have done that annoyingly smug little smile he does when Greg is just being a greedy guts.


Social Distancing
We popped round to my parents with some flowers for my Mam today. They are taking the social distancing thing in their stride, which is very laudable, but felt a bit weird leaving them (the flowers, not the parents) on the doorstep and talking to them across their front garden.

It reminded me a bit of knicky-knocky nine doors as a kid where you'd knock on somebody's door, leg it to hide then giggle at the irate homeowners as they scowled and glared and shouted those words that you usually only heard your Dad say if he stubbed his toe, or his horse fell at the last.

Not that I ever played that game of course. Ahem.

We did a Skype call with them later on too, we've not left them entirely on their own.

And I'm pleased to report here was no horse-falling or toe-stubbing either.