I’m sitting up in the spare bedroom, plugging in the laptop and Bose speaker. The village square is eerily quiet.
I put the speaker on the window sill, press the ‘play’ button on the laptop and the prelude to The Sound of Music begins its slow rise into Julie Andrews’ singing at the top of her gorgeous voice the hills are alive…
It’s the Square’s call to arms. The One O’Clock Music Slot is on its way.
Bellows’ wife cycles by on her way from the village shop and gives a cheery wave to Mrs Bancroft across the road, who has jemmied open her Juliet balcony to listen to the music in the warmth of her own home rather than the doorstep.
And then there’s Gracie, the pride of our alley, walking to the shop and wondering what all the fuss is about.
Through the magic of Spotify, Julie Andrews does her bit and then it’s Elton John’s turn, belting out I’m Still Standing for the benefit of Randy Munchkin, who probably can only just about hear it down the street.
DJ Landlord climbs on the cellar roof and gives a long distance thumbs-up while Mrs Plum emerges from the closed-up pub to sit on the seat outside.
Mata Hari emerges from her front door and begins to dance to the music.
The scene is uncannily like something from that 1960s TV classic, The Prisoner, with me alternating between the bewildered Number Six and the sinister Number Two, while Lush Places doubles up as Portmeirion minus the Italianate architecture, a propped-up penny farthing and psychedelic hydrangeas.
I wouldn’t be at all surprised if any minute now a large white bubble floated up the high street to keep us all in check.
Absolutely anything could happen. It’s all bonkers.
It’s the strangest thing, this virus, this lockdown. I keeping thinking it’s all a dream and I’m going to wake up, go to the bathroom and find Bobby Ewing in the shower. Which would be kind of awkward, to be honest. I barely know the man.
Ludicrous conspiracy theories abound on social media about how it all began and why – although no-one has suggested it could just be a massive April Fool’s joke or a drill to see how easy it is to keep the masses in their place.
The number of cases is soaring, and even the Prime Minister has it.
Wall-to-wall news about coronavirus increases anxiety levels. I don’t know about you, but I go to sleep thinking about it. I’ve started dabbing lavender oil on my forehead and temples in a bid to stop my dreams becoming re-runs of science fiction disaster films like The Day After Tomorrow.
Although I do have a notepad and pen beside my bed in case a gripping plot emerges for a bestseller. The trouble is, we’re already in it.
Each morning, before I’m fully awake, there is now a split-second where daylight comes in and all seems normal. And then I remember the reality and a feeling of nausea wells deep inside me and threatens to engulf my soul.
Thank goodness for the sunshine and the great outdoors of Lush Places. At least that blue sky and nature going about its normal business is giving us hope.
That’s about it – and, as they used to say in The Prisoner, be seeing you.
Love Maddie x