Life in the times of Corona: a boring Easter weekend
IN THE FIFTH WEEK OF TADHG EVANS’ CORONAVIRUS LOCKDOWN DIARY, HE MOVES SOME CALVES, GETS A BOURNVILLE EASTER EGG, AND DREAMS OF WINNING THE AUGUSTA MASTERS
Wednesday, April 8
DEAR Diary – Today I really miss sport. This would normally be US Masters Eve, the eve of one of the few golf tournaments I watch every year, and the only one I watch religiously.
The pre-tournament stuff would usually start now to much excitement; there are few things nicer than seeing Augusta on telly. Its fairways look like really, really long snooker tables, and there isn’t a grain of sand astray in those Milky Bar-white bunkers.
When I was an odd young fella, I’d go around the garden chipping a sliotar with a hurley, pretending my lawn was Augusta minus flags bunkers, golf carts, or indeed any golfing paraphernalia.
My family must have thought I was just really bad at hurling, or at least lacked a decent training routine and friends.
But at least I had my dreams. And while you grow out of taking skelps from the lawn with a hurley, you never grow out of wanting to win the green jacket.
I won’t be winning it in 2020 thanks to COVID-19, though. The wait must go on for Greg Norman and I.
Thursday, April 9
DEAR Diary – My Kerryman and Corkman deadlines have passed, but I’m straight into another one. I’m editing Cadráil Chaide, my local GAA club Lios Póil’s newsletter.
Among the contents is a match report of our County League defeat to Castlegregory, and I do wonder if it’ll be our only match report of the year. I hope not, but nobody really knows right now.
There’s also a fine statement from our Chairperson, Kevin Griffin. There’s a lot of sadness in it as he relays the challenges Lios Póil and, indeed, every club in the country faces now, right at what should have been the start of the club season. In every parish, you’ll find people whose only outlet is the GAA, and I’m sure that’s true of Lios Póil as well.
But what I’d like to take from it is the formation of a Club Community Response, manned of course by volunteers. Lios Póil is far from unique in that regard – I think all our neighbouring clubs are at it, too, and fair play to them – but there’s still something very uplifting about hearing that your own locality is doing its bit.
COVID-19 has hit the whole planet hard, but you can’t break local GAA spirit.
Good Friday, April 10
DEAR Diary – Brilliant. We’re in for another three weeks of lock-down – at least.
Look it, it’s something we all expected. And Leo is right in not taking any risks with the public’s health.
But I do wonder if he’ll ever take my diary into consideration.
In recent weeks I’ve had to write at length about a new kettle, and a sock with a hole in it. And now I’ve to come up with another three weeks of material. Cheers.
I also wish he’d spare us the poetry. It was fine when he was trying to get us all on board his big governmental bus. But now that we’re on board, we just want to get to our destination in a timely and efficient manner. What Seamus Heaney said previously is not a pressing concern for us currently.
I look around my sitting room to see what else could qualify for diary inclusion in the weeks ahead.
Maybe the telly reception will fail slightly. Perhaps I’ll have to change a light-bulb. Could it be that my many cups of tea will leave a stain on the table beside me?
The possibilities are exciting and endless. Stand by.
Easter Saturday, April 11
DEAR Diary – Anyone who knows me will tell you I’ve a deep passion for farming, and I really come into my own at springtime.
This afternoon, my father and I plan on moving a few calves to the field above my Granda’s house. We debate over how best to do that; it’s a meeting of two great farming minds, and between the two of us we generate superb ideas.
Before all that, I grab a bucket and clear out a water trough. It mightn’t glamorous, but with the sun beating down, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else right now.
But I am lying. I hate manual labour of any kind. I do respect farmers, and I can see why some people love farming, but I’m just not one of those people. And my father has always been very understanding of that, to his credit.
That said, I don’t mind helping him when my work hours allow for it, and I certainly don’t mind nowadays. Cleaning the shed now counts as one of the more thrilling parts of my daily life.
But I still prefer writing about farming than actually doing farming. As Formula One commentator Murray Walker once said, “Those who can, do; Those who can’t, talk about it.”
Easter Sunday, April 12
DEAR Diary – Nothing says the Lord is risen quite like egg-shaped chocolate.
I’m a dark and unpleasant person, so a Bournville Easter egg – made of chocolate some find dark and unpleasant – is a perfect fit. That’s what my family has bought me, and it brings a seldom-seen smile to my face.
If it weren’t for getting an Easter Egg and having lamb for dinner, I wouldn’t know it was Easter. It’s a Bank Holiday Sunday night, and here I am, writing a diary and contemplating an early night.
I hope the electric blanket is on. It’s been rather cold today.
At least another COVID-19 week is down – and that puts us another week closer to that ever-moving finish line.
I’M A DARK AND UNPLEASANT PERSON, SO A BOURNVILLE EASTER EGG – MADE OF CHOCOLATE SOME FIND DARK AND UNPLEASANT – IS A PERFECT FIT