NOWHERE

 ‘Um,’ typed my friend H as we held the usual online conversation a couple of weeks ago, and in answer to my inane query as to how he was doing. ‘Still trying to understand what Tier two actually means. I try to carry on as usual with masked precautions and social distancing etc. But I have to look up what the new Tier two restrictions are, as they are not delivered by a dalek or even a Morris van with a loudspeaker on the roof like they would have been forty years ago. To be honest, it, the whole Covid-19 situation, makes me pine for the 1970's.’ 

I am old enough identify with his final remark, and to miss the simplicity and straightforwardness of life then, not to mention the genuine freedom we experienced, and which younger generations will never know. 

View from The Monument 1979

It doesn’t do to dwell on the past, though. Recently I watched a broadcast of the 1977 play ‘Abigail’s Party’ which, unusually, I had never seen before. It felt oddly familiar to see the fashions, the hairstyles and above all the drearily ‘modern’ interiors which we all thought so new and ground-breaking. My memory recognised the smoke-laden atmosphere, which had to be endured both at work and in pubs, buses and trains and in homes. Would I go back? Well, I’d love to visit London again, where I worked for ten years. I would happily take the tube (in a non-smoking carriage) out to Buckinghamshire where I was born and brought up, and glimpse my parents’ house.

My parents' lovely house in Bucks

Most of all I would love to sit down with long-dead members of my family and just talk to them. But this is daydreaming, and so it should remain.

To return to our conversation, H’s struggle to find a definition of ‘Tier Two’ was wiped out overnight, and all of us are once again in lockdown for the next few weeks. It’s getting beyond tedious, and it feels to me as though we have marked time for almost the whole of 2020. We struggle to ‘move on’, getting nowhere.

So how do we lift the gloom, other than rummaging through old photos – which is what I confess to have been doing when the November rain prevents me from tidying up the garden. It’s a huge question and I’m not entirely sure I can answer it in a few words. Perhaps we are all muddling along in the same distracted fashion, sick of the media broadcasting what they want us to hear and longing for someone grown-up enough to give us some hope. Whatever happened to those sensible, parent-like figures who responded to trouble with wise words and sound advice? Surely they haven’t, as a species, died out? Or have we stopped listening to their quiet, patient voices?

* * *

Last time I wrote we had just finished dismantling the garden shed, and were preparing for a new one. Well, we are still waiting for it! The 'nationwide shortage of sheds' to which I referred continues to cause despair and heartache for the smaller businesses who sell them. We will wait until the Spring, as it would be stupid not to. But for now, our garage and greenhouse - and various other corners of our home, house the contents of the old shed, and we work around them.

There is still a sea of colours in our November garden. Above you will note how the Sedums have darkened, lending a final maroon glow before they fade to brown and die. These plants are so worthwhile growing; as well as lending solid colour to their surroundings they attract so many bees and other insects, although I saw a marked reduction this year which is sad. 

In the front garden the Hydrangea with its odd double-season continues to show off its new blooms, while the older ones have darkened like the Sedums. The splashes of blue are most uplifting on a rainy day.

Finally, speaking of the 1970s and simply to amuse you (and Heaven knows, we need more laughter at the moment), I'm posting a photo of a production by the Playgoers Amateur Dramatic Association of 'Hay Fever' dated 1978, in which yours truly played Sorel Bliss (the one in pale green pyjamas!). Happy days!!

Amersham Playgoers' 'Hay Fever' 1978