Apart from my basic freedoms, now the lockdowns are easing, I am minded to reflect upon the things I have sorely missed over the last year. Pleasures so infrequently partaken of that they never really flagged up as things that made life rich, good and wonderful.
Regarding the above, our regular postman, an avid golfer, has disappeared now the golf courses are opening up again. No doubt he will return in the next week or so complaining of a wrenched back and the fact that it rained.
So, back on topic, The first thing I’ve missed is the infrequent pleasure of having the works at a barbers. The full monty. Straight razor shave and trim, scalp massage and lemon scented hot towels. All of which never fails as a pick me up.
Emotionally speaking, both Mrs S and I are increasingly feeling depleted and worn down by the strain of keeping up with the constantly shifting goalposts. It’s just that there’s been no definable end date to this whole farrago of fuckups.
However, one might say; now that one can go and play golf and tennis etc we’re all good, yes? Have your jab and you will be free-ish? Which is a fallacy, especially for me because neither of us play golf or tennis or follow organised sports. Still, good for those who do.
Our needs are different, we have meetings to attend in person, documents to sign and get witnessed. Business dealings which for legal purposes cannot be done on line. There are properties to view and other stuff that I’m n ot willing to trust to a Zoom meeting.
Looking at property for example is very much a eyes present matter. You don’t buy houses without seeing them in person, being able to sniff for bad smells, hear noisy or intrusive neighbours. If I’m going to part with over two hundred thousand for property I’m buggered if I’m going to do it without a bloody good first person look-see or check out of the locale.
Eventually I suppose we’ll all get back to some semblance of what we once regarded as ‘normal’, hopefully not the farcical ‘new normal’ all the brain dead bozo’s rattle on about, as if it were a good thing, which it most certainly is not. In the meantime even the enforcers of these draconian and overblown restrictions are getting tired of it all.
So, this ‘easing’ leaves us still at square one. Somehow on edge all the time, on tenterhooks one might say. I’ve donated my copy of Quentin Letts little potboiler “Stop Bloody Bossing me about” to Mrs S, who has taken to delving into the contents and grinning quietly as she finds lots to nod along to. When I bought it last week she scoffed at me a little. Now I often hear her remark with a giggle; “He’s on the money there.” The bits about Lycra clad cyclists and those clapping to ‘support’ the NHS are particularly on point. A recommended and refreshing antidote to all the PC bollocks oozing from the halls of Academia and NGO’s.