Put your head out the window, let the good times roll
The first weekend of the lockdown, or the lock-in as some are taking to calling it. Call it what you like, it’s not gonna change. We all know what it is. Or if we don’t we’re about to find out. There are Guards everywhere, stopping cars, stopping people. Where are you going, Where’ve you been? Nowhere to both, Guard.
We did a lot of work in the house this weekend. Painting little bits here, plastering little spots there. I took most, not all, of the records down from the attic and started to get to know them again. A lot of records. A lot of listening. A lot of time for both right now.
Bob Dylan released a new song, his first for about eight years on Friday. How to describe it? ‘Murder Most Foul’ is a 17-minute mediation on the last 50 years of popular American culture centred around the assassination of JFK in 1963. It rambles on and on, not quite stream of consciousness, but not far from it and takes in Woodstock, Altamont, Fleetwood Mac, What’s New Pussycat?, Nightmare on Elm Street, Patsy Cline, Stan Getz, Billy Joel and a million other cultural references. I can’t decide if it’s the last thing the world needs right now or if it’s EXACTLY what the world needs right now. Either way, great to have him back – unpacking seventeen minutes of Bob’s ramblings has kept me very entertained over the last few days.
Spoke to my mother earlier. She hasn’t left the house for 8 days. She’s 85 next month. I wouldn’t be going fae if I was her. Actually I wouldn’t go far if I was me. Didn’t leave the house at all on Saturday and just took a short walk with Arlo this evening. It’s a funny one - you want to get out, feel the fresh air and walk past the houses on our street. But then, why go anywhere when everyone’s a potential carrier? We bumped into a colleague out walking with her family. “How are you?” “Not bad, nothing much” All the same conversations.
When this is all over (there’s that phrase again) there’ll be books and plays about this whole thing and they’ll feature people having lengthy conversations as home truths come out and lost loves announces. But we’ll know the truth. Nobody spoke of anything but THIS. All the time. Because THIS is all there is. I saw Jimmy Cricket, the old Irish comedian on Twitter today. I honestly wouldn’t have known if he was dead or alive if you’d asked me. He’s alive. Well done Jimmy. He’s doing these daft little jokes, corny jokes, every day. Anyway, one of the things he said was that the problem with doing nothing is you never know when it’s over. From the mouth of a clown came a great philosophical question. How will we know what we’ve had enough of nothing? Because, by definition, you can never have your fill. Anyway, nothing to do and everyone having the same conversations about it.
John Prine has Covid-19 and isn’t well. This is what I feared after his wife Fiona announced that she has it last week. He’s in a come apparently. I haven’t experienced the alternative but I’m pretty sure I prefer the world with John Prine in it. When you turn on the news and the leader of the free world is accusing doctors and nurses of stealing masks because he can’t get supplies to hospitals fast enough, you realise you need all the humanity and kindness you can get your hands on. That’s what John Prine does. I really hope he pulls through.
10 deaths today. 48 in total. Numbers are rising. Are we doing ok? Are we winning? Doesn’t feel like it. I’m going to bed.
