Lockdown Diary - Friday 1st May 2020
Had planned to start the day with another run but I've (temporarily, I hope) buggered a muscle or some equivalent meaty construct in my left calf and it doesn't want to play ball, let alone run. Been doing stretching exercises and whacking it with a cricket bat during the day to see if that will fix it. So far, not so good. (I should point out, lest anyone should doubt my approach, that one of those things isn't true. It was a mallet really. No, I lie, I've not whacked it with anything. Yet. Oh, and by the way, yes, I do believe 'buggered' is the correct medical term for it. Look it up.)
Work again today, so my activities have been limited, in fact limited largely to work, though I've had good chats with a mate in Berlin and another in Bracknell. Tomorrow it'll be the 'Cs'. Both of them talked to me about work, even if only briefly, and after the call one of them even sent me a technical question he was seeking my opinion on - is there no escape from this madness? (That is the problem. When you're in it there's no escape from IT, especially when half the people you know are in it, too. Even my wife was, for quite a while, in IT, though thankfully it was rarely something we ever discussed at home. Praise the Lord. Hallelujah. Etc.)
It's already early evening and I've only just shut down my work laptop, though on a positive note I finished a couple of things I need to do today and, better still, I now have a glass of wine. Things are looking up. The best thing about Friday is that I put the laptop and all associated paraphernalia to bed until Tuesday. Goodnight laptop. Goodnight mouse. Goodnight keyboard. Goodnight laptop stand.
On the downside all this work and natter has effectively put paid to me listening to music before making dinner, as son number 3 has already asked the question about what we're having and when to start. I have only one response: MEATBALLS!
The other bad thing about Friday is that it precedes Saturday. On one level that sounds good, but the sword suspended over me, or perhaps that should be the albatross circling me, is shopping. Tomorrow morning. Shopping and all the queuing, social distancing, glove wearing, hand washing, keep your distance you (potentially) germ-ridden bastards, have I forgotten something important, don't breathe near me, I-can't-wait-until-it's-done misery of it. Never has such a tedious chore loomed so large on the weekend horizon.
Dinner done, we watched episode 2 of 'Devs', then switched to BBC4 and watched a bit of a documentary about The Shadows. Interviewees included Dave Gilmour and Pete Townshend and they talked of how they were influenced by Hank and Bruce's guitar style and, as the documentary moved forward through time, they explained how their hits stopped coming around 1966, when bands like The Stones, and Beatles came to the fore. I was watching it with son number 1 and it prompted a discussion about the difference between parent's and youth attitudes then. I explained that, for me at least, The Shadows were 'naff', old peoples music: they wore suits and tuxedos, appeared in awful films like 'Summer Holiday' and in Pantomime. They were a relic of the old variety / entertainer style and just really pedestrian and dull. There was footage of the Beatles in their early 'mop top' hairstyles and son #1 couldn't understand how shocking long hair - hair that touched the collar!!! - was to the older generation. I will never forget my mum telling me that the Rolling Stones were 'disgusting' and that the lyrics to 'Brown Sugar' were 'disgraceful'. As you can imagine the idea that the lyrics were lewd or rude in some way, only made them even more appealing. We chatted for 10 or 15 minutes or so as I struggled to explain how shocking to some seeing things like David Bowie on Top of The Pops wearing make up was. From a position of now it's hard to imagine how antediluvian attitudes were back in the late 1960s and early 1970s.
It's odd really, I think, that in part I get my love of music from my mum, despite the fact that there was almost no overlap in taste; she loved musicals and also light classical music. That music harks back to my childhood though I really struggle to find anything about any of it that gives me pleasure. I can never forget how much mum loved 'West Side Story' and I've certainly seen (endured) much of the film and heard the soundtrack many times, but I always remember having lively discussions with her about it: 'Why in the middle of a fight scene do they start singing and dancing? It makes no sense!'. Nevertheless she did like some popular music, like the Beatles, though I suspect some of the lyrical content passed her by. Most of all, though, I think we both appreciated how much we each enjoyed music.
