Jersey 3 – Milk

Every day, in the morning, I get eight mini cartons of semi skimmed milk. Half and half you might call it. I’m in Jersey, the magical land of dairy, but the milk is imported from Ireland. I use two cartons a day.

This morning there was a knock on the door as there always is, with my daily food. “There’s no need to leave more milk!” I shouted from my bed. “Milk?” Comes the reply. “Yes. Milk! I’ve got loads!” There is a pause. “Ok, milk!”

When I go to get my the bag there are sixteen mini cartons of milk with it, as well as all the instant coffee and tea things I could never want. By the end of the week there will be no more milk at Lakeland Farm in Ireland. It will ALL be in my hotel room. Along with rivers of Nescafé. I knew the coffee would be shit so I brought those dripthrough things that go in the top of the cup. I’m not using the Nescafé and unlike ketchup sachets it isn’t going to end up in my car. Only the mad and the young like instant coffee. The dripthrough is pretty crap as well but at least it isn’t Nestlé gak.

I’m wearing a T-shirt that was in the bag with the camembert. That’s what we’ve come to. It’s the cleanest T-Shirt I’ve got. This hotel is 2 stars so I’m not expecting laundry service. By the time they let me out on Tuesday I’m going to have nothing but my suit left to wear. I’ll waft into the fresh air smelling unusually cheesy. I will look at the sunlight with the eyes of a starved man. The air will be on my face. Moving objects will be in my eyeline!

This is my view.

It’s a weekend, so the builders aren’t working. The generator will be on all day from Monday.

You can see what a lovely day it is. It’s gorgeous. Perfect. I know I haven’t got Covid. So do you. But still I have to wait. Another test on Monday and then once the result is through I will be allowed to see the world again. It’s ridiculous but “use your common sense” never works because there are too many people with none.

I still have no idea where I’m going to stay for most of this trip. I can’t stay here, I’d go batshit crazy and I can’t cook anything. The best offer I’ve had is twice the price and minimum four weeks which I can’t even do as I’m going home on the 5th June (so long as this is sorted). I should probably rent a place somehow. I might find a way to do that once I’m able to leave this fucking room.

Author: albarclay

This blog is a work of creative writing. Do not mistake it for truth. All opinions are mine and not that of my numerous employers.

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