Easter Eggs

Quizzes, it seems, are the new thing. This week we have taken part in two in the space of three days, a general knowledge quiz and a music quiz, which turned out to be part general knowledge too for some reason. We signed up to a repeat of the first a week on Wednesday and I've managed to drunkenly volunteer to write and host one myself this coming Thursday. I'm not sure what I'm going to do with mine yet but I think I need to shake it up a bit.

As it's all done over Skype or Zoom or Hangouts I can make it visual so I'm toying with the idea of a round in which either the contestants have to guess which animal I'm pretending to be with kitchen utensils or alternatively I might challenge them to come up with the best animals they can with kitchen utensils and then everyone guesses. It's quite a responsibility.

I originally declined the Thursday quiz mastery because I like to start work at 8.00am during the week but then someone pointed out that this Friday is Good Friday and I won't be working anyway. This left me with nowhere to go and I conceded.

We had three Easter eggs delivered with yesterday's groceries. We've already eaten one and I can't see the other two surviving till next weekend so I'm going to have to order some more from Tesco and just demolish the remaining treats in the meantime.

I always loved Easter as a kid. Every year until I can't remember when, we went as a family to our grandparents, my mum's parents, over in Poulton. Invariably the extended family would gather there too with my mum's brother John & my auntie Elaine, and my cousins Sarah and Peter. My mum's sister Anna would join us too on a rare release from the Epilepsy Society in  Chalfont St Peter, along with her boyfriend Fred in his zip up cardigans and his roll up cigarettes.

Anna, but mostly Fred, loved nothing more than to spend the afternoons over the Easter break in the Thatched House or another of the village pubs, necking pints and getting pissed. In turn the alcohol would diminish the effect of both their medication and they'd come back to the house and proceed to have seizures. Anna's fits were something to behold and quite scary. Not because we were unaccustomed to them as children, we'd grown up knowing all about what happened when someone had an epileptic seizure, but because they were so loud and surprising.

Without any kind of warning Anna's body would completely stiffen, from head to toe, like rigor mortis just without the mort bit. This temporary petrification would often send Anna sliding or falling to the floor where, once made safe, she'd be left until the fit passed. Accompanying the stiffening was a monotonous, and deafening, deep wailing noise. Whether or not she was in pain I couldn't tell you but it was a sound I'll never forget. A haunting sound, and not a spooky haunting, a horrific, tremendous noise that could be heard throughout the house and went straight to your core.

Fred's fits on the other hand were an all together more romantic affair. From an observer's point of view it was like watching someone astrally project. His out of body, and as it happened, out of mind experiences would find him rocking to and fro, often hanging onto something like a door handle or the back of a chair, and gently whistling, unaware of the world around him. Like the wind blowing in through a window that hadn't quite been closed properly.

In both cases, and whether it was the seizure taking it out of them or the pints of beer they'd knocked back beforehand, they'd usually retire to their bedroom and sleep like the dead, not to be seen for hours.

As a child, Easter in Poulton meant chocolate of course, long warm days sitting in the sun as it blazed through the sash windows, and watching boring TV. One of my enduring memories of childhood is in fact, being bored all the time. I'd whine to my parents and be told in no uncertain terms that only boring people get bored, and to read a book.

Grandpa would be up early while Granny slept late when she wasn't working. It wasn't unheard of for her to emerge mid afternoon and then stay up to the small hours reading. The house felt vast, and calm, despite so many people being there at the same time. Clifton House had a way of slowing everyone down.

If we were lucky my grandparent's cleaner Mrs Gray would be there. She lived a few streets away, made marzipan animals, pronounced breakfast as if it was two words - break fast - as if to make a point about its meaning, and had a large round growth next to her nose, the size of a marble. I always wanted to ask about it but never did. I would do now but I was very polite as a child.

She'd occasionally bring her dog Tish round to wait while she was cleaning. Tish was a particularly mean Dalmatian. She'd sit there in her bed in the kitchen or the pantry and growl at anyone that came too close, baring teeth and generally being grumpy. We grew up with Dalmatians - Dylan, Skipper, Dougal and then after I'd left home, Jake - and all of them were delightful compared to Tish.

