No Tinned Tomatoes

Death to dandelions!

Life on lockdown continues. I am trying to keep to a schedule as mental health experts recommend, and this is not difficult, as my working day starts at noon and goes until 8 PM. At 9 AM or thereabouts I go out to wage war against the weeds. At 11 AM or thereabouts B.A. and I go for our government-mandated outdoor exercise. Yesterday we walked past Tesco to see if there was a queue, and as there was, I grumbled against our lot. Not in the Blitz Spirit, I know.

At any rate, we walked up our local hill and strode about our local cemetery and gazed upon the local Georgian church, while B.A. apostrophised the architect of the probably Victorian additions, and went back down the other side of the hill and were not stopped or questioned by police.

Then we went back to work, taking a break to watch Pope Francis's Ubi et Orbi blessing liturgy and wonder who wrote the petitions. Then I went back to work and B.A. went to Tesco with a list I cobbled together while half-listening to Pope Francis' homily. Happily, there was no longer a queue when B.A. arrived, but sadly there were no tins of tomatoes, no antiseptic soap, no antiseptic wipes and no olive oil, save for a garlic-flavoured one, which B.A. bought. But he did find baby spinach and  dark chocolate and various other things on my list.

Later I checked for local veg box deliveries, but sadly nobody local is taking on new customers at this time. However, I did successfully sign up for coffee deliveries from Union, which fills me with joy as I can no longer stand Tesco's Finest. Also not in the Blitz Spirit but, you know, the women in my family actually spent WW2 in relative comfort across the ocean. One worked in a munitions factory, and the other worked in the hat department at Simpson's.  This, of course, reminds me of past dinner parties when guests born in what used to be the British Empire talked cheerfully about what our fathers or grandfathers did in the war and the Poles said nothing, presumably because their family stories are too sad to mention at dinner parties.

"My grandma worked in Simpson's hat department."
"How nice for her. Mine was sent to Siberia."
"Oh, how terribly, um, terrible."
"Indeed."

In times of depression and worry, it is always helpful to remember that we are unlikely to be driven out of the house and forced to walk to Arkhangelsk, unlike poor Eugeniusz Bodo, the Polish film star, only he never made it, poor man.

So I am not minding too much about the tinned tomatoes, especially as I am guaranteed good coffee, and here are some more photos of my garden to keep us focused on the outside world. I have been meeting various worms, who slide up to the surface to see what I am doing with the dandelions, and watching the dynamics between rival cats.

Anti-cat spikes.

A cat named Lightning. 

A black cat invading next door.