logo
advert

BLOG SHEEP

SHEEP'S LOG: WEEK 3




by Black Sheep, 20th April 2020

It's the third week of lockdown; tensions are running high

DAY 15

Voyeurs of the world rejoice. Webcam action has become all the rage on TV, as studio guests are replaced by screens offering ‘through-the-keyhole’ peeks into the homes of the worthy. Although it’s rather turned in to a competition to see who’s got the best bookcase behind their ugly mugs.

Except for David Liddington. Not for him the showhome. But you’d have thought the former Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster could've afforded a lampshade. As for that hole in the ceiling…

On the other side of the political divide, trust the Shadow Home Secretary to have a picture of a coal mine in the background.

Bad news later. Boris isn’t just off his oats, the poor lad. Having been admitted to hospital the night before, he goes downhill fast and is whisked off to intensive care.

Come on Bozzer, you can beat this.

 

DAY 16

The Boss has emailed. I’m to be flogged. Which seems a bit harsh, really. Although a few emails later it’s downgraded to furloughed, which is a relief. “You need to self-isolate yourself Sheepy,” he says. “And work from home.” “But I can’t if you furlough me,” I explain. “Why not?” “Coz furloughed workers can’t work.” “Well why are they called workers?” And I can’t answer that.

Still in ICU, Bozzer is in good spirits. Which sounds a bit of a contradiction.

 

DAY 17

I’m not flogged, furlonged, furrowed, floffed or furloughed after all. But I am now working from home. Strangely, Mrs Sheep doesn’t seem as delighted as I thought she might be.

Bozzer still in intensive care, but sitting up and in high spirits.

 

DAY 18

Busy day writing cover letters to readers’ nominated Neighbours in Need, who we’re sending free magazines to. Call me a soppy old ovine, but some of the stories we’re hearing about elderly relatives are truly heartbreaking.

Boss says we might need to Zoom later. I haven’t a clue what he’s on about, but I’m hearing the word lots now. Which is enough for a playlist entry…

  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
  6. Zoom, by Fat Larry’s Band

Weather forecast is looking good for Easter and the police are loading their guns ready to head off anyone daring to pop out for a Cadbury’s Creme Egg. I decide to take the Mutt for a walk before it gets a bit scary out there.

Great news later. Bozzer is out of intensive care. In fact he’s walking about and drinking spirits.

 

DAY 19

Lone Wolf texts. He’s been hassled by the police for sunbathing in the front garden. “That’s outrageous,” I reply. “What did you say?” He sighs. “I said, are you telling me I can’t sunbathe in my own front garden? And they said yeah. So I said, well it’s not my front garden.”

It’s gonna be a long Good Friday.

 

DAY 20

Now Urban Fox calls. Says he can’t stand it anymore. It’s 80 degrees in the shade and there’s armed police sitting on the park benches in London. “I’m coming up, Sheepy,” he says. I tell him no. The army have taken up position on Offa’s Dyke. “I can bring medical supplies,” he says. I say we don’t need any. “What, you’ve actually got Lemsip up there,” he chokes. I say yeah. And a packet of Tunes. “There must be something you need,” he pleads. I look at Mrs Sheep popping another coffee cream in her mouth as she weeps to Sleepless In Seattle. “Um, chocolate?” "No chance," says Foxy.

 

DAY 21

Managed to sneak out last night under the cover of darkness to buy us a couple of Easter eggs from the Spar. Now I can’t find them.

Mrs Sheep was up early to watch TV. Probably getting up-to-date on all the latest with Andrew Marr. Although she must have flicked over briefly, coz when I go into the lounge Dirty Dancing is on.

I offer to make breakfast but she says she’s not hungry. In fact she’s feeling quite ill, worryingly. She hasn’t got a cough though. Strange....

Not as strange as goings on at St Thomas’ Hospital. Doctors tending to Boris go in and find his bed empty. An angel descends and tells the docs "he is risen". And is in extremely good holy spirits, apparently.


Click for Week 2 or Week 4

 

You may also like

Share this...

More

No ducking the Drakeford debate - Our newsletter in mid June certainly touched ...

Five a day?! - If the ‘lifting’ of restrictions ...

SHEEP'S LOG: WEEK 5 - Five weeks is a long time in diary writing, a...

SHEEP'S LOG: WEEK 4 - Getting on for a month of lockdown now. And t...

SHEEP'S LOG: WEEK 2 - Our resident columnist enters the second week...

ARCHIVE

Search our archives for other articles in this section