I know I said I needed to go on a diet …
but this isn’t quite what I had in mind …
I can’t get a delivery of groceries before the 30th March, and I am now completely out of potatoes, and fresh, frozen and tinned vegetables.
Venturing out for supplies feels like stepping out into the landscape of The Walking Dead or something, wondering if this is the time I’ll get infected and carry the virus home to my loved ones — to my parents, to Daddy, to Lucy, whose last admission for breathing difficulties is still fresh in my mind. She’d gone to a Girl Guides event even though she was feeling slightly under the weather, because she was providing one-to-one support for a younger Guide with additional needs. She ended up being ambulanced off the field. Later, she was given a jokey award for ‘fastest exit from Sparkle’, but I found it hard to laugh because it reminded me of the nurse whispering that it was ‘query sepsis’, and then telling me I’d have to leave her alone in a hospital twenty miles from home because she was on an adult ward.
There comes a time in every intense or suspenseful narrative when you need a little light relief, something to break the tension and allow the reader or viewer to catch a breath.
Daddy and I were debating between me going to the shop at the quietest time, or at the time when they were most likely to still have some stuff left, when a friend came to the rescue. She texted me to say she was going to the shop, was I running short of anything? I asked her, if she was going out anyway, would she mind looking for some potatoes, carrots and frozen peas for me?
Only a short while later she was on my doorstep clutching a carrier bag. She told me there was no fresh stuff left and very little frozen, but she had managed to bag me something.
‘Don’t laugh,’ she said. ‘It was all they had left.’ And she pulled out two bags of PEPPA PIG FROZEN PEAS AND CARROTS.
The carrots were even cut in the shape of Peppa’s head!
Honestly, I think the universe is mocking me. Everyone in our house knows how much I hate Peppa Pig, because watching it has such a deleterious effect on Freddie’s behaviour. Even the teachers at school know I’ve banned it from the house. I’ve been known to pick George Pig cuddly toys off supermarket shelves and punch them across the aisle (providing there’s no one else nearby). Lucy and I have our own secret club called the Royal Society for the Prevention of Peppa Pig, whose emblem is a pan of sizzling lardons, and she likes to torment me with Peppa Pig memes and videos, to which I am sorely tempted to respond with a picture of a bacon butty.
But tonight, sudddnly I didn’t hate the sight of Peppa, because it meant I’ve got veg for the next few days so I don’t have to go out. And it gave us all the best laugh we’ve had in a very bizarre and worrying week.
It’s poetic justice. Maybe this crisis has something to teach us all.
And I’d like to say a big thank you to my very kind and thoughtful friend Xx