Another line scratched off the countdown chart. Bojo says 12 weeks but I’m still taking bets, if anybody wants to open an account with me rather than Corals. The fact of the matter is that I am feeling like Jeff Stelling on Sky Sports on a live match day - so much is happening it’s hard to keep up with it.
They’ve shut down my synagogue. I think it's a bit of a draconian step to take just to stop my old friend Colin and me from talking during the service. We’re normally judging the Bad Hat Award amongst the women in the Ladies’ Gallery, but like every other major tournament in the world, that’s also on hold. Mind you, it may give some of the regular contestants a chance to buy some new entries online. Heaven knows, there’s little else to buy.
Instead of buying theatre tickets, I am enjoying the unusual experience of having the theatres that have closed and cancelled performances sending me money back. Probably better than sitting through plays I’m not enjoying because I’ve paid for the ticket, or leaving at the interval when they are just so bad that the money becomes an irrelevancy.
Had the surreal experience this morning of "attending" a Synagogue service online. Unfortunately my view of the Rabbi was somewhat restricted by the "loading symbol" which went round from beginning to end. He had a whole load of religious prints behind him. I could see that. I was just hoping nobody could see my back drop of a framed and signed Barnet FC shirt with the number 70 on it (given to me on my…. guess which number birthday…. 70th.. yes, you got it) and a half-life size statue of a jockey bearing my old racing colours. Oh, and a framed photo of Newlands Cricket Ground showing the England team playing and Table Mountain just standing. Actually, given the result of that particular match it could easily have been the other way around. Thinking of taking them to synagogue with me when it re-opens to make me feel more at home. Or doing a swap with the Rabbi to make me feel more spiritual. But joking apart it was a really spiritual experience and life-confirming (or is it affirming? I can never remember, but am sure you get the point).
Speaking of life confirming/affirming (or in this case death confirming - and I meant to mention it earlier in the week when I read his obituary), the guy who created the advertising slogan: "Polo, the mint with the hole" died this week. The obituary writer missed a trick when he didn’t describe him as now being "The man in the hole".
So, there we have it, no synagogue services and no cleaner for the time being as it’s probably safer if we have no visitors. If I am asked to help on the cleaning front I am thinking of suggesting that this too should be something else done 'virtually'. Forget all the investment and research into a vaccine for the virus, why don’t they focus on a domestic robot that self-washes its little metal hands to avoid the spread of infection. Who remembers 'Metal Micky'? One of the great tv programmes of the past. It’s all very well the BBC and ITV bringing back what they consider to be classics, but no mention of Micky, or Hiram Holliday or Compact.
Speaking of blasts from the past, my tortuous thought process took me straight (well not exactly straight as you will see) to an old song that I suspect very few of you would ever have heard. I do have a fondness for music that nobody has played for sixty years. My school friends, Colin (my co-judge of the aforementioned BHA - Bad Hat Award - if you’re not keeping up) and Jeff (who now lives in a remote part of Ireland and has been self- isolating even longer than me as he’s six months older) used to create our own music chart in the playground every Monday lunchtime. The qualification for entry and for the song to be marked was that two of us had actually heard it. Given that in those days our only access to pop music was Juke Box Jury, crackly Radio Luxembourg and the ever-fading Hilversum, the selection choices were fairly limited. This led to "Mommy Out de Light' by Valerie Masters (Jeff’s first cousin, so I suspect he was bit biased) topping our chart for two weeks, even though poor old Colin had never heard it. And may not have heard it even today (I must make a note to see if I can get it on Apple Music …. another plug for a potential sponsor of these blogs…. when I finish typing).
I am sure you are all thinking, those of you who still have the will to live and are reading on, that this is a fascinating insight into this man’s youth but where is he taking us. So, here’s the thing. Yet again we couldn’t get a delivery slot with Sainsbury's, or Waitrose, or Marks and Spencer or Tesco and we were that desperate (no sponsorship from either of the following) that we tried Morrisons and Asda too. And yes, I am a shopping snob. Very fussy about sparkling waters in particular. It’s that only Jewish child thing; never made to eat or drink anything I didn’t like and with a paranoid fear of drinking tap water (to be honest it’s boring and reminds me of the week I lasted eating school dinners). So, I wrote a letter to The Times on the subject. I do that occasionally and have them printed even more occasionally.
The point I was making was that starvation was more likely to carry us off than the virus. But somebody else wrote a much shorter and less rambling letter (there’s a surprise) and did get it published. In fact on our way to our morning walk in the park we saw a Sainsbury’s delivery van and thought about hi-jacking it. But the driver was taking no risks and pretended to fumble with his papers to ensure that nobody was around before he descended. So the potential Bonnie and Clyde (fairly mature versions I hate to admit) of Great Supermarket Delivery Van Robberies had to move on for my daily chat to the swans, They, incidentally, were nowhere to be seen and were still probably queuing in Sainsbury’s car park from yesterday to buy bread crumbs.
I am finally getting to the point: "Everglades" was a song by The Kingston Trio. Another point to anybody who remembers them and Valerie Masters. It was all about an escaped convict running through the swaps of Louisiana to escape his pursuers and the chorus went like this:
"Running like a dog through the everglades,
Jumping like a frog through the everglades,
You’ve got to keep moving and you can’t keep still
If the skeeters don’t get you then the gators will."
That’s mosquitos and alligators by the way. And if you substitute coronavirus and starvation for those two options then you’ve finally caught up with me. Well done.
Finally (audible sighs of relief from around the globe), at least from those of my readers who are still alive/awake and able to sigh, here’s the last thing for the day. My wife organised a 1pm wave yesterday amongst all our neighbours. At least those of them who were likely to be alive or awake at 1pm. They all came to their doors at the designated time hoping for long trestle table, balloons, cheap warm fizzy wine and Union Jacks, but all they got was the reassuring waves. Now, unlike Stevie Smith (good cultural literary reference, and she came from Palmers Green so she was a local girl), we weren’t drowning. We really were just waving. It was a slightly sized down version of Peter Finch’s idea in the 1976 (was it really that long ago?) film 'Network', where as a newscaster having a meltdown he got everybody out on the streets chanting: "We’re mad as hell and we’re not going to take this anymore!". But, you know what, it is what it is, it’s not worth getting up a head of steam and being as mad as hell, so let’s all just settle for street waves.
A quick update about Nicky’s escape from LA though. He and his dog, Wanda, have flights booked for Monday to London. She’s flying BA (BArk I assume) and he’s flying Virgin (no comment), so just like royalty they’re taking no chances about anything happening to one of them. There’s been a lock down announced in the city so hoping he does get what might very well be the last flight out of California and without having to climb up a ladder into the plane as it takes off above a burning city (that’s back to the Miss Saigon reference by the way). I think Wanda might have a little problem going paw over paw whilst swinging in the sky.
So, that’s the image with which I leave you. For my Jewish readers, a Good and Peaceful Shabbas. For my non-Jewish readers: when you don’t get a blog posted tomorrow morning it’s not that I’ve died in the night (well, in these uncertain times, I suppose it might be) but that won’t be the primary reason for non-publication. I just don’t use my computer on the Sabbath. But, I am very hopeful I will be back either tomorrow evening or Sunday morning.
As Dave Allen used to say, take care and may your G-d go with you.