In the old days (pre Covid) I had plenty of markers to keep me up to date. Mondays my cleaner came, cleaned through, made us both a coffee and brought me up to date with all local news (gossip).
Tuesdays into town for coffee with E,L and sometimes C and then money for the week from the bank and bits of food I needed. Wednesdays nothing much but lunch once a month with D. Thursdays has been hair day for years (I wish) and usually followed by a wander round the shops, especially Milners (our local 'store' with lovely clothes, handbags etc), Friday market day and coffee with 'the girls' in The Post Horn - often as many as ten of us, Saturday a free day but sometimes into Richmond with son and wife to their favourite cafe, Sundays I would collect W (98) and take her up to friend W's where we would transfer to W's four-door car for the short journey to the Golf Club for a leisurely Sunday lunch. There was never any chance of not remembering what day it was.
Now there are no such markers. But it is odd how many things happen at the same time each day. I suppose it signifies that folk are trying to keep to some kind of routine. Regular as clockwork a runner in black running gear and a black baseball cap runs past my bungalow at about half past eight in the morning, passes me three times so I assume he is 'doing a circuit'. Smarty, the Labradoodle, passes me every morning at nine with his 'Mum' and every afternoon at five with his 'Dad'. And how very well trained he is - always on a lead and always trotting behind , never in front. L and M, who live just round the corner, go for their bike ride in their yellow anoraks, every afternoon after lunch. They always wave even if they can't see me and if I happen to be in the doorway they shout a greeting. J with her Schidzu (sorry about spelling) walks past every morning at half past seven - a gentle, slow walk but the same route each morning. Certain cars go past at certain times - certain dogs go past with their owners at certain times. There is still a routine and now that lockdown has gone on so long I can almost map my day out by it.
Cloud is beginning to build up here so I must keep an eye on my washing which is blowing merrily on the line. Also, after reading my Times this morning (gardening page) I am going to go out and cut the flower stems off my hellebore. I have around twenty good healthy seedlings around the mother plant waiting to be potted on and the gardening page tells me that the plant is seriously weakened by letting it go to seed each year. As it was so generous last year I shall give it a year's break. My spirit is so willing in the garden but my flesh is weak - very frustrating but just one of the problems with getting old. At least I have got D - a sympathetic gardener - who does everything I ask him to do without question.
Our virtual (Zoom) coffee morning went well this morning - six of us and a nice forty minute chat - so thank you W for setting it up each time.