On my morning dog walk, there’s not a soul around.
There are no church bells ringing, no cars driving by. Nothing.
We’ve all put the clocks forward but you wouldn’t know it. That annual sinking feeling, when you know you’ve got an hour less sleep than usual, just doesn’t register in the time of coronavirus. It really doesn’t matter what time you get out of bed or whether you’re in your pyjamas all day.
I’m one of those people who has to have a routine, otherwise I can quite easily wallow in laziness. If I’m not up and out with the dogs by a certain time, it affects the rest of my day. This free spirit needs structure, and that probably applies to most of us now more than ever.
With all the days merging into one, here in the Grigg household we’ve tried to do something different at the weekend, just to mark it as a weekend. But it’s tricky, because our weekdays now consist of gardening, reading and eating – all the kind of things we’d be doing on a Saturday or Sunday.
Except we’re not going out socialising, or to the cinema or out for a meal or up to visit my mum, 94, who lives in splendid isolation in the middle of nowhere but, luckily, has the most marvellous and caring neighbours my family could wish for.
At the moment, Mr Grigg is wandering around the supermarket, wearing mask and gloves. I’m at home, listening to BBC Radio 6 Music, the cat curled up next to me and the dogs asleep in their beds. I’m in the ‘at risk’ category as I had a heart attack four years ago, so I’m not going anywhere.
At one o’clock, though, I’ll be up in the spare bedroom, for The Sound of Music through the Square Window. Yesterday it was Bruno Mars and The Lazy Song, just for Mrs Plum, the pub landlady.
And then later, if Mr Grigg has found anything in the supermarket, we’ll have a roast – just like any other Sunday, although it’ll only be the two of us to eat it.
That’s about it.
Love Maddie x