Rāhui Day 10 (12): Body clock chimed all day. Saturday is Youth Archery & club shoot day but not today. A good smattering of nostalgia between the funny Facebook quizzes, some long overdue cleaning, and all that Twitter hate. I give as good as I get on Twitter and I’m actually much funnier than most. I have no hesitation in ripping Matthew Hooton a verbal new one because he has no riposte being the dullest and most terminally unfunny Tory human being on the planet. Possibly in the universe. I can do this because I don’t care. Nor does he which is nice.
Sat in the early gathering dusk in my chair on the lawn and shared the elegant late afternoon with a young Achilles, the ‘learned healer whose superior intelligence forms the bridge between Earth and Heaven’, as he calmly and silently shot his daily 150. Stayed on after he went in but not before we spoke at length of beards (he has one), selfies (he has never taken one), cabbages, and Kings (his school). We never actually spoke of cabbages, that was just me being an uber-pretentious literary brat.
Apologies if you happen to be still reading.
Nachos for dinner. Deliciously working class with my tea towel on my lap and eating it all up like a good girl.
High point? I found my ONZM warrant, quite a grand thing really, lurking sulkily in a large, unopened, white envelope. Low point? I have no idea what to do with the fucking thing. It screams ‘frame me’ but if I do that, it will want to be hung and then there will be no end of a kerfuffle because I’ll have to take down something better and I’d rather have my Frizzell and our other stuff on my walls than a tiresome medieval certificate signed by some toffee-nosed old woman who can’t even keep her son safe from this silly snotty virus. But there I go, name-dropping again.
Daylight saving tonight. I’ve still no actual idea what that means apart from knowing that by tomorrow half the clocks in my life will tell the wrong time and for weeks I won’t know whether I’m Arthur or Martha or Jake the Snake until Cushla tracks down all the Wayward Willys and sets them to rights. I should really be better at it since it’s been around in its current form since 1974 having been first mooted in 1909 by The Hon Sir Thomas Kay Sidey who, it surprised me to find, is no relation to Sir John Key despite having a somewhat similar name. I wonder momentarily, since both Sir Thomas and Sir John (henceforth in the true spirit of brevity to be known as Sir John Thomas) were, and are, Knights of the Realm, what they did with their grand warrants. Perhaps they kept them under lock and Key in an antique Victorian Sidey-board? Who would ever know, and I’m sorry for the somewhat juvenile attempt at a joke.
But enough of them rich bods and back to the saving of the daylight (a tiny tip of the cloth cap in the direction of that old Llareggub drunk Dylan Thomas as I’m sure you noticed. I do try to slip in the odd literary reference – or two – or the whole thing ends up meaning bugger all). Mostly it doesn’t mean any more than a Billy Connelly Glaswegian fart anyway.
So … back to it, we’re almost done.
I know that tomorrow, when I wake up, and for the ensuing six months, I will remain as confused about telling the time as our cat is when trying to make up her catnip-addled mind as to whether she wishes to be inside the house or outside of it. The difference would seem to lie in the fact that she seems to know exactly what she’s doing, whereas I haven’t a fucking clue. Appearances, as they say, can often be deceiving.
The good news is that yet another day has passed and no-one else has died of the virus. There’s only one soul currently in hospital in intensive care and that person is in a stable condition. This certainly does seem like very good news indeed, especially given the earlier predictions and the current chaos in the US, Italy, France, Spain, Switzerland and even in Australia. So keep it up, whānau, stay inside, and wash your hands. If you happen to see me outdoors and decide to sneeze or spit on me, be warned. I have my trusty sword stick with me at all times and I’m not afraid to use it! (Actually, it’s not a sword stick, it’s just a stick, but come near me if I’m out and about and I’ll not hesitate to whack you with it.)
dykiegirl 