DIARY OF A DEMENTED HOME WORKER: How far up Schitt’s Creek are we?

DIARY OF A DEMENTED HOME WORKER: It’s Week 34 and I’m fantasising about some after-work drinks in a packed bar, while in reality I’m at home battling the dishwasher

• I KNOW it’s a bit early in the season but I’ll admit to being all Hygge-d out. You know that Scandinavian concept that tricked us all into blowing a month’s pay on candles, over-priced slippers, unflattering lounge wear and cashmere throws? Yeah, well after mid-term and a week of bad weather, I’m done with it. I’ve had my fill of cosy couch time, movies, fires, hot chocolates and the like. The novelty is well and truly over. Except lockdown isn’t.

• I fear, too, that lots of people might have burned themselves out with Hallowe’en, going by the elaborate displays on social media anyway. I’m a bit of a Hallowe’en Grinch to be honest. I went in search of a pumpkin with two days to go and was pretty much laughed out of every supermarket within my 5km (so that would have been a total of one). I was lucky that the four-year-old was happy enough with a nasty ghost-covered helium balloon. and that was about the sum total of my efforts. Sorry, not sorry. I’ve plenty left in the tank for Christmas, but I’m not sure how some people are going to pull it off. Although I’m guessing the same people who went into Hallowe’en overdrive are the same people who are already booked in for their drive-in Santa visit. Have I already missed the boat on that one too?

• Anyway, it was one of those ‘meh’ weeks around here where really not too much happened. All things considered it was going ok until ‘The Dishwasher Debacle.’ I’m spectacularly bad at stacking this appliance and try as I might I couldn’t locate what was causing the spinning arm yoke to stick. It defeated me, and I found myself kneeling on the kitchen floor, staring into the abyss of dirty dishes, and wondering … yes, ‘where would it all end.’ I snapped out of it a few minutes later. I think it was the four-year-old shouting for a snack that did it. Let’s just call it a ‘Covid Moment’. We’re all allowed a few. Have I overshared? If so, let’s never speak of this again.

• So the gospel according to Prof Luke says keeping watered plants indoors could help prevent spread the coronavirus. He also said a humidifier would be useful. So naturally they’ve gone top of my shopping list. I think he’s a rock of sense and I love how he keeps talking about a vaccine coming sooner rather than later, which really helps to keep the spirits up.

• Poor Ryan Tubridy looked like he was really struggling last Friday night. Essentially he’s like the rest of us who are flagging with the WFH routine at this stage. Except while I can plod on in my make-shift office, he has to do it in an empty studio, live on TV. Now the guests weren’t helping much, let’s be honest – Bernard O’Shea and his mid-life crisis (I mean with the greatest respect …), Daniel O’Donnell (again) and Supervet Noel Fitzpatrick who – popular and all as he may be – would probably have been more suited to The Afternoon Show. Poor Tubs. And he has the Toy Show to pull off yet.

• My current favourite fantasy is to imagine I’m writing this column from a swanky urban office, surrounded by all my colleagues. It’s Friday evening, we’re all in great form, the banter is flying, and we’re going for drinks somewhere that’s going to be packed to the rafters. And very cool. Oh and I’m wearing the perfect ‘desk to drinks’ outfit too, and I’ve had a blow dry. I’m conveniently ignoring the fact that I usually try to swerve after work drinks as I worry about how I’m going to get home before I even get there, and I start sweating the hangover before my first sip. But right now, the thoughts of it it are just so, so perfect.

• My husband and I are on a bit of a health kick in a very predictable, pre-Christmas way. Nothing too intense – just watching the portions and snacks. Of course he’s dropping the pounds like billy-o which is only making him more determined, whereas my body is clinging to every calorie with dogged determination. There’s seething resentment in the TV room air of an evening as I sneakily google ‘easy ways for a middle aged pre-menopausal woman to lose weight.’ It appears there aren’t any, but I’m not one to admit defeat, as if you hadn’t noticed already.

• What is helping lighten the mood a lot is Schitt’s Creek  on Netflix. Why did I think this wasn’t for me? We did enjoy The Queen’s Gambit, but there wasn’t one single light moment in any of the seven episodes, whereas this is laugh out loud stuff. I’m delighted with myself. As I chomp on a celery crudité.