Love does conquer all
HOW did you muddle through the longest weekend in world history? Here’s how my other half and I botched the whole flipping thing up over at Feltz Towers. Following excellent advice, we were determined to have a structure, a schedule and stick to it. Ignoring excellent advice, we slept in ridiculously late, bumbled about in our pyjamas getting on each other’s nerves and one of us – him – even had a chocolate bar for breakfast.
Naturally we resolved to focus on improving activities. He was going to master the art of elementary guitar playing. I was going to devour every unread tome on my over-stacked bookshelves.
In reality we idled around bickering, provoking one another and doling out huge dollops of unwelcome advice. He lectured me on how to stir a cup of tea and the optimum way to change a duvet cover. I felt it necessary to order him to step outside, remove his baseball cap and yell: “For the love of all that’s holy, get some beeping Vitamin D!”
His was a swift and ferocious response: “What are you, my mother?” I swooped straight back in with a nifty retort: “No, because if I were I’d have brought you up to get yourself beeping well outside for your own flipping health.”
THUS was born a perfect ebb and flow of jibes, insults and niggling personal criticisms. Don’t think, for a moment though, that we were consistent. Perish the thought. There were moments – amid the excruciating irritation – of pure love. “Oh my goodness, I love you so much. To the moon and back doesn’t go near encompassing how deeply I adore you. I am privileged to be socially isolated with you, my dearest darling.” He meant it. I meant it too – until unbearable prolonged exposure prompted another explosion of unbridled hostilities.
We’ve now commenced competitive cooking, without admitting it. Which of us can put leftovers to the most inventively flavoursome use? He hasn’t yet crowed: “Hah! My rissole has thoroughly eclipsed your stuffed pepper.” But we know that moment is only a heartbeat away.
On the way to our one essential food shopping expedition we held hands, united in our frailty against what currently feels like a direly threatening world. We watched the Netflix documentary about the remarkable musical genius Clive Davis, head of Arista Records and discoverer of Whitney Houston.
We enjoyed a pub quiz on the internet sharing platform Zoom on Saturday night and ate biscuits voraciously and with lashings of guilt. We flailed. We failed.We survived.We triumphed.