April 1

It’s two weeks, yesterday, since we were in the same space as another person. A jolly dinner party at which there was much embarassment about not shaking hands or hugging. Everyone stood around flapping their wrists and feeling they had to explain themselves. “Well, I favour the Namaste praying movement”, “I think I’ll adopt the”one- hand- on- heart- accompanied-by-a-bow”, ” I think I’m just going to wave”. How long ago that seems and how quickly are new norms established. Already, when I see on TV two strangers meet in the street and peck each other on the cheek, I feel like shouting “Noooo. Step back. Are you mad?”

We are SO lucky. Here we are in clean, comfortable surroundings, with outside space to sit or walk in. We can afford what we need and are enjoying this time together without pressure. Day after day we hear on the radio heartbreaking stories of fear of eviction, lack of work and, therefore, of income, men and women worrying day and night about how to cope until the government pay packages kick in, if they kick in, lack of tests, lack of ventilators, masks, gowns, children needing to be entertained, children needing to be schooled, children needing to be fed. For so many, the virus is only the tragic beginning.

The one thing that make me feel as though I have any control over our own easy circumstances is planning: planning how to get food, planning when to eat it, planning what kind of exercise to do, planning which cupboards to clear out and, today, planning our deaths. That might be just a tad melodramatic but, however Pollyanna’ish one tries to be, there is a chance of dying. We decide to add the codicils to our Wills we discussed some time ago but, as is often the way of these things, never got round to writing.

Our lawyer is working from home. He sends the paperwork. It arrives quickly – and immediately we hit Snag -19, (Think Catch 22, only in this case, there are any number of catches). This particular Snag -19 is the fact that the codicils have to be signed by us, then by two witnesses to our signatures – so far, so possible – BUT – and here’s the catch – we’ve all got to be in the same place at the same time when this occurs. Working out how to achieve it is not unlike that old conundrum about getting a goat, a cabbage and a fox across a river without any of them being eaten.

First, we email two likely neighbours in our block. One has had Covid-19 badly but, of course, can’t prove it because of lack of tests. The other hasn’t but is young and still shopping in the local supermarkets so they are a bit wary of each other. However, they agree to sign and the curtain rises on the following pantomime : We stand in our sitting room, behind the glass door of our terrace, paperwork in hand. One witness comes onto our terrace, followed, at a safe distance, by the other. A clumsy dance ensues as each adjusts his position in order to be able to see us sign, at the same time keeping the prescribed distance from his fellow signatory.

When they are in position, they give the thumbs up and “The writer” and I each sign in turn, holding the paper uncomfortably in mid-air so they can see it.

Ridiculous, yes, but we feel better when we’ve done it. And, no, this isn’t an April fool.

We shall celebrate having completed the task with soup. Pea and mint this time. Never have I made so much soup in the attempt to maintain our vegetable intake. Unfortunately, we are so pleased with ourselves for eating the mass of vegetables, we tend to reward ourselves with chocolate. A friend emailed today saying she anticipates a baby boom and an obesity crisis when this is over. The former we don’t need to worry about, the latter, we most most certainly do…………..maybe tomorrow.