I have been grooving to this over the past 24 hours or so: PJ Harvey, 'The Letter', from 'Uh Huh Her'
Work again today, so my activities have been limited, in fact limited largely to work, though I've had good chats with a mate in Berlin and another in Bracknell. Tomorrow it'll be the 'Cs'. Both of them talked to me about work, even if only briefly, and after the call one of them even sent me a technical question he was seeking my opinion on - is there no escape from this madness? (That is the problem. When you're in it there's no escape from IT, especially when half the people you know are in it, too. Even my wife was, for quite a while, in IT, though thankfully it was rarely something we ever discussed at home. Praise the Lord. Hallelujah. Etc.)
It's already early evening and I've only just shut down my work laptop, though on a positive note I finished a couple of things I need to do today and, better still, I now have a glass of wine. Things are looking up. The best thing about Friday is that I put the laptop and all associated paraphernalia to bed until Tuesday. Goodnight laptop. Goodnight mouse. Goodnight keyboard. Goodnight laptop stand.
On the downside all this work and natter has effectively put paid to me listening to music before making dinner, as son number 3 has already asked the question about what we're having and when to start. I have only one response: MEATBALLS!
The other bad thing about Friday is that it precedes Saturday. On one level that sounds good, but the sword suspended over me, or perhaps that should be the albatross circling me, is shopping. Tomorrow morning. Shopping and all the queuing, social distancing, glove wearing, hand washing, keep your distance you (potentially) germ-ridden bastards, have I forgotten something important, don't breathe near me, I-can't-wait-until-it's-done misery of it. Never has such a tedious chore loomed so large on the weekend horizon.
Dinner done, we watched episode 2 of 'Devs', then switched to BBC4 and watched a bit of a documentary about The Shadows. Interviewees included Dave Gilmour and Pete Townshend and they talked of how they were influenced by Hank and Bruce's guitar style and, as the documentary moved forward through time, they explained how their hits stopped coming around 1966, when bands like The Stones, and Beatles came to the fore. I was watching it with son number 1 and it prompted a discussion about the difference between parent's and youth attitudes then. I explained that, for me at least, The Shadows were 'naff', old peoples music: they wore suits and tuxedos, appeared in awful films like 'Summer Holiday' and in Pantomime. They were a relic of the old variety / entertainer style and just really pedestrian and dull. There was footage of the Beatles in their early 'mop top' hairstyles and son #1 couldn't understand how shocking long hair - hair that touched the collar!!! - was to the older generation. I will never forget my mum telling me that the Rolling Stones were 'disgusting' and that the lyrics to 'Brown Sugar' were 'disgraceful'. As you can imagine the idea that the lyrics were lewd or rude in some way, only made them even more appealing. We chatted for 10 or 15 minutes or so as I struggled to explain how shocking to some seeing things like David Bowie on Top of The Pops wearing make up was. From a position of now it's hard to imagine how antediluvian attitudes were back in the late 1960s and early 1970s.
It's odd really, I think, that in part I get my love of music from my mum, despite the fact that there was almost no overlap in taste; she loved musicals and also light classical music. That music harks back to my childhood though I really struggle to find anything about any of it that gives me pleasure. I can never forget how much mum loved 'West Side Story' and I've certainly seen (endured) much of the film and heard the soundtrack many times, but I always remember having lively discussions with her about it: 'Why in the middle of a fight scene do they start singing and dancing? It makes no sense!'. Nevertheless she did like some popular music, like the Beatles, though I suspect some of the lyrical content passed her by. Most of all, though, I think we both appreciated how much we each enjoyed music.
I have been grooving to this over the past 24 hours or so: PJ Harvey, 'The Letter', from 'Uh Huh Her'
[[Probably the most passionate song about letter writing that there is]]
[[There are echoes of the associations that letters have in 'Finnegans Wake']]
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[[There are echoes of the associations that letters have in 'Finnegans Wake']]
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