Level Four Lockdown: Day 2
Curfew 8 p.m.
Mood: Level
It's great. It's good clean fun. You get to see these bright young things throw their bodies through they air. They fly, they run, they fall in the water. It's simple fun. It's clean fun. People are nice to each other, supportive, kind even. Then there's commentators - I love hearing Freddie Flintoff's accent (though he's gone back to England now). It just makes me happy.
I'll admit that I had one eye on Ninja during the last hour of school. Don't tell anybody.
You have to take your guilty pleasures where you can.
My other small obsession at the moment is Fleabag. There's only a couple of episodes on ABC iView at the moment, but I'm going to have to source out all 12 episodes and watch it from the start. The writing is incredible. Phoebe Waller-Bridge, Olivia Coleman, Bill Patterson and the superlative Andrew Scott. I now need to hunt out the rest of the episodes, because this is some of the best telly out there.
It's a bit unfortunate, but the telly is my favourite friend at the moment. Another voice in the flat - a mild distraction when needed, a bit of white noise to help obliterate the solitude and loneliness. Somebody to combat once curfew comes about every night at 8 pm. There is nobody in or out of your house - emergencies excepted. No moving out of a five kilometre radius. My radius takes me out to the Docklands (thought why would you want to go there, it's a ghost town). It also lets me walk the Tan Track, go down to Prahran, out the Auburn Road and up to Northcote - though The Estelle isn't open and that is the only reason I'd go to Northcote (or visit an old Masters mate and his dog - can't do that either).
Of course I have the cat. He's wonderful. I wake most mornings to find him using my legs as a bolster. He demands I play laser pointer and stick and ribbons with him for hours at a time. He demands to be fed at 7 am and 5 pm - even though I keep telling him that 6 pm is dinner time.
He's a godsend.
But so is Andrew Scott as the Hot Priest. There is something about him. A short-arsted Irishman with a vulnerability which you just want to take under your wing. I don't know what it is.
As I said, we take our small guilty pleasures where you find them when you're under curfew.
Lockdown is boring. Curfews are unsettling. We are all going to whine (and wine) over the next six weeks. It's just a matter of keeping as sane as you can.
And this might just mean lusting after the unattainable. Pointless, but it helps.
Today's song:
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