by Black Sheep, 11th April 2020

Our resident columnist enters the second week of the coronavirus lockdown


Rainbows are starting to appear everywhere. “But it’s not even raining,” says Lone Wolf. “No, not proper rainbows,” I tell him. Not that I have an answer. Paintings of rainbows in people’s windows and on banners outside their houses... Why? Maybe now, instead of a pot of gold there’s a furlough at the end of the rainbow…

I consider my playlist on the way into work and the news that poor Bozzer is still in self-isolation gets me thinking…

1. Every Day Is Like Sunday, by Morrissey
2. Carrie Doesn’t Live Here Anymore, by Cliff Richard

Filling up with petrol at an M&S garage I ask at the counter if I can “get a latte”, as that’s what my boss would do. The woman says no. They’re only doing coffees for key workers. “Well,” I say, mildly offended, “I’m a locksmith.” She glares back. “Anything else?” I shake my head.



I’ve been given instructions by the boss to apply for a bank loan. “As much as you can get from anyone” he says. I spend the rest of the day listening to lift music interspersed with a woman telling me how sorry she is to keep me waiting but that if I carry on holding she’ll put me through to someone as soon as she can. It’s like Chinese torture. Which is rather apt.

When I get home exhausted there’s a parcel by the front door addressed to Mrs Sheep. I give it to her and apologise again for leaving her alone all day. It must be horrible for her, with just the Mutt for company and nobody else to talk to day after day. She sighs and opens the parcel. It’s a Downton Abbey box set.


DAY 10

Mrs Sheep breaks some sport news to me. “You cannot be serious!” I yell in my best John McEnroe. “I am,” she says, tears dropping onto the duvet that's draped over her on the sofa. “No… That was a joke,” I say. “Well I’m glad you find it funny,” she scowls. She’s always loved Wimbledon. How's she going to cope?

Had to go to the bank today, to pay in a cheque. It’s the first piece of post we’ve received since I became Head of Everything, so quite a moment. Still not getting used to this social distancing, mind. It’s enough to give a man a complex what with the few people in town avoiding you like the pla… Oh yeah.

Toni or Guy still aren’t open. I go to peer through the window and see my reflection. Who is that hippy?


DAY 11

I clear a space on the coffee table amid a load of Friends DVDs and a tub of Cadbury’s Heroes that have appeared from nowhere and settle down for my new nightly routine of Newsnight and a glass of wine after another long day at the office doing not a lot.

Is it just me or are all these correspondents getting a bit too excited about their bar charts and death graphs? I must admit I can’t make out any sombreros anymore. Maybe we’ve flattened the curved down to a bowler hat. Just need a flat cap now.

There’s a thing about Sweden on Newsnight not bothering with a lockdown. I start to worry that all this trashing of the economy might have been a bit of a boo-boo. I mean, what if Sweden are right? What if we all come out of this and nobody’s got any money left except Sweden? There’ll be a new world order. And we’ll all be driving Volvos and sitting on Ikea furniture. What a shocking thought.


DAY 12

The new Nightingale Hospital in London has opened with 4,000 beds in one big room. Pretty impressive. Looks like the Olympics opening ceremony. Now all they need are some dancing nurses to cheer up the patients…

Lone Wolf calls at lunchtime. “Don’t stand so close to me,” he says. I ask him what he’s on about. He says it’s the two metre rule, and I have to explain that we’re on the phone. Not even in the same postcode. It takes a while but eventually I realise he’s talking about my playlist.

1. Every Day Is Like Sunday, by Morrissey
2. Carrie Doesn’t Live Here Anymore, by Cliff Richard
3. Don’t Stand So Close To Me, by The Police


DAY 13

Oh no. The boys are back in town - my cousins in da ‘hood, that is. Okay so they’re distant cousins, the goats of Llandudno, but they’re a bit of a stain on the family reputation all the same.

It was only a matter of time. They come down from the hills once or twice a year, anyway, usually after a few too many beers round the back of the cafe at the top of The Great Orme. They get the taste for a bit of privet after that, and down they trot, wandering the streets looking for anything with leaves on.

The lockdown has made it an open invitation really. They’ve never respected authority. I mean, did you see ‘em? Nowhere near two metres apart. And definitely a mass gathering in my book.


DAY 14

Me old mate Urban Fox has been in touch. I tell him how difficult it’s been not being able to grab a hot chocolate at the cafe by the lake after a nice long run. How the wildlife is taking over. How it’s eerily quiet everywhere and how we’re down to our last 10 cans of baked beans. He reminds me he’s living in a block of flats in the middle of London, with kids waking him up every morning jumping around to Joe Wicks classes and that he’s having to use the pages of the Evening Standard for toilet paper. He does come up with a suggestion for my playlist though. Don’t Fear The Reaper. Which is a bit grim. But I agree to put it in just to cheer him up.

I’m thinking of adding a Queen song, too, given Her Madge is about to address the nation. But which one? Another One Bites The… No, no, no. Who Wants To Live For…. Nope.

Ah! Of course… Got it. So where are we?

1. Every Day Is Like Sunday, by Morrissey
2. Carrie Doesn’t Live Here Anymore, by Cliff Richard
3. Don’t Stand So Close To Me, by The Police
4. Don’t Fear The Reaper, by The Blue Oyster Cult
5. I Want To Break Free, by Queen

All seems a bit trivial shortly after, though, as Bozzer gets taken to hospital.

Click here for Week 1 or Week 3


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