![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Start the week
Monday, September 14th, 2020 10:39 amOn Friday we broke lockdown for only the second time (in my case – it was Furtle’s third) and caught the train up to Chelmsford so that we could meet up with Elle’s parents, have a pint or two and a meal in the Wheatsheaf and then come home. A limited day out, but a welcome break.
For those who don’t know, the Wheatsheaf is a tiny pub – two small rooms and room comfortably, for not many more than thirty people all told. Probably fewer. With the Coronavirus distancing rules in place, you’d be hard pressed to get twelve people in there. And there is clear plastic shielding over the bars, which in any case are closed. If you want to order beer, or food, you have to nip out into the only marginally bigger pub garden and order there. God knows how they’ll manage when winter sets in.
As when we went into London a couple or three weeks ago, most people are following the rules for masks on public transport, but not all. It was also instructive to see how the kids are dealing with it. The kids might be back at school, but the schools appear to be kicking them out before 15.00 these days (that said, it might be a Friday thing). The Chelmsford pupils to a body wore their masks all the time. It didn’t slow down the usual excited and noisy chatter, but they managed it all within the rules. Once we got past Romford on the way back to Ilford, the more local (and scruffy) kids started piling on and their mask rate was rather lower. Still, no-one was coughing and spluttering, so I remain hopeful that our foray to deepest Essex has had no consequences.
In a turn up for the books, I’ve lost weight during lockdown. Presumably because I haven’t been buying my morning latte on the way into work, or listening to the siren call of the office biscuits supplies. Also, we’ve ben eating better quality, home-made food, instead of using the office canteen, where more than once a week, the only palatable option would be chip-based. As of the beginning of the weekend just gone, I had unshipped 11lbs, but weighing myself this morning, I see that one of those pounds is paying me a return visit. Hopefully it’s just a step backwards to allow for a run up to lose a bit more. Even ten pounds down, I need to unship significant tonnage and historically, this is not and never has been one of my strong points.
Thirteen years ago I bought myself a double-breasted leather jacket, submarine commander style. In those thirteen years, I have only been able to button it up for a short period and that was over ten years ago, when one of my younger cousins got married. For most of the time, it’s been a struggle even to get the two sides to meet in the middle, much less to get the four inch overlap to line up the buttons and button holes. I don’t intend to wear it buttoned up very often, but the jacket just hangs much better if it can be buttoned up. Anyway, my initial target is to be able to wear that jacket and look like a U-Boat captain.
As I type, a fox has just wandered up on to the patio and had a wary look around. It was me here in the conservatory and slipped quietly into the gap between the fence and the roses/blackcurrants on the top bed and vanished down the garden. My comically slow attempt to snap it on my iPhone were suitably futile.
I shall take that as a sign that I ought to do some paying work.
But I’m not really feeling it today.
For those who don’t know, the Wheatsheaf is a tiny pub – two small rooms and room comfortably, for not many more than thirty people all told. Probably fewer. With the Coronavirus distancing rules in place, you’d be hard pressed to get twelve people in there. And there is clear plastic shielding over the bars, which in any case are closed. If you want to order beer, or food, you have to nip out into the only marginally bigger pub garden and order there. God knows how they’ll manage when winter sets in.
As when we went into London a couple or three weeks ago, most people are following the rules for masks on public transport, but not all. It was also instructive to see how the kids are dealing with it. The kids might be back at school, but the schools appear to be kicking them out before 15.00 these days (that said, it might be a Friday thing). The Chelmsford pupils to a body wore their masks all the time. It didn’t slow down the usual excited and noisy chatter, but they managed it all within the rules. Once we got past Romford on the way back to Ilford, the more local (and scruffy) kids started piling on and their mask rate was rather lower. Still, no-one was coughing and spluttering, so I remain hopeful that our foray to deepest Essex has had no consequences.
In a turn up for the books, I’ve lost weight during lockdown. Presumably because I haven’t been buying my morning latte on the way into work, or listening to the siren call of the office biscuits supplies. Also, we’ve ben eating better quality, home-made food, instead of using the office canteen, where more than once a week, the only palatable option would be chip-based. As of the beginning of the weekend just gone, I had unshipped 11lbs, but weighing myself this morning, I see that one of those pounds is paying me a return visit. Hopefully it’s just a step backwards to allow for a run up to lose a bit more. Even ten pounds down, I need to unship significant tonnage and historically, this is not and never has been one of my strong points.
Thirteen years ago I bought myself a double-breasted leather jacket, submarine commander style. In those thirteen years, I have only been able to button it up for a short period and that was over ten years ago, when one of my younger cousins got married. For most of the time, it’s been a struggle even to get the two sides to meet in the middle, much less to get the four inch overlap to line up the buttons and button holes. I don’t intend to wear it buttoned up very often, but the jacket just hangs much better if it can be buttoned up. Anyway, my initial target is to be able to wear that jacket and look like a U-Boat captain.
As I type, a fox has just wandered up on to the patio and had a wary look around. It was me here in the conservatory and slipped quietly into the gap between the fence and the roses/blackcurrants on the top bed and vanished down the garden. My comically slow attempt to snap it on my iPhone were suitably futile.
I shall take that as a sign that I ought to do some paying work.
But I’m not really feeling it today.
