FELLOW lock downers, responsible citizens, keepers of your distance!
It is my honour and privilege to address you from the front line of what is without a doubt the world’s longest lock-in.
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First things first, well done everyone, the country’s efforts have already shattered the British and Commonwealth world lock-in record of 1956 when future Australian Prime Minister Bob Hawke was locked into a snug in Oxford for 39 hours straight.
The only other possible lock-in contender I can think of is Noah’s Ark, which at forty days and forty nights is an incredible effort, but given they were at sea and normal licencing laws do not apply, I’m not sure it counts.
Maybe at the end of this, the government will buy us all a pint/glass of white wine, and congratulate us on a job well done.
This is a trying time I know, but what I want to do is something like what Joe Wicks is doing, but requires a lot less effort, jumping around, and sweating.
OK, he means well but it seems to require an awful lot of energy, and my view is any physical activity you can’t do without spilling your pint is deeply suspect.
I imagine young Joe hasn’t tried his squat thrusts or sit-ups or burpees or whatever with a pint in one hand a bag of crisps in the other.
One word: spillage. He hasn’t thought it through; no matter how many chins of mine he might think he can shift, it ain’t worth spilling perfectly good lager or ales.
Nevertheless, if that hyperactive chancer can unite the nation, then someone like me who doesn’t go at ramming-speed the whole time can surely help. He’s the hare, I’m the tortoise.
My view is any physical activity you can’t do without spilling your pint is deeply suspect.
But what this is all about is morale. Morale is important: it’s the key component of any battle and that’s what we are in the middle of right now.
And as we near the end of our second week in national solitary confinement, I imagine tempers may be fraying, time might be hanging heavy, maybe the way you’re rubbing along has got you chafing a bit: I know I am, I gave up bathing last weekend, I’m on my own, who cares what I smell like.
So, here’s a cut out and loose guide to how to keep your morale up and avoid those moments which lord knows you’ll regret, because it’s not like you can go down the pub and moan to your mates about what happened.
Disputes over the dishes? Wash your hands of it
Dishwasher stacking disputes. You think the knives should point up not down.
The amount of times people can fall out over this sort of simple day-to-day admin in normal life is something I’ve heard from my regular drinkers time and time again, so no doubt in lockdown-land this one is raging all day, every day.
You know what: forget it. It ain’t worth it. Simply rule yourself out of stacking or emptying the dishwasher – problem solved.
Can't decide want to watch? Seize control!
Deciding what to watch on the TV. We live in an age of a billion channels and nothing to watch. And they’re not making any more TV either: even Eastenders could grind to a halt. Yes that’s how serious this whole thing is. So whoever has control of the TV rules the roost.
The remote is the key to this problem. Seize control: seeing as you aren’t going anywhere or doing anything, superglue the remote to the hand you use the least and retain control of the TV.
This may seem extreme but it’ll simply mean there’s one great big argument when you reveal what you’ve done, rather than the long slow drip drip drip of anger about your third week of watching Homes Under The Hammer.
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Ironing away the day? Why bother?
Ironing and/or folding the laundry. Ironing, for some, is a 100% flash point. This is how the argument runs. You leave something out to dry, then some thoughtless Herbert chucks it all in a laundry basket in a heap and you have to iron it.
Immediately a row ensues about why there’s no need to iron tracksuit bottoms anyway and remember the time you burned that nylon shirt because you had the iron on too hot you idiot.
Compromise. Now here’s the thing. It’s not like you’ve got anywhere to be. It’s not like your glad rags are going to get any attention over the next few days.
Maybe you’re a slave to fashion and were looking forward to moving from your spring to your summer wardrobe. Whatever that means. But there is no need to iron stuff right now. None. Zero.
So put the iron down. Unless of course, it’s something you like doing to calm the nerves, pass the time, inject some sense of order into what is currently a formless existence. In other words, let the ironer iron. But only if totally necessary.
Remember, in the end would you rather be right or happy? And the answer to that is happy. Unless of course what makes you happy is being right. But you get my point.
And remember, chins up Britain, all of them.
Keep calm and carry on award
Hats off to all the people who two weeks ago were panicking and spreading rumours about the army being deployed.
During the fortnight these Scary Maries were crying into their soda waters about imminent martial law the army quietly got on with setting up a brand-new hospital. Give yourselves a round of applause, you divs.
Stockpiling error number 456
Oh yeah you all bought bog roll, but judging by the towpath by the canal none of you bought poo bags for your dogs.
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