Dalmatians are known for being friendly, approachable and completely mad. In fact Granny once told me a story about a woman's Dalmatian that had got off its lead in Blackpool, trotted to the end of a pier, and launched itself into the Irish Sea at full tide for no apparent reason.

More exciting than Mrs Gray and her marble sized growth was her husband Mr Gray. Mr Gray had tunnel vision and wore a flat cap. That's all I really remember about him, other than his name being Larry, so why I thought he was more exciting to talk to than Mrs Gray remains a mystery. We would usually only see him if he was passing by along Victoria Road and we were in the garden. His whistle would give him away and we would rush to climb the fence in the corner near the big black gate behind the incinerator.

One Easter when I was maybe ten or eleven years old I asked Granny if she would take me to church because I was curious about it. She agreed and I think was quite pleased that I'd asked her rather than my parents. The fact of the matter is that she was the only person I knew that went to church. We were not a religious family, Granny was no exception, after all she was a woman of science. She loved the old language that was used and picked her churches based on which prayer book they used. St Chad's in the heart of the village used the King James Book of Common Prayer and this was right up Granny's street.

Grandpa was a lapsed Methodist and loved nothing more than poking fun at the pomposity of the church. His father, a mill owner, who was terribly disappointed when Grandpa decided to train as a doctor instead of going into the family business, would have been equally disappointed by his son's love of wine and his daily pre-dinner tipple - the gin mix, made up of one part gin, one part sweet vermouth and two parts dry vermouth, poured into a stemmed glass with no ice and served at room temperature. I learned at an early age that the gin mix wasn't for the feint of heart and would take a layer off the roof of your mouth. It was delicious all the same and the smell of it on a family member's breath is something I associate with my childhood.

Easter Sunday, 1986, Granny and I got up, got dressed and headed into the village, a five minute walk to St Chad's in the centre of Poulton. We walked through the grounds, resplendent in flowering crocuses, purple, yellow and white dotted across the lawns and between the headstones and tomb tables. We passed the door with the skull and cross-bones gravestone in front of it where, local legend has it, a pirate, on the run from the law, once made his way up from Skippool Creek to the church and died in that very doorway. My mother taught me that if you spit in both the eyes of the skull, spin round three times, then knock on the door, the ghost of the pirate would appear. Something she'd learned as a child and probably my Granny before her. Obviously I never tried this for fear of certain death.

(This photograph and another childhood story about the Pirate can be seen here.)

Granny and I got the entrance of the church and went into the cold stone building. We were evidently late as the place was full so we sneaked into a pew at the back, as quietly as possible in the echoing church, so as not to disturb anyone, and took our seats. I was quite disappointed to be so far from the action but still, I was there and I was about to find out what church was all about, and on a special day too - Easter Sunday. 

I was idly flicking through the pages of the prayer book on the shelf waiting for the service to start properly when the congregation rose to their feet and, expecting to sing a hymn or follow in a prayer, we followed suit. Then the strangest thing happened, one by one people started to drift out from the pews and walk towards the back of the church. We stood there watching, confused, as the good people of St Chad's left their seats, gathered up their belongings and filed out into the sunny churchyard.

It was when Granny spotted the vicar heading our way that she got suspicious and collared him. It took just a few words with him for her to work out what had happened and she realised that with Easter being a moveable feast, and this year it being early, Easter Sunday had coincided with British Summer Time starting and she'd forgotten to put the clocks forward the night before. We'd arrived for my special Easter service an hour late and missed the whole bloody thing.

Since then my only experience of church has been weddings, funerals and a tedious debate about fracking at Preston Minster a few years ago.

This year Easter will be spent, much like the previous three weeks, at home. The papers are saying that the lockdown might be lifted by the end of May if, and only if, we the British public stick to the emergency measure and stay at home like good citizens.

The Government, concurrently, are issuing pleas to stay in as the weather improves this week, and thinly veiled threats that the lockdown will become less of a 'we're all in it together so let's do the right thing' affair, and more of a 'you will stay at home or we will set the police on you' type thing.

