With greatly inferior weather to yesterday, and little else available to bring pleasure to a Sunday, so we turned to another one of the board game stash, stripping a developing country of its natural resources in the pursuit of profit. Simulated, of course. Joe won — what that suggests for the future of the world, I have no idea.
During the Great Hebden Bridge Flour Famine of early April 2020 I panic-bought some organic rye flour, at a ridiculous price, when it seemed to be the only bag of flour available in the town. Subsequently, I have tried making pizza with it, and then batter, and both were dismal failures. Then today, Clare suggested the entirely logical approach of making rye bread with it. At this it — and she — was a roaring success. There will be more of this.
It was my last scheduled teaching of the semester today. Normally we would have concluded this significant moment in the academic year by some kind of group photo, as on 4th May 2018, and said our goodbyes, at least amongst those I will not be supervising over the summer. There can be none of that this year. I sit in a room and talk to a laptop for an hour and twenty minutes and take questions here and there and that’s it. I do plenty of distance teaching anyway, so it’s not that I’m pissed off about this as such — but I miss people, and if you claim not to, then I worry for your sanity.
Lockdown continues so some obscure corners of my house get their chance on the blog. When we moved in, the previous owner had left all his furniture (he emigrated to Thailand and then — this is, sadly, true — died six weeks later). Over the intervening 19 years all that he left us has gradually been replaced, with the sole exception of this huge old chest of drawers in the attic, crowned by the vice that you see on the right here: its rather battered appearance is testament to its ongoing use for a variety of creative projects.. Between them then, these things have been here longer anything else and, as the drawers are far too big to get back downstairs (they must have been assembled in situ), they won’t ever be leaving with us either.
The last time I was on campus was the 8th March (and it was deserted then, although that was because it was a Sunday). Since then, all work has been done at home, and the shirts I would wear to scrub up a bit in Manchester have gone unworn. Dry cleaning is another business that I assume has been deemed ‘non-essential’ at this time.
A couple of months ago, at least, we made an arrangement that we would visit my sister Vicki and family today for a Sunday out, let there be dinner, socialising, sunshine etc. This date got sucked into the COVID-19 black hole some time ago.
But thanks to the miracle of videoconferencing, we did our best to find a replacement. Seven family members, including myself, appear on the laptop screen at the back — Joe being the only attendee who cannot be seen. We ate well. It was fun. But it is not and never will be reality, and soon, we would like reality back please.
As lockdown (British-style) extends into its second month we find our visual pleasures where we can, including in cute toys with retro 70s appeal — militaristic, yes, but look! press a button on his back and he crawls along the carpet. Great fun for about thirty seconds or so.
Action Man’s second appearance on the blog (after one was snapped on the top of a mountain in the Lake District on 1/3/12). Neither of them mine, I will add.
I said a few days ago that when one is imprisoned, the arrival of the mail assumes a new significance. I greet the arrival of this magazine with pleasure every month, but this one is particularly poignant: it’s 32 days since there was last any football played in Britain (my last game was at Blackpool on March 14th) and who knows what state the local game will be in when all this is finally over. When Saturday Comes has been going for over three decades now, so let’s hope it survives, at least.
I imagine that, worldwide, a few board games are being dragged from the dusty corners of cupboards where they have resided for some years. Or in the case of this Campaign game, decades.
Expect a number of these rather random shots to emerge on here while we are under house arrest. (For that is what it is.) However, I do like the feeling that this shell is glowing with warmth while the rain comes down outside the window behind. And with time on my hands I did randomly look at Wikipedia and it’s actually amazing how much there is to learn about the humble scallop. They can live for twenty years you know. And then end up as ashtrays, or whatever.
