I Still Remember School Monitors

When people go borderline, tattle-tale urges bubble to the surface.

Day Five of a nationwide self-isolation. I could get used to this. Kind of. Of course, not seeing family (apart from on-line) is not preferred. But full days spent indoors with no outside commitments or appointments – apart from a daily walk, weather permitting – is painless for an introvert like myself.

While on our walks we see things.

We see nature. Black-backed gulls and shags. A grey heron and spoonbills. Trees. Sky. Water. The tide rushing in under the over bridge. The tide rushing out under the over bridge.

We see a man in an orange hazard vest carrying out repair work on his boat shed, an older woman in an olive-green top who stops – less than two meters away from him – to chat (later as she passes us, she attempts to engage us in a conversation too.)

We see a group of six or seven young people out walking in a group; we hear their foreign accents. We see a frisbee-tossing duo (father and son?) and two lots of tennis-players on separate courts playing a game of doubles.

It seems that the lines about what is permitted while outdoors remain blurred.

Cycling is okay – so why not golf or surfing? Two pursuits family members are having to give up for the foreseeable future.

When people go borderline, tattle-tale urges bubble to the surface. There is a number to call. But nah. I still remember School Monitors at primary school who then appeared to morph into prowling High School Prefects perched at the bike sheds, ready and avid to report any pupils arriving late (like me.)

Most houses in my street have a soft toy in the window – puffed and stuffed full of cabin fever – they’ve been placed there for any children walking past. I feel like I’m walking through a horror movie set.

On book news: the last edits are being carried out for my poetry book. Once printers are back in action, the book can then be printed. Of course, no-one has any idea when this will be. Meanwhile, the team at The Cuba Press are keeping in touch, keen to get my book publication-ready. Yes, this is exciting – even if any excitement is by necessity modified by present circumstances.

Show your books. Bookshelfies. Maybe our shelves are more about photos and trinkets. But keep looking – the books are there.

So while we wait for borders to open and restrictions to lift, we can always take a look at a book.

One more thing. I do NOT want to feel obliged to say, ‘Hi,’ to everyone we pass while walking and (albeit in a lighthearted manner) ticked off my husband for saying something like, ‘What a lovely bubble,’ to a trio we passed. No. Just no. ‘Please don’t do that again,’ I tutted. But he just laughed and said, ‘Don’t worry, I never repeat things I’ve already said.’