I suspect, and this is after a brief chat with a police officer this week, that the powers that be have been easing us into what will become a more draconian state until this passes. Taking a society from total freedom to complete lockdown is far more difficult than introducing it in small steps as they have done. We're all used to staying at home now and less likely to balk at the idea of being told to rather than asked to. Anyway, time will tell and I'm not going anywhere any time soon.

Curry and beer

We had curry yesterday. From an actual Indian takeaway. We rarely get takeaway food, it's probably two or three years since we last had it, but needs must and it was lovely.

I had a vegetable balti with peshwari naan bread and lager. Two bottles of Stella. Popadoms, onion bhajis the lot. Not quite dinner in a restaurant or a pint in a beer garden but for now, it'll do.



We set off to see if Mint Lounge was open for takeaway food but it wasn't. The ten minute walk up there through Chorlton was weird. So many places closed with signs about Covid-19 on almost every door. Banks, shops, cafes, bars, one after another, all closed. There was a bloke having a cigarette outside the Irish bar; all the blinds were down. I suspect they might be doing a sneaky bit of business. Double Zero was open but for takeaway only by the looks of things. Seeing somewhere open was the exception rather than the rule of just a few weeks ago.

As Mint Lounge was closed we carried on up Barlow Moor Road and noticed that Marks & Spencer Food was open. There were people queuing outside, each two metres apart, and being let in one by one. McDonalds was closed.

I called Charles to see if he was receiving visitors, he was a bit unsure but said yes, so we popped round and had a glass of wine with him while Paul was working. I know we shouldn't have done but it was the first time I'd been in someone's house for eleven days. We stayed apart and we're all pretty sure that we've not been in contact with anyone that's infected. I can see though that people's will is changing. We've been so careful and yet in the space of the last two days we've picked up planters, been to the garage for chocolate, been to a friend's house and collected a curry which we paid for in cash - practically unheard of at the moment.

Beer gardens

It's Tuesday. What's happened since Friday? It feels like not much but the reality is that it's a lot. Joining the ranks of the famous and infected - Matt Hancock, Chris Whitty, Dominic Cummings (unsurprisingly as they were all knocking around with the Prime Minister), and Placido Domingo amongst others.

I left the house for the first time in ten days yesterday. Chris and I walked to Withington via Whalley Range to collect some planters then came home via the petrol station for chocolate supplies. There was a security guard in the petrol station. I waited outside.

Our neighbour Mary has just left the house again. She goes shopping at least twice a day. Chris told her off last week but she's still doing it - only now she wraps a scarf around her face.

Dad called me out of the blue yesterday to talk about his wishes for when he dies. It was quite disconcerting if I'm honest. He told me about an old, large tax & VAT bill which he'd paid four years ago which his partners hadn't contributed towards. He doesn't expect to see it again and frankly I don't think he's bothered. Naturally I won't ever mention it because it's not my place to do so but there's something about the fact that he's been living in a crappy rental house, scraping money together for the last few years which makes news of this debt stick in my throat.

Robert and Nat have moved house over in North Yorkshire, I thought it would be postponed but it seems they went ahead with it anyway. Not heard from Matthew recently, I must catch up with him.

I've started to crave normal things now, like a pint of lager on a hot day in a beer garden, and going for pizza at Croma with Chris to eat a meal that I haven't had to cook myself. I wondered if Croma were still doing takeaway but it seems not. I think Mint Lounge, the Indian restaurant at the other side of Chorlton, is still doing deliveries so hopefully tonight will be curry night.

One week

Today will be one week since I left the house - and what a long, weird week it's been.

Boris Johnson has this morning tested positive for Coronavirus, yesterday it was Prince Charles.

There's a cynical part of me that wonders if these announcements are part of a public relations plan to engender support in a 'we're all in it together' scenario. Surely if the Prime Minister and the Prince of Wales could acquire it, suffer mild symptoms like gentlemen, and recover then it would make the rest of us feel less scared of the virus and less likely to panic buy (too late) or act as an unruly mob going on the rampage and rioting. But that's the cynic in me and thankfully that side rarely rears its head these days.

