Lockdown in Paris : Day Nine
10h15 : Got up at 9h and made porridge, then ate it in the sun on the balcony with my book. It’s so quiet in the mornings - all you can hear is the occasional buzz of an insect or the flapping of wings as a bird bobs by. And someone whistling. I’ve heard this mystery whistler before and he’s ever so determined about it. I finished my porridge, read two chapters of my book and was just thinking about coffee and he was still whistling. I put the book down to listen - I mean given the effort that was going into it it seemed only right. Now and again he would hit upon something and I’d think “Oh, yes, I know that, that’s….” but there’s no time to figure it out because he’s off again on his meandering whistle mission. When he embarked on a particularly ambitious Second Movement I started laughing and couldn’t stop. So thank you, mystery whistler.
12h : Midday and I’ve written the second article and there weren’t even any movie breaks. Not sure what happened, it seemed I just sat down and wrote the thing. Weird.
12h56 : And now Prince Charles has got it! He’d better not have given it to his mum - there’ll be a mutiny. I have wondered about the Queen. How does isolation work for Queen Elizabeth II? I mean you can’t have all these people coming and going to serve you tea when they’re potentially all biological weapons, can you. Is she making her own tea now? I can’t quite imagine her waiting for the kettle to boil. Is Our Liz whipping up beans on toast for Phil? Are they, even now, staring at the black-screen of their TV saying, “Yes but how the blazes does One make it go?” I can’t lose the only Monarchs I’ve ever known like this! Poor Prince Philip looks like he’s been dead for years already - one more shuffle grave-wards and he’s in. He should definitely be in a Hazmat suit. Perhaps he is in a hazmat suit! Perhaps they both are, just pootling about Windsor Castle head-to-toe in thick yellow rubber. On the upside the Queen does like her bright colours and I’m sure she’ll have a handbag to match. Oh God, for real this time, save the Queen.
13h51 : More work to do, and - somehow - I’m just doing it. What on earth do they put in porridge anyway?
14h30 : In a reality completely opposite to the one I thought I’d be facing, as the days go by I’m realising that I’m not sure where the time goes. I get up, then next thing I look up and it’s 2pm. Then five minutes later I’m going to bed and all I can think is Again?! We’re doing this again already?! It’s all getting a bit twilight zone. Or Groundhog Day. As an aside, I think Bill Murray might be #1 on my list of people I would like to be quarantined with.
15h37 : Work for the day officially done. Golly. Is this what efficiency feels like? It’s a new one for me. Never fear, I expect it’ll be business as usual again tomorrow. I am nothing if not inconsistent.
15h44 : Honestly never thought this moment would come but I think I’m going to do some French homework. What the hell is happening to me. I’m sure it must be a false alarm but I don’t know. It feels pretty likely. Staring at my French exercise books with a confused expression because I’m trying to process the unfamiliar impulse to open one of them and study. I have the face of someone who thinks she’s misheard and is trying hard to figure out what the real message is because it can’t possibly be “Hey why don’t you do some French?”
17h : Just spoke to my mum on the phone, they’ve emptied the shed and have now lost interest in putting everything back in again, so thought they’d call.
17h06 : While looking for a spare notebook for French homework, rediscovered a book in which I’d started to learn calligraphy. Seems like as good a time as any to dig out the ol’ quill and ink. Might go the whole hog and have a Shakespeare Day. Put on some tights, eat a chicken leg, read a few sonnets and turn my ukulele into a lute.
18h55 : French finished. I always forget that I actually enjoy the process of studying - why do I forget that? It would’ve been handy knowledge to hang on to for the last 8 years living somewhere I don’t understand. I did some exercises from one of the 5,000 well-intentioned text books I have, and then - and this I think could be a gamechanger - I recorded the sentences I’d made on my phone as a voice memo. I mean it’s all very well learning how to use “en” in a sentence 20 ways but once you’ve committed it to the page it’s finished. So I recorded the phrases a few times to try and bend my head (and mouth) around them, and now I can listen to them and remember what they mean, and try again tomorrow. I might emerge from this flat speaking better French than when I went in! Imagine that! Ok honestly I’m starting to scare myself.
20h57 : Just finished a call with my two friends marooned elsewhere in Paris, during which we stop to open our windows and applaud at 8pm. It’s just me and one other guy in my building tonight, but I’m doing it anyway and I can hear other buildings nearby cheering and clapping. Someone has a whistle. I’ve thought this out in recent nights - if no-one else is clapping, should I? Being on a courtyard is strangely intimate. It can feel a bit embarrassing, even a bit statement-like, to stand out on your balcony and smack your hands together while other windows stay closed. But I also know that beyond staying in - which really isn’t much of a hardship - clapping into the night for a minute by myself really is the least I can do for everyone still out there, dealing with the realities of a world in crisis - not: Oh shall I do some French homework? Shall I sit in the sun and drink coffee to pass the time? They won’t know if I don’t bother to open my windows and show a little gratitude, but I will. So if you must, be a lone clapper, and so will I.
