Dank Days

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Image by ivabalk from Pixabay

A week ago today we went back into lockdown, the calendar is once again empty and, unlike the springtime, the weather is less than inviting for lounging around outdoors. To be honest it's been one dank, grey day after another. We've still been outside even if the time has been spent keeping warm through the art of digging, with tools downed by 3pm when poor light inevitably stops play. 

It may only have been 8 days but already I'm conscious that I'm struggling to recall the day of the week on waking and may have to resort to marking time by counting the number of Great British Bake off episodes watched. It's not that I'm even a great fan but sometime you just need something to make you drool and much better to examine cake from the side of the screen where there can be no temptation to consume. Heaven forbid  any further expansion of the waistline as a consequence of a circulating virus and an order to stay at  home.

Of course, I do have an exemption in order to visit my mother with whom we are "bubbled" and, therefore, pop out by car every 3 days to see her. 

Whilst driving yesterday, I found myself listening to a programme on Radio 5 Live which cleverly linked the American election to the art of smiling. Apparently nobody ever sees Donald Trump grin; with good cause at the moment I thought, but then realised that, in so far as I cannot recall seeing newsreel footage of him breaking out into laughter, it was probably a factual statement with some longevity behind it. The programme moved  on to say that sadly he is not alone and that by the age of 23 most of us feel it inappropriate to make overt displays of humour in the workplace, leading to office cultures lacking in pleasure and enjoyment. Worse still, all that seriousness rubs off and can begin to affect home life too.

Obviously this then linked in to lockdown and the need to work from home, suggesting that turning  the living room into a workplace for one, could end up with even the most chucklesome of employees toiling morosely.

I'm not sure what happened next but I probably reached a series of roundabouts and became distracted from the narrative. Nevertheless by the time I turned into the road where my mother lived, I was certainly mulling over the issue, even if the programme itself had moved on. I comforted myself with the knowledge that six and a half years into retirement I am deploying  chortles in sufficient abundance to defer a grave case of life-depression. My train of thought rambled on, however, and I realised that, if I continue with the mirth, I could be in urgent need of botox and fillers to cure laughter lines. Turning that on its head, I also realised that if I am developing wrinkles from howling convulsively, then at least it means that I'm neither working nor melancholy.

Some might say that I have too much time on my hands to dwell on discussions purely intended to fill air-time; others that every cloud has a silver lining, we just have to search for it amongst all the mist and drizzle. 



Comments

Treaders said…
Someone pointed out not long ago that you don't see Trump playing with his grandchildren, there is no White House pet, there are pretty much no normal family photos, no holiday photos. And you're right, you don't see him smile either!
14 November 2020 at 13:38
Caree Risover said…
Broken the norms on all levels
14 November 2020 at 13:45
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