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When you're 84, the number of district nurse, GP and hospital visits most likely becomes a life feature. Today my elderly friend – who's son is locked down in London – had a GP home visit. The doctor wore PPE, I wore a mask at a distance and there was an examination in the sunshine in the garden, along with some jokes and laughs. But then, unexpectedly, the doctor decided that my friend needed some further hospital tests and asked me to take him in.

At A&E we were processed outside in the open air within two minutes. The nurse outside took his temperature and then led him to admissions; it was too risky for me to go in too. As I headed back I saw a sign on a post that said 'HOT MAJORS'. I'm guessing major traumas?

It was sad to leave my friend on his own. But I've heard back from his son – he is now on a ward and in decent form. Fingers crossed all will be ok.

So it's been a bit of a weird day. Work-hospital-work.

Apart from the side trip to A&E, I've worked in the garden all day. Pete built and set up a 2m square wood frame for a tarpaulin, which means I can sit in the shade and see the screen. I've spent most of the day fiddling with WordPress menus and widgets, and deconstructing a specialist SEO performance report so I can reconstruct my own report next week. Fun times in the garden.

Clem, our only remaining rabbit, flopped near me all day although not near enough to be patted. She is a lionhead rabbit and actually growls at such attention. She really is the perfect socially distanced pet.

Tonight Pete and I took a walk along the canal towpath – hopping into the cow parsley to escape joggers and cyclists – and then bumped into four (FOUR!) friends along the way. We stood metres away from each other and shouted pleasantries.

Thanks

Today I am thankful for the NHS and my friend getting such swift treatment.

Also I'm grateful to have a good community of friends and neighbours nearby. And thanks to Julia for this photo of our lockdown meetup. 'Route5' is obviously now our band name and album cover – but what is our genre?

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The first bit of planning for the future took place last night. This felt kind of weirdly positive because lockdown has been all about putting things on hold, closing things down and just trying to survive.

Looking ahead and picking up some threads of action felt good. Basically we had an online meeting to restart Walkspace – the walking collective that Andy, Pete and I started back in January. We've now officially added the mysterious Robson as a full member. We each bring our own particular bents to walking and his seems to be the poetry of solo walking. I'm sure it's not often you get a football supporter who loves poetry but that's Robson – he's been writing some lovely posts on the Walkspace blog, about trees, birds and walking alone and with others if you fancy checking them out. Here's a sample:

If you look a a patch of woodland from a short distance you will run out of words to describe the different verdant greens of each species of tree. Adam Nicolson, in his brilliant book The Making of Poetry, describes spring as having 'rhapsodic freshness in every molecule'. Some leaves are not even green, there are bright yellows and deep reds as well. Visit a local tree once a week from the start of April to the end of May, throughout the year in fact, and you will see it transform. The effort the tree exerts in spring is worth pondering. A mature oak is thought have around a quarter of a million leaves, all of which it replaces every year!

Robson on…Arboreal Beauty

Yesterday I also did three walks: two hours around Highbury Park, one hour along the Rea and a 30-minute walk carrying crop frames to the allotment. Probably no wonder I conked out after lunch today and had a nap. (And thanks to Sheena for stepping in with a guest post from her London lockdown.)

Speaking of tired, Pete – who I think I mentioned has gone nocturnal and not sleeping that well in the day – is coming out of his furloughed funk. He's blogged about this last night. It's another good read. In it, he talks about how an incredibly, ridiculously tough art-cat-bedspread jigsaw saved his life:

[The jigsaw] arrived a week later. In my nocturnal state I cleared the dining table and spent the night doing the edges, as task that took longer than usual because all the pieces in this jigsaw are basically the same.

I started off listening to podcasts. Then music. And then I found myself working in the 4am silence, acutely aware of the humming of the lightbulb. One night I’d set the dishwasher going and totally tuned in to its cycle, the way it clunks and whirs over 110 minutes. All the while I’m picking up a piece, trying to find it on the cover and, if I do, placing it on the board.

While this was happening I found myself losing interest in the things that had been distracting me. I no longer binged on movies and box sets. I stopped doomscrolling the news sites. I barely opened my laptop. All that mattered was the jigsaw, one piece at a time.

