I’m glad I didn’t realise my mistake until it was too late.
Midnight on Thursday means Wednesday night. Not Thursday night. Fuck.
I woke up in Yorkshire thinking I had a whole day before official lockdown start. I found out over breakfast I was already late. Oops. Yorkshire to London. If I could prove I was a politician and that I was actively infectious I would be able to travel. But I couldn’t do either. And my car is pretty … visible.
Last night I had Harry look at the old Nissan and he reckons it’ll be cheaper to do the work it needs for an MOT than it will be to just jettison it and get a new car. This is good news. Better than I thought. I’ve grown fond of the old girl so I’m going to give it a try despite London prices being much higher than Yorkshire ones. Before I began the journey I booked an MOT near mine in London so I had a destination. I also decided that, come hell or high water, I was going to buy some pot plants before I had to hole up in my flat or risk getting fined. It was good having Hex for March, but I think having more green around me will make me less inclined to obliterate myself. I started drinking way too early in the day in March. Now I’m completely sober. I want nice things to look at as I’ll be seeing much more clearly.
The roads were as crowded as ever which surprised me. I took the smaller roads on purpose. It was a beautiful day to drive I kept stopping at garden centres with woeful selections of indoor plants – but all of them were open. Everybody in Yorkshire has an actual garden, and all the garden centres consider themselves essential, but don’t have indoor plants. No good for me and my quest for. Eventually I decided to ask the internet. “Best place to buy indoor plants” turned up just one shop that was loosely on my route. I put pedal to metal.
Hertford, and the city centre is still full of cars. Shoppers out on the streets. Vans buzzing around. I pull into a loading bay opposite what looks like the holy grail to me after all the garden centres. A pretty little shop full of house plants.
They’re cashing up, perhaps. They’re not expecting customers. I think they’ve left the door unlocked by mistake. The proprietor comes up to me fast as I enter, with the look people have when they’re about to tell a stranger to leave. I derail it by speaking first. “I’ve come all the way from Yorkshire to buy lots of house plants from you so I have some green in lockdown.” They allow it (I tried to make an audible kerching sound) and we improvise a way for me to be shown and purchase plants without contact.
Now I have lots of lovely things in my flat. I’m glad to have brought the couple that run it some business just before they close up again into this madness. They seemed like a lovely pair and they have unusual plants, many of which are now in my flat, sitting on unusual antique trays that got rejected by Tennants. If these things are still alive next time I make the journey to Yorkshire, I’ll likely stop by Bedford to buy some more, and some paraphernalia too, and pick up another expensive habit. Looking after plants can be one more thing to add to the huge list of things I need to do in the flat. Circumstances have conspired to perfectly allocate windows to sort my shit out. March was the beginning, to enable, to see what’s possible, to get the ball rolling for the summer. Now November to consolidate, surrounded by plant life, with a much better understanding of the extent of the job.
Onwards. Happy lockdown lovelies. Call me if you like. I’m here.