In these, what is referred to increasingly in the media as unprecedented times, folks are up to all manner of things to get them by. Social media, much derided by many people, has come into its own this week. It is not only a tool to share news and keep in touch with others during the period of lock down, but it's helping pass the time in more creative ways than I've seen before.

For example, I'm in a Facebook group called Club Solo which is essentially a virtual nightclub where people share music, post live streams of themselves DJing, make up stories of what's going on in the club and generally invent the funniest nightclub that ever didn't exist.

A friend shared an Instagram post from a local food company who are selling boxes of butter, eggs, rice, cheese and so on as a way to get by and I'm just waiting on the delivery now.

Last time I spoke to my brother he was doing baby yoga with his wife and four year old. And so on.

People are using the time as an opportunity, where they can, which I suppose is all you can do other than loaf around all day.

National Emergency

The Prime Minister essentially put the country in lock down yesterday referring, at the end of his 8.30pm message, to a moment of national emergency. We are allowed to go out for essentials such as food as infrequently as possible, for exercise once a day, for medical needs and travelling to work if this is essential and can't be done at home. There are to be no public gatherings of more than two people excluding those that we live with, and all social events including weddings, baptisms and other ceremonies - excluding funerals - are all banned.

It's a pretty strange state of affairs that's for sure. Yesterday afternoon there were 6,650 known cases of Covid-19 of which 335 people had died, today's figures had gone up to 8,077 cases with 422 deaths. Understandably the news about it is everywhere, TV, online, press and social media are awash with messages and stories and opinion, the Government even sent a text message to everyone today, it's quite overwhelming at times.

I find watching the news stressful and then, like this morning, every little cough or tickle of the throat, I think is the beginning of the virus. And of course because we went out on Friday night, and Chris went out on Sunday, we're still within the incubation period. I have to rationalise as best I can by saying that the risk is still relatively low and if I do get it, for most people, it's a mild illness. But those figures are sobering, especially when you look at the rate of change day by day.

Mary, our elderly neighbour, seems not to have any awareness of the situation. She's been out to the shops twice today as far as I have seen. I've asked Chris to send a text message to her sons who seem to be absent.

We're planning an online get together with the six of us that were due to go to the Lake District this weekend which should be fun. These online video link services are proving incredibly valuable already.

Mother's Day

Today is Mothering Sunday in the UK, it's a beautiful Spring day and everything feels calm as it often does at this time of year. Obviously this year is different than before. Chris has elected to not see his mum today which I think is the right thing to do. Traditionally one of the busiest days of the year for restaurants, this year they all lie empty. It's all very sad.

I was chatting with Alison earlier about the things that have changed so quickly and the markers in everyday life that have had to happen differently: kids not celebrating the end of their school career, birthdays, weddings, funerals, all sorts of things.

We're planning on getting married in July, we have the reservation with the register office and we'd started planning a party. I'm not sure how this is going to affect it but thankfully our only financial outlay to date is a forty quid deposit and the way we're doing it means that it's very flexible and we can scale up or down quickly and even postpone relatively easily if needs be. Not so for those poor couples who have spent thousands of pounds and months, sometimes years, planning and ordering and buying. Still, the most important thing is obviously their health.


Chris began coughing last night, over and over again. He said that his chest hurt when he coughed too. Even something as innocuous as that scared the life out of me. There were no other symptoms though and after getting him to sit upright and covering himself in vapour rub it eventually improved. This morning it's there a bit but not like yesterday. In fact I have a bit of a cough too which is no doubt the same thing and to know what it feels like is a comfort. I feel like I'm overreacting with every little thing, and I'm not an overly dramatic person, but it's scary reading the headlines and seeing the news then wondering if it could be us next, trying to get seen at a hospital. We're both pretty healthy as it stands so if or when it does happen I think we'll be okay. I hope so anyway. In the meantime, all we can do is stay at home.

Chris's cat friends have come back to see him. They're definitely too well looked after to be stray and I'm 90% sure they have a home somewhere. I suggested to him the other day that we foster a dog for a few months from the dog's home but he doesn't seem interested.