Last week a jigsaw saved my life – Pete Ashton

This evening I did another walk after work – I was still feeling very spacey but in a quite pleasant way, like the world was slightly shifted to the right and a bit like my out-of-body experience a couple of weeks ago.

Thanks

Today I am thankful for the ability to nap after lunch. Personally I think all offices and workplaces should have a nap room as a perk. In fact, my hair-brained money-making scheme (if I had the cash) used to be to hire a building in central London and rent out nap pods to tired workers who needed a kip on their lunch hour. Anyone want to sponsor me as a sleep entrepreneur?

Early night ahead.

PS. You may have spotted I've started numbering these diaries. Can't quite believe there has been a blog post a day for this long. Old-school!

PPS. You'll also have noticed that I add the 'commission me' call to action because this is what I do: blog or write articles for clients. This pandemic diary is a total busman's holiday. If I were to get some work out of it one day, that would be simply divoon.

PPS. This video of a guy recreating the final dance scene from Dirty Dancing in his living room made me laugh today – watch it. As did this Normal People re-enactment of their lusty chemistry while performing scenes from other TV shows – watch it.

Commission/hire me: fiona [at] fionacullinan.com

After yesterday's cheery post on death, I think we need a bit of Sheena! Sheena is an old school friend who I reconnected with about six years ago in a pub somewhere in Worcestershire. She lives in London on her own in a flat near a river, social-distancing from one and all. Hello Sheena!

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Growing up as an only child, I have to admit I don’t find social distancing that difficult! 

I do struggle with 'fuckwittery' – the correct term for covidiot behaviour. What is it with the cyclist riding quickly down the middle of the park path as everyone else is trying to distance? Or the joggers doing slalom in close contact with the flags, otherwise known as people? And the slow-to-do-anything, quick-to-loosen-restrictions actions of the government? … Let’s not go down that route or I could be here for ever.

I do revel in nature (and always have). Parakeets in the park and trees near me (see photo). And, because my downstairs neighbours seem to have abandoned partaying out the back, the birds seem to have come back to the tree outside my kitchen. We get blue tits, coal tits, great tits (with, yes, that incessant call), robins, long-tailed tits, blackbirds and the occasional finch. My mum once saw a sparrowhawk. I haven’t. Not in all the 24 years I have lived here.   #not jealous at all.

Ending in a Fiona-esque way, what am I thankful for? Me and those I care about still being safe. Being there for my friends whose experience differs. And my new cross-out calendar so I know what day of the week it is!

Thanks

Fiona here – today I am thankful for Pete, who made me and a fellow allotmenteer some frames for netting, etc. Planting will be soon as, by some miracle, the nasturtium seeds have grown into plants. Potato and nasturtium salad will be a goer in a few weeks, I think.

Hope you are all having a good day.

PS. Sheena's parakeet photo reminded me that a cockatiel called Alphonse has gone missing around the Umberslade Rd area in Stirchley, near Muntz Park. Keep an eye out, although how do you catch a bird? Details…

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Obviously I've thought about the possibility of dying imminently. (Who hasn't recently?) I thought about it quite a lot early on in the anxiety-ridden early days of Covid-19, but less so as the so-called 'new normal' re-established itself. Being able to stay in full lockdown mostly put me out of harm's way and made me feel both safe and grateful to others who did have to go to work to fight this thing.

But I've been thinking about it again since hearing about the 30 and 41-year-old women, a midwife and mental health nurse, who died in my local Birmingham Women's and Children's NHS Trust on Wednesday (BBC story here). So young. At risk daily from working on the frontline and caring for others. Possible victims of the lack of PPE, perhaps.

It's the premature nature of these deaths that is upsetting. The unfulfilled life, where children are left behind or perhaps not yet born. The chance to grow and develop and achieve your full potential as a human being. The chance to get your 'four score years and ten' as hoped for. Or simply to be present in the lives of others.

There are many ways to think about the end, I guess: philosophically, intellectually, emotionally, spiritually, practically. Normally I try not to think about it. But under the current situation, I have occasionally found myself wondering: 'What if I only had a month left?'

I moved away from my religious upbringing around the early 90s, and actually, weirdly, this helped me to accept death as a final ending. To me, we are animals like any other: we are born, bloom, reproduce, wither and die. To me, you get one life to live so live it accordingly. Death is the big sleep so that someone or something else can live.

