So that was May Day. Gone without me even noticing, let alone celebrating its passage through my life. Gypsy Rose Lees fans could not have moved quicker. Rita Hayworth’s delivery of Zip in the movie version of Pal Joey was far more memorable. Things did happen but not in any way related to May Day as such.
Late last Thursday evening I went into the kitchen and switched on the light. The enclosed neon tubette struggled to even flicker. Fuck. I had to grope my way around in the semi gloom to pour myself another gin. Did I face the prospect of going through the whole week end with no light in the kitchen?
That was a real fear based on fact when one Christmas eve my heating packed up. Apparently the heating engineer could not finish his repair because the waste acidic run off water from the heater was not running down into the main drain. That connection was blocked and needed a plumber. He was lovely, the electrician. He said he would wait while I called the council repairs to get an emergency plumber. I had just turned 70 that year so in my mind I was probably regarded as an emergency by the call centre staff. NO I WAS NOT. Some snotty woman called Alice said it was not an emergency and I would have to wait until after the Christmas holiday period. She said the heating engineer could provide me with electric fan heaters and I would have to make arrangements with friends to bathe and shower. I went through the whole Christmas/New Year period, 10 days, with no hot water and no heating. My fears therefore of being with no kitchen lighting were not baseless. This time however there was no Alice on the other end of the line. A nice woman said she would put it out to the Estates Management (caretakers) department.
Two hours later just before midday my door bell rang. I answered to find a masked blond woman loaded with an array of neon tubes.
19.14pm
Just had a plate of my home made green veg soup. Spiced up this evening with a little chilli sauce. My first real food of the day if I exclude my porridge.
I wake and rise at odd times of the day being no longer constrained by any rules known to those who work. They have to retain their work related hours. I don’t. So I go to bed somewhere between 1.30am and 4.30am. I sleep fitfully usually getting up every 2 hours or so to pee. It is a small wonder then that my productive conscious hours are all higgledee piggledee. Breakfast at 19.14pm is not therefore unusual for me.
Two lovely surprises without me having to leave the flat. My interactions with the outside world still carry on regardless of whether or not I go out to meet it. I did go out this afternoon. I woke at 1pm and padded around in my nightie and grey fluffy booties. I got dressed, no shower just a splash of water over the face. I made a face mask. Using one of my chiffon type polyester scarfs. I placed a ‘Huggies wipe’ into the scarf and folded it over two or three thicknesses. I use that to go up and down in the lift. I do not use it walking around outside. I did my usual promenade and was over joyed to see that the seat on the Madeira lift facing the sea was empty. I sat and enjoyed the sun for about 15 minutes before making my way home. Who should I see coming toward me carrying what looked like a skate board, but David?
It was not a skate board but a painting sideways on. He had just bought it after seeing it online last night. It was all red and poppyish. A good painting to contemplate in times of relaxation or stress.
We have not seen each other for such an age. Making sure we were sufficiently socially spaced out we had a good gossip bringing each other up to date on our lives.
He has moved into the area and lives not far from me. We could see his flat from where I was sat on someone’s garden wall. I sit on one of those walls when I’m breathless after coming up from the seafront. I try to make sure I do not sit on the same wall each time. I’ve no desire to have any kind of confrontation with an irate householder. I’m a magnet for those in charge of premises who like throwing water over people they want to move on. As Damian my grandson knows only too well, bless him.
Another happy encounter and meeting with an old friend. Days of gin and dying tulips. Those lovely flowers Craig bought me last week are now in the drooping over the edge of the vase stage. I’ll let them droop a little while longer then take a photo. Before and after. Time I guess to bring out the gin and put on the TV.
13.00pm Wednesday 6 May 2020
My local gulls Mr and Mrs Gimpy Gull on the roof opposite, have not yet settled down to nest despite shagging away since mid March. Sometimes twice a day and that is only when I see them Do gulls get some enjoyment from a good shag like many of us humans? Not all humans like getting shagged of course. It is not a quick hop on, three shakes of the tail and hop off again. Oh no he is atop of her for well over two minutes every time. No quickies between the dustbins there then. A full in my face, very public to any other passing gull, shag. So far no show, no eggs despite them fluffing up the last years miserable excuse of a nest with some extra twigs. It looks positively luxurious this year. They do have a sit down in the nest itself for about five minutes then they fly off. I’m hopeful there might be some good news egg wise sometime soon. They are not the only gulls in my life at the moment. I am being harassed and pestered by one of last years fledglings. It has taken to swooping and hovering in front of my, and I guess others, windows to show how beautiful she/he is. And he/she is beautiful suspended there in mid air showing off their skills for one so young. It has now taken to sitting on either my kitchen or lounge windows tapping for food. I look up from the computer to see both windows smeared with translucent gob ejections. It sits there tapping for ages begging to be fed. We have been forbidden to feed the birds under dire punishments. Last night I finally gave in. I tried unsuccessfully to feed him black olives. Well I gotta find out if they have real good taste or are simply chip buttie gulls. I must try to keep some bread crusts back and see if I can feed him surreptitiously. I have a thought that by giving into the blackmail I might be making a rod for my own back. It is a dilemma.
Good news Jose has been in contact, both he and Tim his husband are well. I’ve had a bathtub gin delivery from the wonderful Craig who decided to walk up the full 14 flights of stairs to my flat. He must be exercise mad. It was good to see him despite him huffing and puffing away. And more good news I’ve finally spoken to the receptionists at the doctors surgery and ordered a new prescription. Plus I’ve also spoken to my local Boots who are putting me on their delivery list. Not a bad start to the day. I’m expecting Art to call sometime later. We might have a SD walk down to a bench on Marine Parade.