DIARY OF A DEMENTED HOME WORKER: Week 11 and we’re mopping up the tears after the holiday has been officially cancelled, but are ignoring the floors

Pandemic power walking will help us all to survive – no bull!

• ‘Is today, tomorrow?’ When that’s the first thing that’s asked of you by the youngest member of the household as soon as you open your eyes in the morning, you know you’re going to have to dig deep. Apparently her dad had promised her a surprise … tomorrow. Her next two questions obviously were: Where was dad? And where was the surprise? Yeah, so dad was at work (like actual work, not WFH), and the surprise was, that there wasn’t any! Not even coffee made that one easier.

• Anyway, how are we doing with the never ending chores? Anyone else mopping floors entirely on the basis of how dirty everyone’s socks are at the end of the day? It’s as good a system as any. And I’ve come up with a perfect solution to get around it for as long as possible – wear only black socks and live in sweet oblivion to your filthy surroundings. You’re welcome.

• Lots of people are complaining of ear, teeth and jaw pain at the moment. Maybe it’s from wearing earphones for the never ending circuit of Zoom calls; night time teeth grinding or just general stress? Out of curiousity what’s the story with CBD oil? And specifically, can you still work/adult relatively effectively, just in a less shouty and more joyful way? It’s also surely less calorific than alcohol, right?

A lesser known fact about me is that I suffer from misophonia. I mean I might just be an intolerant cow, but I’ve self-diagnosed myself with the disorder which sees people struggle with sounds such as eating, chewing and loud breathing. Anyway, my husband has developed a very strong Covid crisp habit. You see where I’m going with this now. It’s like he’s trying to slowly torture me. Hunky Dorys are the worst. I fear it’s not going to end well for either of us. Send help. Or will I just hide the crisps in with his slippers?

• Turns out this is the perfect summer to get married if you don’t want to have to invite all the aunties, uncles, second cousin twice removed, neighbours etc as Simon Harris has given his blessing to small weddings only. There’s going to be lots of people who’ll jump at the chance to say ‘I do’ to that. That’s fine so long as they don’t still expect a present.

• Although the weather prophets are starting to make noises about it not being that great a summer and to expect a wet June. Don’t even go there with that line that there’s ‘no such thing as bad weather only bad clothes.’ I’d say I’m the only person in West Cork at this stage who doesn’t own a swim parka. They’re the D4 equivalent of the Moncler jacket. When did they become such a ‘thing’ anyway? In a typical Irish way, I don’t believe I even own a functioning rain coat.

• My husband arrived home  from work earlier than usual the other day so obviously I nearly mowed him down to get out the door for a walk. On went the runners (naturally I was already in the leggings) and I hit the road. Inspired by Bantry TV cook, Karen Coakley (follow her on Instagram at kenmarefoodie – she’s fab) I’m trying to hit 15,000 steps a day. Of course the Fitbit only went and died on me on route and while I know I covered the distance, I’d no proof. That cheesed me off way more than it should have. Pandemic power walking is a very serious business.

• My walking is being hampered very much, though, by my fear of bulls. I’m absolutely terrified of them. I start reciting Hail Marys out loud when I have to walk past one in a field and speed up like those Kilnascully power walkers (how are the girls!). Our resident bull, Billy Dean (think about it), has moved into the field next door and I swear to god he’s busier eyeballing me, than doing the business. He’s doing it now! My brother insists he’s a gent, but I’m not convinced. Holy Mary, mother of god….

• You’re not going to believe this – we nearly slept out one morning last week. I’m blaming the Fitbit again, as some glitch put it a hour behind time. So there I was in bed, with a coffee, reading my book (ok I was on Instagram) thinking it was 7.30am, only to realise courtesy of Morning Ireland that it was, in fact, 8.30am. Obviously I still made it to the desk for 9am. I don’t have it in me to attempt any gags on lack of traffic etc. #overit #sooverit

• We decided if we can’t beat them, we’d join them and had a date night ... well, we got a take-out meal, sat at the kitchen counter (instead of the couch) and I put on lipstick and a clean top with my leggings. Instead of looking into my eyes, my husband was looking at my grey hairs glistening in the candlelight, but look, it’s a start (and I’m joking about the candlelight).

• By the way where are we on the TV Tampax ad? I thought I was pretty open about things like ‘that,’ but turns out I’m not and I found myself nodding along with all those angry (crazy?) people ringing into Liveline recently. Never thought I’d say that.

• I’m one of those strange people who is not too bothered about holidays. I think I’m still suffering from post traumatic stress disorder from an ill thought-out trip to France when the four-year-old was a baby. She was a really bad traveller and barely made it from Timoleague to Clonakilty without some sort of drama. But for some unknown reason (not pointing the finger but my husband messed up) we sailed from Rosslare and chose a destination that was a six-hour drive on the other side. Also, it rained all the time and I was still really uptight about nap time and routine etc so we didn’t really go anywhere.  All in all, it was a disaster, an expensive one. So for the sake of the marriage, we mainly staycation now and, like the rest of the country, were booked into Centre Parcs with cousins for July. The email confirming the cancellation landed this week. We knew it was coming but we were still gutted. We’re thinking of going halves on a tent even if we only pitch it in each other’s gardens after July 20th.

• Have you noticed how we all have brown hands, necks and ankles from spending so much time outside over the past few weeks? I really wish I had gotten my legs out now to get rid of that pasty tinge, although regular readers (sisters/mum/aunt) will remember there was that issue with the wax strips. Speaking of which, has anyone attempted a home bikini wax yet? Or more specifically has anyone attempted one sober?