Lately I've thought the worst thing was not having enough time in my life to do all the things I wanted to do and figure out this thing called life. I realised this through my fear of flying when I'd be terrified on the way out that we might crash, but relatively chilled on the way home because I HAD LIVED.

As I get older I feel this fear of lack of time dissipating somewhat. Stealing some future retirement time (the 2016 sabbatical) gave me the time to catch up on lots of things I'd been dreaming of doing but couldn't because of the daily grind.

But I'm getting off track. This is not a philosophical/spiritual post; that was supposed to be for 'pt 2'. I'm both an emotional and practical person. Today I did something practical to confront death, should it happen. That's what I really wanted to write about here.

I wrote out a list of where all my important documents are, for my executor, in the event of my death. There are 14 points on the list from where my will and birth certificate is, to how to access my online accounts, to a list of assets and liabilities, to a preferred humanist celebrant/funeral director.

I emailed this to the executor and two others.

I feel an enormous sense of relief that I don't have to think about it anymore.

Thanks

Today I am grateful for having got to my 50s. I've been lucky to have this much time. If I do go in the Covid-19 pandemic, I'm ok with that, as much as one can be. I appreciate everything life has given me, and our planet's wonders and only wish that we as a human race would take care of it more. I feel lucky to have people around me that I love and love me back. Travelling may not be a thing of the future, for obvious reasons, but it's has been one of my greatest joys and made me a better person.

I'm also grateful for a new deeper connection to nature that this lockdown has given me. Spending so much time in the garden has made me more curious than usual. I could barely name any birds or trees before this but my interest has grown.

I'll end on a screenshot of my favourite daily, open-bookmarked, blue tit web cam. Sadly the runt of the nest died today, swiftly removed by the mother for the health of the rest – nature is brutal as much as beautiful. But the other seven are thriving and growing every day and exploding into a bunch of yellow mouths whenever they hear a parent return. Here they are ready for their Bug Deliveroo.

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Every two weeks or so I've been doing the 'big shop' for an 84-year-old family friend with vascular dementia. I phone him on his mobile and we inventory what is left in his fridge and what the use-by dates are on the items. Today I also talked him through how to use his washing machine, which he's had for years but never used because he prefers the laundrette (now closed).

Anyhow there was the longest Covid shopping queue I've yet been in – at 3pm on a Friday afternoon. It took about 15-20 mins to get to the front and I have to say, 90% of people were 'staying alert' but the other 10%… they were totally oblivious to the markings on the ground as they chatted away in the queue. Also, what happened to shopping alone?

Along the shop frontage I heard some very loud squawking, which turned out the be the mating call of the crow. Up above was a male crow, ducking and bowing and beak-to-beak kissing with a female. It was quite the noisy display. These two had the whole supermarket ledge to themselves but she was sitting, and not running away as females often do, so I wondered if there were maybe babies under there. If you shop at Sainso's Selly Oak, look out and tell me if you can see baby crowlets in the next few weeks? [Btw the Blue tit webcam shows that the babies are now all feathered up – see here – although over on jackdaw cam a tawny owl ate all the jackdaw babies and that's how I learned a new word: predation. Brutal!)

It was nice to see a bit of romance at the supermarket, though.

Inside the shoppers were surprisingly well spaced out, much better than two weeks ago when there were no queues outside but it was like human bumper cars inside. Even the tills had no queues. It felt sort of safe, apart from some ten-percenters hogging the aisles and reaching over you to get their halloumi.

When I dropped off the groceries, my friend had washed and dried his sheets, so that's a big achievement day. I've printed out instructions for him to follow so he can do it again next week. It's never too late to learn new tech.

Thanks

To the Really Awesome Coffee guy, Phil, in South Brum, who brought me my first latte in two months, with a lemon meringue muffin, via his mobile coffee van. It smelled heavenly and was a 'reward' for work done last week (see goals/reward tip).

And also thanks to Hazel in Perth for the memories – we've both decided we need a bit more silliness in out lives after a follow-up Zoom call, in which we revisited our easy listening covers band project 'The Pleasure Valley Tiara Girls' and our 'Project Ross Project', which ended up becoming a six-page magazine feature and a lead cover story in Minx magazine. Hazel was the kind of flatmate who, when you have a ridiculous wine-fuelled Friday night idea, encourages you to carry it out and also helps you plan it.

