Someone killed Benny the Bunny. The culprit is still at large, but I can assure his sacrifice was not for nothing.
Today has been a social day. I’ve spoken to a friend on furlough who is struggling with routine, sleep, purpose, and weight. I advise her to find something to do, and at the end of the day list what she has done, rather than what she hasn’t. This is not a time to be hard on ourselves. And it’s a time to be grateful if boredom is the worst thing we suffer from.
A colleague I spoke to later on said he’s loving lockdown. The lack of commute, the presence of his wife and children all day every day is a cause of great joy. He’s happy in his house in a village outside Cambridge, getting jobs around the garden and the house done that would otherwise remain untouched. If it wasn’t for the fact that a trip to the baker could kill me, he said, this is how life should be all the time.
At lunchtime, we waited for a new fridge to be delivered. We sat on the brick fence in front of the house, waiting in the sun for a van that took its time around the one-way streets of Romsey. I ate avocado with olive oil and some spicy beans with a coconut bread I’d been given for free from a Jordanian cafe on Mill Rod, and felt very Mediterranean when another friend cycled past and stopped to chat. He stayed well over 2 meters away, in the middle of the road, but the chat, the sun, and the food made it feel like the most intimate, spontaneous get-together for weeks. Right there in the street.
We take what the universe gives us, and give thanks for the good and deal with the bad to the best of our ability.