Stay at home; Protect the NHS; Save lives.
A mandarin’s mantra, with which we have all become so familiar. For our part, it’s been followed to the letter; four weeks to the gallon anybody? Yup, us too.
Since 20th March, the family car – apart from its little sojourn around the drive to have its tummy washed – has moved only once; a trip to Aldi for life’s essentials.
But while we have yet to burden the NHS (and hopefully will not), life at home hasn’t proved to be an entirely healthy-zone.
Research conducted in 2019 discovered that DIY-induced accidents cost the NHS around £222,322,225 each year; the hardy annuals of power-tool misuse and falling from a ladder being the biggest culprits.
While there hasn’t been any electric-drill wrestling here, the family First Aid kit has become our new best friend.
During some enthusiastic pruning of the honeysuckle, great gashes along the forearms appeared. Initially treated with trusty Savlon, two days’ later, it was less than placated. Bruised and swollen, continual application of TCP and Witch Hazel were the weapons of choice; for a full week!
Walking too has had its drawbacks. Making every outdoor step count, we’ve pounded pavements and paths in a desperate bid to avoid cabin fever and spare tyres.
Result? Incredibly sore knees. ‘No more,’ they cry each night as Green Lipped Mussel Gel is liberally applied.
Good news. Buried at the bottom of a drawer, I unearthed a Tubigrip support bandage. Bad news. In the intervening two decades, additional BMI caused my Saviour to become a fearsome tourniquet and my lower leg turning a nasty shade of blue.
Back to the Gel.
One of the house rules is not eating in front of the TV. But, like most families, during lockdown, standards have slipped. And so did I. On the sofa, with a mug of boiling soup in my hand.
Fascinating, in a slightly voyeuristic way, how skin bubbles on day two. ‘Thank you’ Acriflex Burns Cream.
Another injury resulted from a spot of impromptu furniture rearranging: “How about that over there?” I trilled.
Paloma Faith sings about ‘Only love can hurt like this’: clearly, she has never stubbed her toe on a sofa leg. I think I was in shock for an hour, only regaining the power of speech after four consecutive Sherlock episodes (in retrospect, perhaps I was just suffering from Acute Actor Adoration Syndrome). Who knows?
Another incarceration victim has been the dog.
Apart from aching limbs and worn-out paws (“You will go for another walk Bonzo!”), the Corona-jive, where one heads swiftly for the hedgerows immediately upon strangers impinging your route, results in ‘ticky heaven’ for short legs.
The devilishly effective O’Tom tick twister, along with poo-bags, is now an essential part of our outdoor kit.
We are all safer at home, of course we are, but, while many will head to the pubs in a frenzy of post-lockdown euphoria, my first port of call will be the pharmacy for an industrial-scale restock.
Take care my dear, there’s danger in them there rooms.
Mairi Fraser 20.4.20