annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary


Day 22

We watched this tonight, live streamed:

It was fantastic and I'd recommend it if you like theatre and farce - it's very funny but takes a while to get going. Theatre acting is disconcerting on TV till you get used to it - they're all projecting away for the back of the stalls but we're right here. I was thinking I couldn't be arsed with it, but also couldn't be arsed to get up and turn it off and then it suddenly got going and was very silly and clever. I really did laugh out loud, loads of times and for that I am grateful. James Corden is amazing at physical theatre, whatever else he may be (overpaid at the very least). It was good that the NT said they'd put up a new play at 7pm every Thursday so there was a sense of an audience, of loads of us watching it together.

Today has been hard. I stayed in bed till 2, sneezing and feeling sorry for myself, taking my temperature all the time, freaking out. I know it's normal and appropriate to freak out during a fucking global pandemic but it feels awful. I am sneezing quite a lot, and have a runny nose, but no temperature so I don't think it's the thing, but it's scary knowing that even if it is, you need to be almost dying before you can get any help and even then it's not much. I really fucking hope that when this is over the UK and the US both tear down the systems that have allowed us to be governed by groups of people that are serving themselves and their cronies rather than us the people. But I'm not getting into all that.

I typed up my bit about Sam, which is just a fragment:

I am sitting by your bed, I’m always sitting by your bed, day after day, year after year – not really, but that’s how it seems.

It’s all pink in your room – you used to love pink but none of us know if you still do – we don’t know anything about what you like, how you feel, what you want - how you’ve changed inside.

Around us the staff buzz in and out. Chloe, tiny and tattoed, with a big black bun, like Amy Winehouse didn’t really die but went undercover in a care home, comes to give you a flush of water through the feeding tube. Gorgeous, glamourous Miha brings in your clean washing. I hold your hand, hoping for a squeeze. Outside a delivery man is proud if navigating the narrow lane without scraping his mirrors. There’s laughter.

We might go out. I ask you if you’d like to and you look at me, meet my eyes with a sense of urgency, but what does it mean? Urgent to stay or to go? I say, “Look up to go, down to stay.”


“Squeeze my hand to stay or we’re going.”


“OK, we’re going.”

I catch Manuela in the corridor, “Can we get Sammie ready to go out?”

“Of course!” She’s happy to help, all smiles and chat.

“Hey, Sammie, you’re going out! What will you wear today? Shall we put your blue dress on? Let’s change these boring slacks, look nice to go out. OK, see you later.”

She hustles me out and into the dark hallway. Miha comes to help. I wander about, waiting, waiting, trying to decide where we should go – through the town centre or to the sea front, the prom and the pier.

Wayne rolls past in his wheelchair, hides his head and grunts when I say hello, smiles up at me, like Princess Di, all bashful.

An alarm goes. Someone is having a seizure – staff move swiftly yet casually – this is what happens, this is what they do, no panic.

You’re ready, hoisted into your chair, wrapped up warm, blankets hiding the blue dress. I make it through the corridors, round all the corners without banging your feet on the walls. Yay. Go me.

and before I posted it I found a thing which turns your photos into "old masters" and did this with one of my favourite photos of Sam:


which just made me cry. I haven't made any masks, or practised my keyboard, I didn't meditate, I didn't go to live yoga, I haven't done the yin yoga, I haven't been outside.

But I'm here, I feel better for blogging, and I feel better blogging so much since having had a few people say they like seeing my posts every day. Thank you. Waving to u-saved-me

As well as that I've paid for another writing workshop with the woman I did the first one with. Yesterday she did a talk on the and read from her book, which is about grieving for her partner and really touched me. She posted that as she'd had such good response she'll do more online ones on her own account, not with the festival which is all programmed, and we can pay a fiver, or not if we can't afford it. I thought that was generous so I paid her a fiver. I really enjoy doing these and I sent the link to simeons-twin as the woman is posting/broadcasting from the city where she lived and studied and maybe we will see each other on line. I'm going to have my teeth in ready this time and be wearing suitable undergarments for a woman of my age and cup size.

Before that we're having our first Recovery Centre Friday morning art group via Zoom, where we'll all do some art in our homes but be able to chat via the app. Maybe. Call me cynical, but experience shows that it takes a session or two before the host gets the hang of this. I'm hoping to make some masks, or at least do the cutting out and ironing of the fabric to make the ties during this time, but who knows. I'm aiming to make at least ten, two each for me, Bloke, Daughter, Grandson and my pal in Rome. (Son is in London and already has ones he bought online, ahead of the game.)

I am grateful for: having the wisdom not to engage too strongly with my fear when it comes - it's bad enough that this may be the last few weeks of my life without being fucking miserable all through it; for facetime - hurrah for facetime, for being able to see my darling kids; for all the creativity and generosity this crisis is generating; for Shirley and Mischa scampering round the garden after each other, having fun' for you lovely peeps who'd better be keeping safe, ya hear?

Night night xxx

11:42 p.m. - 02.04.20


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