I finished another knitted jumper. It kept the old fingers busy (fingers covered in skin that would be at home on the back of a crocodile, it's so dry with all the handwashing) but is probably destined for the Wear That? Not On Your Nelly pile.
Boo was on the receiving end of a shampoo and cut (actually cuts, I've had two goes so far) yesterday. He'd gotten so hirsute he was beginning to resemble Cousin It. He seemed to enjoy the experience, although maybe all the tail wagging was more a case of 'I'll keep it moving in case she hacks it off'. Now he's more Barry Manilow than cocker spaniel. I'm thanking my lucky stars that I'm responsible for the evening dog walk. In the dark.
I had a stab at cleaning the pond which was looking uncared for (probably because it is, like a lot of stuff here these days, although the cutlery drawer is pristine). This involved working out how to operate the vacuum cleaner to remove the sludge at the bottom, which, apparently, is a bad thing. With the help of a YouTube (naturally) video, I managed it, although I was concerned I'd suck up the fish (not that I've spotted any; if they've any sense, they'll have already upped and offed). The water doesn't look any clearer but I'm reliably informed that that's not a bad thing. Next, the filter and pump need degunking but I need to locate them first. I suspect they're immersed in the water and it might help if I knew what they look like before trawling the depths in rubber gloves.
The comfort eating here has reached Olympian heights. I'm going for gold. Lunch one day was a giant bag of salted popcorn. Dinner was an entire packet of Oreos and a hot cross bun (no 'butter', I didn't want to over-egg the pudding). Supper was what was left of a vegan chocolate bar, two Polo mints and a Rennie. Last night's menu was more about real food - crispy coated polenta cakes topped with ratatouille, puy lentils and griddled tenderstem broccoli, finished with a sprinkling of nutritional yeast for me, finely grated Italian cheese for the mister. It was very tasty and looked pretty but there's less washing up when you eat crap.
Cherry blossom is strutting its stuff in the front garden, the camellia is doing the same in the back. The grass (that's stretching it, it's more mossy clumps than rolling greensward) is ready for another cut but the green bin and a green bag are already overflowing (I have no idea why the garden is continuously covered in twigs and branches, though I have a funny feeling about one of the houses that backs onto ours) and collections haven't restarted yet
I grew up in a shop and I love shopping (as did my parents and brother, come to think of it). But the weekly circuit of the supermarket is anything but enjoyable. It's the exact opposite of enjoyable. The Sainsburys branch I use has now installed crowd control. Well, that was the wording on the back of the bomber jacket the elderly man sitting on a fold-up chair outside the entrance was wearing. The crowd waiting to be allowed in was well behaved (well, it was just me and Crowd Control called me Madam).
Once inside, it was more about dodging the other trolleys to keep the required distance, and avoiding doing anything that might be construed as loitering, than finding essential items (unpacking at home was interesting). And everyone I encountered glared, like I was riddled with nasties. It was a relief to get back into the car where, armed with a pack of treasured antibac wipes, I scrupulously cleaned hands, steering wheel and door handles. I shoved a wipe up my nostrils, too, just to be on the safe side.
Easter will be very strange in this, the year of the virus, but I've hung little wooden eggs on some pussy willow branches and a modestly sized Simnel cake (just the vegan Christmas cake recipe with the addition of a ton of marzipan) will be baked. I think I have all the ingredients. If not, I'll substitute.
Or as my dad used to say, there is no bread. We'll have to eat toast.