We, just this minute, cancelled our Lake District trip next weekend. Sarah and Steve are struggling with childcare as Steve's folks are quarantining themselves, Chris and I had decided we shouldn't do it anyway and Kaz & Paul are in agreement. It's such a shame because it was the start of the celebrations for Kaz's 50th birthday but needs must and all that. Must let Dom know we won't be needing the house now.

The Country Steps Up a Gear

Yesterday felt like an historic day. Despite the recommendations from Government to avoid bars, theatres and other social spaces earlier in the week, the PM yesterday officially ordered all pubs, cafes, restaurants, gyms, cinemas and so on closed. Almost inevitably people went out for one last hurrah and as we walked through Chorlton to the pharmacy last night just before 7.00pm there were people in lots of the places that remained open. The Thirsty Korean was busier than I've ever seen it, there were folk in The Font, and a queue at the chip shop.

The pharmacy was a bit awkward with people trying to keep their distance from each other, that being said one cretin walked through the door coughing without covering his mouth and got a few looks thrown his way. Of course nobody said anything to him. I saw hand sanitiser on sale for the first time in about a month but didn't buy any as I thought £4.99 for 50ml was a bit steep.

We went to Charles and Paul's last night in lieu of going to the theatre, which of course had been cancelled earlier in the week. Right up to the last minute we were questioning whether we should go or not but decided to as it was a small group, everyone had been working from home all week, and it felt a relatively low risk. We didn't do the usual hugs and kisses when we arrived or left which felt unusual but I think everyone accepted it for what it was.

We had pizza from Double Zero which a few of the group went to pick up, there were people eating in the restaurant apparently but it wasn't full which, considering you have to book well ahead of time for a mid week table, is unusual in itself. Of course, like everywhere else, that was their last night of being open.

It'll be interesting to see who manages to ride this out. I expect there'll be a lot of restaurants and bars which just don't open again when this has all ended. The world will be a very different place that's for sure.

There are key events in the world which change everything, the one that springs to mind immediately is the attack on the the World Trade Centre which changed travel forever, and I suppose locally the terrorist attack on Manchester Arena in 2017 which has had implications for mass gatherings of all kinds since. I daresay that these will pale in comparison to Coronavirus when it's all over.

This is a truly global crisis. I looked at a map yesterday of countries in the world which had been affected so far and there were, as far as I could see, only a few countries in southern Africa where there were no reports. I wonder if that will change. There's no escaping this thing.

I spoke to my dad this morning and told him that I wasn't going to see him after all. I just think that getting on a tram and a grubby train and then walking into an elderly man's house is asking for trouble. Besides I don't know if I picked anything up at last night's gathering. Probably not but you never know.

My cousin Natalie has been a superstar. I put a message on Facebook yesterday asking for people's opinions and advice on going to see dad and she saw it and offered to help. So today at 4 o'clock, she's taking him a pork casserole and coffee cake then going shopping for him. It's a big relief for me.

I spoke to my brother Matthew today too, he's in isolation for a fortnight with Falak and Micah. Micah, who turned four a couple of weeks ago, has been poorly and developed a fever. Unable to get through to their doctor Falak eventually called 999 and a paramedic came out. He's improving but they've been advised to self isolate in case they have Covid-19. Like everyone though, they'll probably never know if that's what it was.

So today is our first Saturday at home. We contemplated going to the street market in Chorlton which Chris said is still on but decided against it. The decision was helped somewhat by our hangovers.

It's mother's day tomorrow. I'm not sure what Chris is planning with his mum, if anything. It feels weird to write this but I'm glad my mum doesn't have to go through this.

The other side of the dining table

Today I am working from the other side of my dining room table, just for a change of view. This is the third day that I've not worn shoes and I haven't left the house, other than to poke my head out into the back garden, since I went to the post office on Tuesday. My face feels puffy and I'm achey from lack of exercise.

I spoke to dad yesterday as it was his 70th birthday. I didn't realise but there were some crossed wires somewhere and he was expecting me to go and see him. I told him I was hoping to go on Saturday but I'm not really sure I should. I feel terrible that he spent his birthday on his own.

I'm a bit concerned because he can't get a delivery slot from the supermarket for three weeks and he's housebound. His cleaner goes in every day to make him some breakfast and leave him a sandwich for later, and Uncle Philip goes most days with a few things, but I'm still concerned. And it's difficult when I live so far away and don't have a car.

