I’VE been in lock down at our home in West Linton since Saturday, March 14, along with my partner, the former teacher I call the Heidie and our Jack Russell terrier called Hamish. I’ve been keeping a diary as one way of avoiding going stir crazy. If you have any funny stories of your lock downs please tell us via community@thenational.scot.
Day Eight: What do you do at the weekend when you can’t do anything that you usually do? The answer is that you just “dae sumthin” as Billy Connolly used to say. Seeing hordes of people taking to the crowded Pentland Hills, I anticipate a ban coming on unnecessary travel so we head off for one last trip out to Portobello Beach.
People are generally keeping their distance from each other and on the beach there’s plenty of room to walk Hamish. We pass the dog-and-cat home on the trip, and wonder what will happen to the inmates. And though we are able to exercise our dog, how about those people now in self-isolation who can’t? Why not use your daily exercise to help out a neighbour.
Day Nine: Local Common Riding Festival, the Whipman Play, is to be cancelled. What a shame for 2020 Whipman Gregor Brown and his Lass Lucy Martin. But the committee makes the right decision and retains all the principals for 2021. It’s a great fun event and unites the village so I am sure 2021 will be an even bigger success.
Day 10: The news that Alex Salmond has been acquitted on all charges delights me more than I can say. I reveal to readers of The National that he is going into lock down with his wife Moira for 12 weeks. He’s writing a tell-all book and when he emerges, there will be a lot of people running for cover.
Day 11: Hamish is ill! He never gets sick but all of a sudden he’s in a bad way. Look up emergency vets and take advice. We decide to wait 24 hours. Anybody with a pet will know the anguish of seeing your animal in pain and upset. All of a sudden coronavirus just seems like an irritation in our household.
Day 12: Hamish on the mend, thank heavens. For the first time in this situation I think about mortality, and it’s not mine I’m worried about. I’m 61, diabetic and have a heart condition, but I am determined to survive the virus by the simple expedient of not getting it. I decide to think about dying much later.
Meanwhile, the Heidie has organised a supply chain the PoWs in that film The Great Escape would have been proud of. Thanks to our local general store hero Shaz – a fan of The National – and the staff of our excellent Co-op, plus the assistance of several dear friends, we will not be starving. And not always sober either.
Speak to my 83-year-old mother about how she and the family survived the Second World War. She has vivid memories of refugees from Clydebank streaming into the Vale of Leven after the blitz. I say she must be finding all the virus stuff weird. “Not as weird as the Clydebank Blitz,” she says.
Day 13: Reflect on Prince Charles and conclude there must be something more wrong with him than we are being telt. He’s in self-isolation away from Camilla and I’m merely in lockdown with the Heidie. Couldn’t imagine being without the woman I love, so feel some sympathy for old jug ears.
Day 14: Boris Johnson and Matt Hancock get it. Karma for Tories! The Heidie and pals usually meet on a Friday for a wee libation. I call them the Crackerjack Crew – ask your parents why. They still have a wee drink and a meet up, only via phones! Thank goodness for modern technology.
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