The ladder workout and other lockdown lessons

I STARTED three weeks of furlough determined to learn, learn and learn. To improve my mind, polish up a foreign language or two. I would also become super fit.

But mostly during that time off during lockdown I’ve learned nothing useful. And I’ve proved I’m fit for nothing other than doing up the house and garden; anything other than exercise my mind.

What I have learned is that chainsaws have three noise settings: “incredibly loud”, “sponsored by Panadol” and “this should really get the neighbours climbing their garden walls”.

Like duelling banjos, chainsaw owners prefer to fire up their machines when there is another one drowning out all conversation and bird song elsewhere in the neighbourhood. The duels are only held when there is an “r”, “a” or a “u” in the month.

I learned I have an urge to join the Mamils – middle-aged men in Lycra – and go for a spin around the lanes. But as fast as I can do up one of the long-neglected bikes in the garage, my son uses it to get to work at the supermarket, and it’s stolen.

He’s been too embarrassed to cycle all the way there and took to leaving the bike behind a gate in one or other field before the entrance to the town.

Turns out there is such a desperate shortage of secondhand bikes that thieves will nick anything with two wheels.

I’ve got no such shame about being seen on an old and battered bike. But if I ever get my hands on a decent one I won’t be squeezing myself into clothes that make me look like an over-stuffed sausage.

Ah yes, food; I need to socially distance from the fridge. My impulse to burn off calories is not as great as the desire to pile more on board.

When every day is sunny and feels like a summer Saturday it’s very easy to sit back with a cold beer and admire the progress I’ve made on the house and garden rescue project.

Every hour. And I probably need to change out of a paint-stained T-shirt and shorts occasionally, too, and have a shave, and stop muttering to myself about the news, when venturing into public.

Last Sunday, outside the supermarket, the two-metre rule was closer to five as fellow shoppers gave me a wide berth.

I have also learned that running, cycling, pilates and the gym are as nothing compared to the workout you get clambering up and down a ladder all day or using a pickaxe to break up an overgrown flower bed that has been baked by the sun to be as hard as concrete.

Climbing to the top of a ladder with your mobile phone in your pocket probably isn’t safe because when it rings, you fumble with the paint brush and pot, wobble and nearly fall, then drop the device which bounces off the wood store and lands in a bush (although miraculously the screen doesn’t break).

Best not to think about such things first. Best just to crack on and see what happens.

In fact, determining whether anything is safe is best done by actually doing it, such as going very fast downhill on a bike which hasn’t been used for a decade to see if the brakes work, eating a chicken thigh from the barbecue to see if it is cooked, or going for a drive to find out if your eyesight is up to getting behind the wheel.

It’s called “doing a Cummings”, and proves you are so clever you ought to be a special adviser to the Prime Minister.