I've been looking at some home delivery services for hot food so I'll have a chat with him and see if I can get that set up.

We're due to go to the lake district next weekend for a couple of nights with Sarah & Steve and Kaz & Paul. At present we're all still up for it - we decided that as long as we're not officially restricted from travelling and we're all well then we should still go. I've got the number of the local pub so I'll see if they're still open, but even if they're not it'll be great to just get outside and get some fresh air in my lungs. I dare say it's easier to isolate yourself in the countryside.

Schools Closing and Lockdown Rumours

The Prime Minister announced yesterday evening that all schools in England would close on Friday, falling in line with announcements in Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland. The fact of the matter is that they won't completely close as they're charged with taking in kids of those in front-line services such as medics, or the police, but for most children, they'll be at home for some time. Exams will be affected of course but there'll be contingency plans in place for that.

Just heard now on the rumour mill - a friend of a colleague who works for the army - that there's due to be an official lock down tomorrow night which feels unsettling to me. It's funny how we take our liberty so much for granted. Of course it could just be that the increases troops at barracks are there to support the country, rather than restrict us, but time will tell.

Chris went out last night to get some supplies and came back saying it was eerie. People were steering clear of each other, the roads were quiet, the bars that were still open were empty.

I'm feeling worn out and run down. Tired and listless. I'm surprised really given that I'm barely leaving the house, and this has only been a week. My shoulder and neck hurt which is usually a sign of stress for me but it could just be that I'm spending so much time sitting down.

Work carries on of course, and as miserable as it is doing it at the dining room table I'm grateful.  Corporation Pop's products and work are all online thankfully and so far all work carries on as normal. We all come together every morning on a video call which gives me some outside contact.

Chris has nothing work-wise, football was one of the first things to shut down so that work went, then he got a call about his tutoring being cancelled and now he's looking for things to do around the house.

Looking on the bright side, the press are reporting a turning point in China, some three months since they started battling this. No new local infections. I dare say we have some way to go, it could be June at this rate, but a lot has been learned in Asia and I'm hopeful.

Toilet Paper

Closures continue all over the place, restaurants and bars by far the biggest hit at the moment. Public transport in London and Birmingham are reducing, or have reduced, their services partly in response to the continued rise in cases of COVID-19 and partly simply because fewer people are using them.

I went to the post office yesterday to send my dad's birthday present which I'm hoping will be with him tomorrow though I have definitely decided that I'm not going to go over. Robert is going for a night which makes me feel a bit better. He and Nat are due to move house next week which is going to be interesting.

After the post office we went to Morrisons, the shelves are still empty of pasta, loo paper, painkillers and flour but most things are still available and the place was busier than I expected.

Chris rode to his parents to see them while I was working, took them round Waitrose, and a few hours later brought them back here to see the garden and meet the cats that keep coming round. They brought with them a bunch of goodies: pies, soup, cleaning stuff that we don't really need, and a nine pack of toilet paper.

This obsession with loo roll is weird. It even affects us because with the shelves being empty, and being on your last four pack, you find yourself scanning shops on the off chance you can get some more before you're left without.

I have to say Maureen seemed quite blasé about the whole thing. She's 80 and Brian about 83 or 84, and she'd marched around the shops with Chris and came here without, it appeared a care in the world. They really ought to be locking themselves away for a few weeks already given Government advice. I'm a bit concerned that Chris has a cough, has been out and about, and is still spending time with them, especially as they're quite susceptible to colds and the like, and usually have a couple of bad ones each winter.

I cancelled today's meeting at Levenshulme Old Library because I'm being quite cautious and it would've meant a trip on a bus and being in what is essentially a community centre just after a social session. I was due to meet Scott, the director of my play in December, to check the place out as a venue but I've switched that to an online Zoom meeting to go through the planning and finances with him. There's plenty of time and lots of stuff that can be done at home.

Tesco are delivering this afternoon, though what I'll get is anybody's guess. I logged on yesterday to check something and nearly a quarter of what I'd ordered wasn't available so I had to change it all. Andrex is back in stock it seems - but you can only have two packets. It appears I've become an unwitting hoarder!

