Never mind the dreamy home offices you see on Instagram - most of ours are filled with clutter. Photo / 123rf
Never mind the dreamy home offices you see on Instagram - most of ours are filled with clutter. Photo / 123rf
At the start of the lockdown, we all anticipated getting cross: with our fellow lockdowner(s) for always being in the way; with ourselves for not having screwed the nut and got the flickering kitchen lights fixed while we still could; for having lost the Kindle lead and neglected the garden.
We saw what was coming and we were mentally, if not practically, prepared. But what we had not bargained for were the things that would actually make us cross as the weeks unfolded, or how long that list would turn out to be.
...so some have now gone floppy. These days, misfiring on the shopping – forgetting the butter, buying too many lemons – feels like an act of criminal negligence on a par with getting a dolphin snared up in your jetski.
Still silly man shopping
Because we've done it several times now; white-knuckled it to the supermarket for the big stuff, topped up at the corner shop for the other stuff. We know to keep it tight. We know precisely the number of bags required, which aisles to visit, and we've got it down to a stopwatch-timed, in-out sweep. Yet, even at this stage, if He is the one nipping to the corner shop for more milk, He will return, as sure as eggs are eggs, with: more eggs, some pale grey "reduced" chicken breasts, a battenburg cake, yogurt pots, MORE lemons. Really cross making.
Not having our hair dyed when we could...
...and having resisted that temptation because we felt that was our duty as a responsible citizen. But apparently it was just us.
People talking to us on FaceTime from their garden
With, behind them, an uninterrupted view of rolling hills, or their "shed/workroom", or their badminton net.
For 13 years we have been saying: "I would sort it out, thank you, if I had a couple of clear days at home. But when exactly am I going to get that? When? Huh? When?" Now the possibility that we may reach the end of lockdown without having addressed the room of shame, or sorted out the photographs or dealt with all the stuff under the bottom shelf in the pantry (paint/slug pellets/grout, it's probably a breach of health and safety) makes us cross every time we think about it.
Victoria Beckham's white manicured nails...
...as shown off on TV during One World Together At Home. Or, to put it another way, the ultimate high-maintenance manicure, that you might get done professionally for a photoshoot, but in current circs is a bit like drinking bubbly and eating caviar and blinis on the doorstep while clapping the NHS.
Staff envy
The possibility that someone (no names mentioned) might have staff on hand during the lockdown: to give them manicures, prepare them zero-calorie meals, polish taps, etc.
People wandering around with takeaway cappuccinos
What is that about and where in God's name are they getting them? Feel fractionally crosser if that person is a size zero woman wearing a tank top with the slogan Always Hungry.
Doing a Zoom exercise class ...
... and getting lost during the plank to the side bit. Then having to stifle the urge to shout "FFS I can't do that, my arms won't hold me UP", before breaking the iPad, even though the iPad belongs to us.
Getting fatter and wobblier...
...in spite of doing all the special lockdown exercises (including jumping jacks, which we haven't done since we were 13) and generally exercising like someone prepping for Who Dares Wins.
People, including us, moaning...
...about how crowded the park is; how you have to get to the supermarket by 8am to avoid bedlam; how the freezer is not big enough; how we really miss going swimming, and then saying "but you know it could be a lot worse".
