2020 has an air of dissatisfaction shrouding it.  Well actually, to say the above, is an understatement.  There’s no ifs and buts, it is true.  And really my blog could stop there.   I could cut short my tales of listlessness and instead tell you some hilarious story about the RDog’s latest obsession with rolling in dead fish…but what would that solve? I’d only be filling a gap, treading water: the equivalent of killing time at the bus stop and having a fag (circa 1995).  Not only would I be avoiding the big issue, I would also be ruining my ‘health’ (this time mental) by not sharing my angst.

You see, that’s what it is.  I feel an angst – like a petulant teen.  2020 has forced me into a metaphorical teenage bedroom: trapped by school, curfews, and the feeling that if you enjoy yourself that ‘I’m bound to get grounded’.  And, as you read this, you’ll think that I’m acting like one too!  Sulking because ‘things haven’t worked out like I wanted’…

But this is where I’ve changed.  

Yes me, I’ve resisted and after being ‘high maintenance’ (Him’s words not mine) I’m growing into something resembling an independent grown up.  

Now don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I’ve been stubborn for the past, oh-not-so-many-years, it’s more that I’ve been a bit of a bulldozer at times.  Fearlessly striving for a better life.  A good life.  I never recognised ‘no’ or ‘can’t’ and found ways to make it happen.  Not just for me but for my loved ones too.  I’ve tackled it all head on: 100mph…

And then 2020 hit.  A perfect shite storm of unprecedented times.  A hurricane of a year, which spent the first part ripping our ‘lives as we know them’ apart.  Such times challenged the way we thought and although covid was a constant worry, come June I couldn’t help feeling like it was like the phony war of 1940 – we ain’t seen nothing yet.  So, we filled our time with all those things we never had time to do and never would again.  We started projects.  We learnt new skills.  We attended many events on Teams and Zoom…

And like all perfect storms we had a brief respite.  A tiny window where we could try out the ‘new normal’.  We are out on more weekdays in August than I ever thought possible – where we ate out to shit out’.  We wore masks and attempted to follow complicated one way systems (or was that just me?).  

But there were no summer jaunts.  There was no va va voom…it was all like cheap flat pop.

And so I put my big girl pants on…I was so patient (yes me!). 

We had freedom (to a point), but like like all junta run states, we were watched, reported on, tracked and traced (all right, they weren’t so hot on the latter).

So that was then and this is now.  I can only manage so long.  My patience stamina has begun to weaken (a bit like our government).  The second storm is now encroaching.  We are fatigued.  Nine months on and the ennui of ‘living in a pandemic’ has made people agitated.  There’s more careless behaviour as more ‘irresponsible people’ (not my words) have been having illegal rave ups, secret gatherings of seven (I’ve been invited to neither disappointingly), and begun stockpiling toilet roll again (Sadly, I can’t get any cushelle for love  nor money).  Months of doing nothing has left us with ants in our pants (and it appears requiring the loo a great deal) – we are itching for change.  Even R-Dog has had enough of me and has turned to diseased marine life to entertain herself. 

So, as I write this with my gale-force covid sou’wester firmly on, I urge us all to stick with the relentless boredom.  To stifle the impatience, like a yawn, and face the battle head on. In the words of Henry V ‘once more unto the breech dear friends’.  The battle might be bloody and tough, but like all storms, we can survive and see the other side.  

Meanwhile, I’ll be mostly found creating my next masterpiece…TBC