Lockdown diary or Coronavirus takes hold

Yesterday the Prime Minister urged the British public to avoid all non-essential contact with others.

While at present it feels a little over the top I'm confident that in the near future we'll see this as sage advice and suspect this is just the beginning of a long haul.

I've been working from home since Thursday, as it is after advice at work to not come in if we showed any signs of flu or cold-like illness, and as I had a sore throat and a grumbly cough I acted on that advice.

We did go out on Saturday to see friends. We joined John & Peter as their dinner with Rose and Sylvian came to a close. We drank wine, ate cheese and caught up with them before heading to Croma on Clarence Street for dinner and champagne, which Chris had won in a St Valentine's day competition. After dinner, we met David and Claire Dunne at The Refuge to celebrate his birthday with a couple of drinks. Needless to say we were quite drunk by this time!

The tram, restaurant and bar were obviously quieter than usual, which given different circumstances might have been nice, but generally it was a relatively normal night out.

The difference between Saturday and today (Tuesday) is marked. Plans to go to the Kings Arms to see Mike Heath's new play have just been thwarted as he's taken the decision to pull the rest of the run, after just one night, on yesterday's advice. As well, plans to see Night of the Living Dead Remix at HOME this Friday have been cancelled as they chose to close, along with all theatres, for the foreseeable, I've just had a Whatsapp conversation with Alison and Nicola about them coming here on 4th April and it looks like that's off now too because it involves public transport.

We've been invited to Charles & Paul's in lieu of our zombies on Friday and to John & Peter on Saturday as they've had to cancel their Paris trip. Phil & Charlie who have had to cancel their holiday to Lanzarote will also be there. I'm playing it by ear.

It's dad's 70th birthday on Thursday and despite the fact that he's only left the house once since March last year, and that was to be admitted to hospital after a fall, I was hoping to go and see him at some point though I suspect that's not going to happen. How miserable to be all alone on your birthday. Thankfully he doesn't put much stock on birthdays these days. I'll pop out shortly to post his birthday present and try to pick up a packet of loo paper which continues to be as rare as hen's teeth.

The People of Roebuck Lane

I grew up in the countryside on a narrow and windy lane called Roebuck Lane on the edge of Saddleworth. At one end of the lane was the Roebuck Inn, a typical country pub, well known in the eighties for the quality of it's restaurant (sadly not so now) and at the other end was a little shop owned and run by Joan Greenwood. Between the two were ten houses.

Starting at the pub end there was a lady whose name slips my mind but who kept to herself and was kind enough to give us 50p one bonfire night towards food and fireworks; on the other side was an old farmhouse which had been converted into two residences - in one side was Vinny and Mad Mary (so named by my mother for her tendency to feed sliced white bread to the cows in the field behind our houses and the fact that they kept chickens in an old broken down ambulance) and in the other side was Jean, Frank, Christie and Damian.

Next along the lane was a terrace of five houses the first of which I lived in with my brothers Robert and Matthew and our parents Hilary and Howard. We lived at number five. During the time that I lived there I remember three sets of next door neighbours, the first Kevin and his wife Lorraine. Kevin was, I believe, the tour manager for the Grumbleweeds - a comedy and music act. Next to move in were Howard Jones the sign maker and Brenda who shouted a lot at each other and on whose wedding night introduced me to the word bonking through a sign on their front door which read 'Do not disturb - all night bonking in progress.' I think he made the sign himself but I can't be certain. As family tradition dictated they were both given nicknames, Brenda was the poisoned dwarf and Howard was affectionately known as the ferret - but never to their faces...

The Molloys lived there next. Steve was a professional rugby player who played for Featherstone Rovers and Paula was a nurse who according to my youngest brother had a huge arse. They also shouted at each other a lot.

Clara and John lived at number nine with their grown up kids. Clara and Jean from number three, were good friends and I used to go with them and Damian on shopping trips to such wild and adventurous (to a young child) places as the Mosley Mill Shop with it's fascinating aquarium shop full of the biggest and ugliest fish ever to have graced a tank and Ashton Market where Damian and I wandered between the stalls while Jean and Clara shopped and where twenty years previous Brady and Hindley had picked up that poor Kilbride boy and taken him to the moors. For me, through my childish eyes, Ashton Market was not about that, it was about Cornish pasties and my ever growing keyring collection.

