Yesterday was glorious. A real “f**k you coronavirus”
return to something like a pleasant normality. We had our in-garden family BBQ,
and what a joy it was. We followed the
rules, I assure you. We kept our distances, we all used our own cutlery and
cups, and I even wore a mask and gloves while preparing and cooking the food!
I am determined to be over-cautious rather than
flippant, and as a family we are all agreed that flouting the rules is
unnecessary. We can’t hug, we can’t share plates or pass stuff directly hand-to-hand,
but that’s the only restriction. There really is very little to complain about,
even if you do as you’re told.
We nearly got scuppered by the weather, of course (this
is England, after all). I sat outside alone because the sky was so
threatening. Hannah suggested we leave
it in case there was a heavy shower, but I stubbornly ploughed on regardless.
And I’m so glad I did.
I’m not one for often blowing my own trumpet, but I may
have thrown together the best barbecue I have ever produced. The timing was perfect
too – as I brought the last plate of meat inside, the downpour finally started.
Today I feel a mixture of elation, tiredness, disappointment
and discomfort. Elation – for the reasons I have already mentioned. Tiredness –
because I drank lots of tea, and we carried on chatting well into the evening,
and I then found it hard to switch off and settle down. Disappointment – because
we can’t do it all again today, and I am missing both my sisters, and
Discomfort – because I am a pig, and I cooked loads of food I absolutely love,
and ate enough of it to feed a family of fat Scotsmen for a fortnight.
Oh, well….
RC 14-7-20
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