Wake up to see Buddy sitting on the end of our bed licking his bum. I glare at him. He glares back.
Consider throwing him out the bathroom window to face The Stain of the Devil, but decide that judging him as “disgusting” would require much less effort and allow me to stay in bed for an extra four minutes.
Pad into the bathroom and remember that we are now officially on “lockdown” and wonder if Boris is walking round Number 10 singing Fly By, which I consider to be Blue’s only real hit.
“System up with the top down.
Got the city on lockdown.
Drive by in the low ride.
Hands high when we fly by.”
While getting dressed I decide that this is the time to do a Beckham and wear a sarong and other items not ordinarily safe for non-celebrity-ex-footballers to wear.
Search for Men’s Sarongs on John Lewis. It says, “currently unavailable”. Feel comforted. I am not alone after all. Other men also want to wear sarongs and feel Beckham’s freedom.
I smile. Maybe it’s time to wear other unsafe items of clothing like dungarees, knuckle-dusters and short-sleeved shirts with a breast pocket. Not necessarily all at the same time, but not necessarily not.
Decide that this is also the perfect time to learn a new language. Feel daunted by the prospect and decide to adopt a Glaswegian accent instead. I justify this by reminding myself my dad was born there.
Announce to Babe that I’m not going to wash my hands anymore. Babe raises one eyebrow, shakes her head and says, “You will indeed be washing your hands before preparing food and after the loo” . I say, “Look, Babe, let’s not argue on Day Four, let’s just agree to disagree on this one. Nobody has to get hurt.”
Babe replies with her “I will kill you if you disobey me” look.
Hear a noise that sounds like an air raid siren starting up. Mild panic. Turn round and see a button on our “digital inverter” washing machine blinking. Press it and the air raid siren stops.
Make a note to send a tweet with at least three exclamation marks in it to Samsung customer service about their inappropriate choice of washing machine sounds.
Start work.
Babe calls me down for lunch.
“Yep. Be there in just a minute.”
Enter the dining room.
“Hey Babe, how’s your day going? Lunch smells lovely.”
Babe looks constipated, confused or irritated. I’ve never been able to read her facial expressions very well. “Why are you talking like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like that, you dick.”
“It’s my new accent. Thought I’d try it out. Might come in handy.”
“What, if you’re trying to pass undetected through Hadrian’s Wall in a future attempt to sneak into Scotland, you mean?”
“Yes.”
Make a note to Google Hadrian’s Wall and Teach Yourself Glaswegian audio courses. I will need to perfect my pronunciation and colloquialisms if I am to reach native speaker fluency. Make an additional note about Babe’s lack of enthusiasm / sarcasm.
Overhear Babe calling her Workplace Wellbeing hotline, the automated voice says, “Extension 88 is currently on another call” and the line goes dead.
Eat lunch. Go back upstairs and start work again. Notice on a video call that if I tilt my head backwards while wearing my headphones I look a lot like Princess Leia in Episode IV. My colleagues don’t agree and tell me to stop.
Ignore my children screaming at each other. Wonder if they know I’m trying to work. Hear Babe screaming at the children. Wonder if Babe knows I’m trying to work.