In Pete news, he's now about 20 hours in to this Edward Gorey 'Cat fancy' jigsaw, which looks a lot like a 1970s nylon bedspread my parents used to have.

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I can't really think or write much tonight. On our walk this evening, we bumped into a friend who is going through the biggest pile of life-threatening and stressful crap that the world can throw at one person at one time. And on top of that they are stuck between a rock and a hard place because of Covid-19 and not being able to go into hospital for treatment. But the thing that gets me is that they were still smiling and laughing at the size of the clusterfuck they face, in isolation and with no chance of even a hug. That, my friends, is some kind of true grit and I am as full of admiration as I am of upset.

Thanks

Today I am thankful that the decisions I currently face are of the simple, non-life-threatening variety. For being able to celebrate another family birthday online and see the family. And for a hit of golden light at sunset.

Somehow this line of pigeons on Stirchley/Cotteridge bridge sums up today.

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Went down to a 4.5 tog summer duvet this week and the insomnia has eased. There you go, exciting bedroom news report done.

Now for the real post…

On a less light note, I've talked to at least three people in the past few days who are not ok for whatever reason. Perhaps the Covid situation is the reason or, if not, it is adding an extra burden or a brain sludge or perhaps bringing things to a head. And I've realised that, despite my various stresses, I probably wouldn't be able to write this little diary every day if I weren't basically coping.

I worry that I'm only an empathic person when I'm experiencing similar issues to others. I can remember what it was like to go through tough times, for example, but now that sufficient time has passed, there is no actual emotion attached to those sad experiences. Maybe that's what time heals – the pain of the thing.

I do believe that when you yourself are ok, it's a duty to help others if you can.

I'm not sure what help I can offer to people, apart from to say you're not alone and to please reach out for help rather than suffer in silence. The ability to do even that can be compromised, of course. 

From a purely personal perspective, some of the things I rely on at the moment to help keep sane are…

1. Looking at nature – when you're down seeing nature in action may seem more poignant, when you're up it may seem amazing; either way it's an external focus thing.
2. Music – I don't know of anything that will change or reflect a mood faster than putting on music you love.
3. Walking or other activity – moving literally causes your body chemistry to change. I might not want to do it but I never regret having done it. Often combined with #1 and #2.
4. Goals 'n' gratitude weekly diary – I picked this up from dementia group therapy as a way to keep focused on more positive emotions. Pick one goal per week (specific, measurable, doable, eg, tidy up bedroom or contact a friend or go for a walk) and set a reward for it (chocolate, coffee, wine!), plus write down something nice that happened or that you are grateful for. It's surprisingly effective at maintaining positive focus but also getting things done.
5. Writing (or other creative outlet) – I have this diary but also several others that are private. When things get really bad, I set aside a whole book and spill into it – you can always burn it after.
6. Time out / unstructured thinking time – at the moment that means having 20 minutes or so sitting in the garden with a coffee and three ginger biscuits and either garden sounds or a bit of music in the headphones. Other people do meditation but I find that hard.
7. Social connection – that can be a phone call, a face-to-face conversation, banter on the internet or whatever. I always think I don't really need this being a fairly solo operator but when it's not there, I really do miss it and start to go a bit off the rails. It's important, it's human.
8. Eating and sleeping – the best two things in life. Good food and good sleep can fix a lot of brain sludge. 

If all this is too much then there is always the approach I picked up from the country singer Kenny Rogers on Oprah Winfrey donkey's years ago, where he said something like 'all you need in life is someone/something to love, something to do and something to look forward to'.

Even one or two of those things at a time is fine. All three is winning at life.

RIP Kenny.

Thanks

Today I am thankful for my god-daughter taking stuff from our office room for her new flat. I feel decluttered and spacious in my home and in my head. As Japanese organisational neat freak Marie Kondo said, tidying up is not about having a tidy room, it is about transforming your life.

I'm also thankful that my god-D is moving into her own place. What an exciting time and thing to do in your life. All part of the joys of growing up.

Commission/hire me: fiona [at] fionacullinan.com