Day 1 – Home

I am typing away on the laptop in my newly constructed office (AKA the dining table) and my partner is stood outside in a fluffy hooded dressing gown and slippers, talking to our neighbour through their window.  Is this a sign of things to come?

Isolation. It’s like every apocalyptic horror film I have ever seen.  Except there are no zombies and the Co-op is still open.  Mind you, the essentials are whittling – the paracetamol, loo roll and bread shelves are empty – but if you’re after some olives in a jar you’ll be fine.

Shaun: “Want anything from the shop?” Ed: “Cornetto”

Anyway, I digress. 

Yesterday I packed up my desk and waved a bittersweet goodbye to my colleagues.  I am relieved to be able to work from home, where it’s only myself and my partner touching the surfaces and using our limited soap supplies.  But I will miss the comradery and daily interaction with this office of lovely weirdos, whom I consider my friends.  What will change whilst we are all away?  Will anyone get sick?  I am (in)patiently installing Skype software onto my laptop to allow another medium through which we can communicate (it’s also a sneaky way of seeing everyone’s living room/office space/spare room/shed).

Feeling motivated to a) not fester on my sofa and b) make the most of a bad situation, my initial plan is to get healthy.  Yes, I appreciate the irony.  My aim is to use my usual commuting time of 1.5 hours to exercise and practice mindfulness.  However, this is not going particularly well so far.  I am currently potatoed on said sofa, resting my laptop on my stomach ledge, munching on a chunk of Dairy Milk Oreo.  It’s 10:24 in the morning.  Perhaps I will start this new regime on Monday.

God, I wonder how long this will last?  I could be a size 10 if it goes on for a few months.  Well, as long as I stockpile tinned fruit and the national chocolate supplies dwindle.  I live on a farm, so at least I have an exercise pen.  My partner can put a rope around my ever-decreasing waist and tie me to a tree so I can do laps. 

The farm is about 80 acres of rolling fields and river.  Sadly, it is no longer home to goats and chickens, but we have seen the ‘usual’ kind of nature on our bimbles: squirrels, deer, rabbits and a variety of birds.  We have four neighbouring households: our landlady and her husband; the landlady’s son and his young family (including a friendly dog); a (middle-aged?) couple; and Steve (who has been working from home for some time, so we have kind of adopted him as part of our self-isolated family).  In addition to the one farm animal – Dewey the dog – there is also a parliament of barn owls who inhabit a dilapidated barn (obvs); Shish and Kebab the goldfish; and a/some potential rat/s in the attic.  Admittedly, I probably talk to the animals more than the humans here, but we do chat and say hello when we make eye contact.

My mind wanders back to the impending apocalypse.  I mean, if things all go to pot, this is a great place to be – wide open space and vegetation for miles – but unfortunately no eggs or goat milk.  I visualise myself clothed in hessian, collecting home-grown carrots in a makeshift weaved basket.  Tin cans are hanging from the gutter, in an effort to ward off potential burglars or wild beasts. 

Could it be that we remain on this farm indefinitely, our driveway cordoned off with yellow hazard tape?  A merry band of misfits huddled around a fire in the courtyard, eating the last remaining pot noodles and singing campfire songs? 

Considering we are all social distancing, I think we’ll be getting a hell of a lot friendlier over the next few weeks….