I'm ready for my Van Halen audition, getting back to my heavy metal roots from my teenage years. Denim jackets on Islay! Ah, those were the days, my friends, we thought they'd never end. Unflattering photo alert. Full Disclosure required.
Still, at least I'm half-smiling, unlike Derek the Unhappy Man who was a cookie baked by the children. They made him a wife called Delilah. These small crumbs get us by.
So, the New Normal, eh? Where to begin? It needs to work for the entire world. It's too big a subject for this little ol' blog.
I'm no longer lamenting the loss of our foreign holiday. That's just the way it is now. I was always an inner Greta. The fresher air of lockdown has been stunning. I'll be so sad to let that go. We need to get to less vehicle use and more local services ASAP.
My best lockdown TV has been a 12 part series called Normal People.
It's all first love and tenderness and misunderstanding. The main actors knocked it out of the park. Everyone I know loved it. Prepare to be distracted by Connell's chain.
In other distractions, I google things like this.
Be still my beating heart! Then I realise these pups live in Dungannon, Tyrone. Far away in Ireland.
When I was seven, all my relatives lived in Tyrone and talked about driving to 'Dungannon' (with gorgeous Irish accents, in red Ford Cortinas with Magic Trees dangling from the mirror).
I now feel as if the pups are half mine, via some ether of time-warped, genetic inheritance. What the hungry heart does to convince itself.
Keep dreaming and longing. I hope we will all see each other soon, cautiously, carefully. With Track and Trace in place (why can't be just buy South Korea's software, btw?)
Keep folding the days into neat piles and setting them gently aside, as dusk folds in.
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