Days pass
Days pass. Which merge into weeks. Saturdays and Sundays lose their cache. The car has ventured off the driveway three times in four weeks a journey of under a mile to big Tesco. C and Mary have done no more than walk (in C’s case run) from the house. Everyone outside of Bradley Stoke could be having a party and we wouldn’t know. There is nothing left to clean, fix or move somewhere, only to move it back again.
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so, exactly how do you do probate for someone who hasn’t left a will?
Even the news is predictable. The numbers, even with my brother one of the total, are numbingly repetitive. The discourse is samey. Tomorrow’s headlines will be like today’s, moved on just a little. When we get the PPE right, it’ll be something else. The tragedy of care homes has been looming large, and soon it will take over as the main lead. Then it will be not getting the opening of the lockdown right. It’s all just degrees of tilt from a direction which will remain rubbish for a long time yet.
My work is restricted to a Thursday. I take five or six calls from the MoD team I’m working with. That’s a highlight and it earns a little bit of cash (it will make up for the money we’ve lost from a tenant who we are taking less rent from). The blog is twice weekly – that takes up some of the time. And we have settled into a weekly quiz on a Sunday, with Bex and Steven, Al and Annie and whoever else would like to come along. I have also started looking at Kevin’s estate (no will, grrr) on behalf of his girls. The Coop gave me a ball park figure of £5000 to do probate – I would hope to save that cash for the two of them.
And, of course, there is telly. The Man in the High Castle from Netflix is entertaining. We watched the One World concert on Sunday which was great. And I have the rest of Ozark, and Homeland (10), Killing Eve and a few other more dramatic series tucked away. The right time to watch those will present itself.
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we got his Fortnum and Mason hamper on Saturday from the girls in C’s old house (when she was a houseparent). It bowled us over …
And we have each other. And money. And food. And running, hot and cold water. And a garden. And the intelligence to entertain ourselves. We’re not living in a tiny flat on the 14th floor of a tower block, virus-unemployed and living on handouts from foodbanks. We are immeasurably better off than almost everyone else. Particularly as at the end of this C and I can just get in Doris and head off somewhere remote by the sea, run about naked screaming at the tops of our voices and drink more gin and tonic than is really good for us.
That’s something to look forward to.
Stay home and keep safe.
