I am starting to think that lockdown is sending me a little bit crazy. The truth is I barely recognise myself.  I went into lockdown as me and I am going to emerge as a lettuce-growing lunatic whose weekly highlight is the virtual quiz with the village people.

This week’s craziness has been all about jet washing my patio.  Until now jet washing, to my mind, was the preserve of middle-aged men and their mid-life crisis cars. Not any more. Now I’m a fully-signed up subscriber to Jet Wash Monthly (I’m kidding).  I have, though, found another skillset to add to my ever-growing ‘Jack of all trades’ list. The truth is I secretly enjoy the role of omnipotent dirt exterminator.  It appeals to the perfectionist in me. The only issue is I now can’t bear anyone walking on my gleaming, sunglasses-requiring patio.  GET OFF. This is making it quite difficult for anyone to leave the house.  The boys are not complaining.  They have gone outside so infrequently since lockdown that they are, in the words of Procul Harum, ‘a whiter shade of pale’.  Just like my pristine patio.

The one occasion this week that did prompt boy number one to join the outside world, was a virtual school family quiz.  We had to submit a name for our quiz team.  I thought our name was quite clever (I thought of it), boy number one pronounced it to be ‘dead’.  As for the quiz itself, the rules he set down for us were most prescriptive.  ‘Don’t lean too close to the camera’, ‘don’t eat’, ‘don’t drink’, ‘don’t speak’, ‘don’t laugh’, ‘don’t come last’ and most importantly, whatever you do, ‘don’t win’. In a nutshell, don’t be EMBARRASSING. The husband and I were most obedient, sitting on the sofa like a taxidermist’s dream.  We came a carefully orchestrated and respectable fourth. However, once the camera was switched off we stuffed our faces with crisps, drank a vat of wine and laughed raucously.

I decided to put on mascara for the quiz (token effort with appearance) as I’ve been make-up free for the whole of lockdown.  I know they say that it is good to let your skin breathe, but mine is positively hyperventilating it has been make-up free for so long. It would appear that applying make-up is not like riding a bike.  Predictably I jabbed myself in the eye with the mascara wand.  Not quite the look I was going for.  I’m sure in direct contravention of point 7.1.2 of boy number one’s rules that refers to acceptable appearance for school quizzes.

So, as I said at the start, I think the pattern of degeneration is quite clear. I am cracking up.  I’m off to jet wash the garden furniture now.