Number eleven was an odd one. Brenda lived there with her husband who I only ever knew as China man. They would spend a long time abroad every year and then we would see Brenda and their daughter for a few weeks before they were off again. I might have seen China Man once a year if I was lucky but he was very elusive.

On the other end of our little block of five lived Jimmy and Elaine. Jimmy was known as Mr Angry after a rather unfortunate instance of trespass on my and Damian's part.

Next along the lane was George Groves's farm. He always had a dog tied up in the yard at the front of the house. This dog liked nothing more than barking incessantly and went particularly wild when someone walked past. It was the most terrifying dog I had ever encountered. I used to try sneaking past the farm to avoid the rabid outbursts of this devil creature and woe betide you if the dog wasn't tied up! Grovesy was accused of feeding our dog Dylan rat poison. The poison made Dylan's stomach bleed and cough up blood before he would try to cool down in a bog in one of the fields across the road from our house. We had to have him put down. Grovesy never denied having rat poison on the farm, what he did say was that Dylan must have gone in one of his barns to get it and he shouldn't have been in there in the first place. Whizbang, our cat, was also ill with what we suspected was poison but he recovered. Our next dog Skipper, another Dalmatian but this one with liver colouring rather than black, also died from rat poisoning. Needless to say that we didn't have a great relationship with George Groves and as a young child he was almost demonised in my eyes. It was years until we got another dog and when we did we took great lengths not to let him out of the house without a lead.

Further along the lane was a little stone cottage in the corner of a field. This is where Connie lived. I couldn't begin to start telling you about Connie, all I can remember is that because hers was the nearest house to Joan Greenwood's shop she became know as her near Joan's which over time and with the assistance of Oldhamers' accents morphed into something altogether more unpleasant. Connie tragically adopted the name Hernia Jones and was known as such for ever more.

Finally we follow the lane around the corner and down a dip and reach Joan's shop. A right old treasure chest of goodies and necessities. Sweets of course were there in abundance. Great big jars of chewing nuts and midget gems weighed out and served in little white paper bags. The penny sweets in the glass counter which would make up our traditional 10p mix (an occasional treat for going to Joan's for your parents,) the cans of pop - the ever elusive cherry pepsi which I asked for relentlessly for years and years and she never sold, shandy bass, giant cans of coke the size of a lager can and briefly when i was a teenager, the nasty but fascinating Tab Clear; chocolate bars - Fry's chocolate creme, Terry's Pyramint, Hellas Bars. I don't know why I wasn't the size of a house.

Joan didn't just sell sweets and drinks. Damian's mum used to send him to buy her cigarettes there - something my mum tried with me on a couple of occasions rather unsuccessfully as Joan was not at all happy about selling cigarettes to children. She did though. There was a big bacon slicer in the corner, you could buy potatoes, cleaning products, wine, cat food, fire lighters... The list goes on. Joan had a real community shop. When the lane was cut off by snow in the winter, which it was most years, she stayed open for those brave souls that could make it through the snow drifts (usually us kids) until Holroyd, another local farmer, would dig the lane clear of snow with his tractor. Even when the snow brought power cuts with it she'd be there with candles burning on the counter helping us to get through it and of course flogging us the boxes of household candles that we'd invariably run out of the previous winter.

Joan was in the paper once. The Oldham Evening Chronicle (the chron) ran a story about her shop being robbed. Joan was threatened with a gun which the thieves shot into the ceiling (something I looked for every time I went in there afterwards but never saw) and cleared her till out. I seem to remember that they didn't get very much cash - bad timing on their part. From that day on Joan always peeked through the little glass pane in the door between her house at the back and the shop at the front before she came in to serve anyone.

Roebuck Lane was a good place to grow up - despite the guns, the poison and the scary neighbours - it's a shame that I don't have a reason to go back there any more but I suspect if I did I'd be disappointed so I'm happy to leave it where it is - in my childhood.