I’ve lost track of the weeks, let alone the days.
Is it three weeks or four? I don’t know, I’m completely befuddled.
The Sound of Music Through The Square Window continues every day with more and more requests coming from villagers now that we have a massive set of speakers in my spare bedroom.
I was on local radio talking about it yesterday. The WhatsApp call dropped out only once, which is not bad if you compare it to some of the interviews on Radio 4’s Today programme at the moment. Their best fail ever was yesterday when an interviewee started talking about the importance of mindful pauses only to be closely followed by a mindful pause. We thought it was part of his witty delivery but actually the technology wasn’t working.
You can hear me talking about the village’s one o’clock request show here, at about 1:13:09.
The telly is now very interested in featuring us, so I’ll keep you posted. I’ll probably end up on the cutting room floor like my late uncle, the Somerset folk singer George Withers, did in the British historical drama, Comrades, about the Tolpuddle Martyrs. Apparently, all you could see were the tops of his shears cutting the hedge.
Today I went for a long walk up the hill to enjoy the bluebells before anyone else was up, which was just as well because eighteen never-seen-before people were spotted walking along the lane towards it in the space of fifteen minutes this afternoon.
I’ve never seen so many people I don’t know walking through this village. Are they hikers from neighbouring communities or second-home owners who’ve moved down just before Easter when they shouldn’t have?
It still sticks in the craw when we’re all staying away from family and friends down here and abiding by the rules. A local village for local people.
Still, rather than getting angry, I’m trying to be creative. I’ve painted three three lots of furniture and gardened for England but to say the words of my novel are floating in stagnant waters would be an understatement. The muse seems to have fluttered off somewhere else, despite me allocating two hours a day for the task. I’m doing an online masters degree in creative writing but all that’s doing currently is filling me with self-doubt. I know I’m not rubbish at writing but it sure feels like it.
I’ve removed myself from ranter and banter groups on social media because I’m fed up with the rude and ignorant idiots who seem to populate these sites more than ever at the moment.
And I’ve stopped watching the news at ten o’clock to try to put a stop to the nightmares I’ve been having. I’m lucky in never having had a problem sleeping before now but I am currently waking up every morning at about four o’clock in a cold sweat after dreaming about dead people.
Yesterday I learned that a GP with whom I once worked – a man the same age as me who was well-loved by his patients – has just died from the virus.
This bloody thing is a real and present danger. The NHS and other key workers are risking their lives every day to keep us safe. All we have to do is stay at home.
In other news, one grandchild has learned to ride a bike and another is sleeping in a proper bed at last, so I’m thankful for small mercies.
I will leave you with today’s song request, which I dedicate to myself because I love its upbeat message and I particularly like the video.
It’s Fred Astaire and Rita Hayworth in the 1942 film You Were Never Lovelier.
Hold that thought.
That’s about it.
Love Maddie x