Bad Timing.

The spring has definitely sprung into full vigour this week. The weather has been sunny and dry, there’s colour and fresh growth aplenty in the garden, and the birds have started to sing the songs they sing in the spring. The days are growing noticeably longer, the sun is higher and warmer, and the shadows are shortening. Such conditions engender a mood of optimism, a feeling that nature is awake again and fecundity is on the rise. I even saw the first bat hunting along the lane this evening.

So what does the government do? It announces lockdown. Nearly everything is to shut down, the energy of human movement and interaction must come almost to a standstill, we are all to submit to virtual or actual house arrest, and failure to obey the diktat will result in the malefactor gaining a criminal record. Resistance is useless, as always.

I’m not saying these precautions aren’t necessary. I do understand the reason for them. It’s just a bloody shame that they had to happen just at the moment. That’s all.

*  *  *

A man who lives at the top end of the Shire walked up my path this afternoon and asked whether I was all right. He said he would be happy to help if I needed anything.

Why do they always pick on me? They don’t know my age or my circumstances. Do they think I’m old and feeble or something? Why me?

He has an attractive wife, you know. Do you know what she’s called? I don’t either, but I very much doubt that it’s Incontinentia. (I do hope everybody has seen Monty Python’s Life of Brian, or this paragraph will be the source of some confusion.)