A new world order where they are concerned for us
Hello Ma, How. Are. You?” It’s Middle Child on the phone. “Er, good. Thanks. You?” “I’M well. But how are YOU? Are you WELL?” Yep a lot’s changed in a week. Firstly, my children have decided I’m ‘vulnerable’. Bloody cheek. I checked. I’m not. Also my ‘not panic buying’ went from Magnums, taco chips and a carton of apple juice last week to essentials cat food, toilet roll, tins, oat milk and flour, or anything really.
I’m eyeing my designated patch in the communal back green and will consult Country Girl about growing veg. She’s already dropped off rowan cuttings that sit budding in a pot at the front door, warding off harm. Witches? You bet.
Middle has time to check on me - he’s a climbing teacher and self-isolating.
“Come and be on lockdown with me and Youngest,” I message him as it’s announced. He can help me climb the walls.
“No, gonna stay here. Thank you though. We can Facetime lots!”
“Ok, good. Now?”
“Cooling just now. I’ll call later or tomorrow xx”
Hmph.
Maybe he means ‘cooking’ not ‘cooling’. Those months at the ‘organic farm’ in Portugal producing hunners of pizzas for weekend raves was indeed time well spent. Happy to eat my words – with extra cheese please.
Packet yeast’s sold out, but lovely Liam at Tesco, Canonmills, gifts me some live from the bakery. Sorted.
With uni and the clubs closed, Eldest is studying, couch surfing at Other Parent’s, his guitar teaching and bar work cancelled. As long as there’s food he’s happy.
Youngest’s college is shut and she’s off work as her fried chicken emporium finally switches off the grills.
“Never mind. You can mow the lawn,” I tell her.
“Ha, ha, we’re not in America,” she says. “Lawn, ha, ha.”
We’ll see who’s laughing when she’s digging the back green so I can plant tatties.
My mobile rings. It’s Middle.
“Hello. How are you feeling now? “Fine? Why?”
“I’m worried about you. Everyone I know is worried about their mums. And dads.”
OK, now I’m worried. ■