claytoncast

Normality, or what can pass for it, now seems is seeping back into our lives. Two weeks ago we had a little Tuesday night gin party of six people to celebrate that we can meet up out of doors. It was a delight, although by the time we’d chatted to people for a couple of hours- something with which we have become unfamiliar, we were both exhausted, and flopped in front of the television. I had a bit of a medical MOT this week trying to fit in the dental hygienist, a blood test, and the visit for a hearing test all before the shops open tomorrow. We can all crowd into Primark tomorrow, but we have to stay outside in a pub garden and can’t even pop inside to pay. I know. Don’t tell me. We are following the science. Although one has to ask “What science?” The television seems overburdened with scientists. From Lorraine to Pointless, every programme seems to have their pet expert. Bungling Boris and his band of inept outlaws can listen to whichever one lets them do what they want to do - or...

I wondered how many songs mentioning ages were in any way relevant to my life. I think I’d better own up to Dancing Queen at seventeen.  Even though I was still at school, I was aware of which direction my longings were pulling me. I’m not convinced if I was “tragically hip” at 38, and I’m pretty convinced that I had no need for a death cab for cutie at 60. One song that’s haunted me for years is the classic “When I’m 64” from the Beatles, and tomorrow I will reach that milestone. So, it’s time to take a look at those lyrics and see just how I have fared.  I have lost a little hair with a classic bald patch starting to show through in the middle, but at the moment lockdown has more than taken care of that, giving me a full head of tonsorial pleasure. I did get a Valentine, and I’ve already had birthday greetings, and people who know me well remember that I gave up bottles of wine 22 years ago. I think there’s little chance with the current restrictions that I’ll be out until 2...

My recent article in The Stage hinted that 2021 might not have been all that we were expecting it to be, given the number of U-turns we’ve already experienced, and how for many of us, this lockdown has been the hardest. Starting with days ending at four in the afternoon, it’s been very difficult to find a reason to push forward and get up every day. I was facing a week like that last week with days looming empty on my schedule screen. Luckily, late last Monday afternoon, the first completed edit of my new novel “The Hoax” arrived back from my publishers. With the title all about a prank, the logical publication date has always seemed like April 1, and now we are racing against time to make sure that the book is available. That meant suddenly my week had a purpose and breaking the word count down into easily achievable chunks, the last five days have been taken up with refining, clarifying, emphasising, and hopefully improving the text. Karen, the editor for the publisher, and my lovely...

Lockdown. Day 217. Actually, I do not know if that’s correct. I've lost all count of everything this time round. The good thing is that today I have had a sod it morning. After doing my exercises, ten kilometres on the bike and physio exercises with my rubber bands, I’ve taken to a scented bath for an hour. A large cup of coffee and my thoughts. I can’t even take the morning paper in there with me. It’s too full of the real world.  It’s just one of those days when I have lost the will to live. I’ve been very lucky. I’ve had work throughout the lockdown unlike many of my peers and colleagues, but it hasn’t made it any easier. In our business, they say you should never appear in a sequel. Let’s face it. “Lockdown 1” was a global hit. The Blitz spirit, the touching scenes of everyone on their balconies and in their gardens, clapping and banging saucepans for the brave boys and girls of the NHS. The orderly queues at the supermarkets Lidl notwithstanding. That was the lockdown to be in...

Lockdown. Day 217. Actually, I do not know if that’s correct. I lost all count everything this time round. The good thing is that today I have had a soggy morning. After doing my exercises, ten kilometres on the bike and physio exercises with my rubber bands, I’ve taken to a scented bath for an hour. A large cup of coffee and my thoughts. I can’t even take the morning paper in there with me. It’s too full of the real world. It’s just one of those days when I have lost the will to live. I’ve been very lucky. I’ve had work throughout the lockdown unlike many of my peers and colleagues, but it hasn’t made it any easier. In our business, they say you should never appear in a sequel. Let’s face it. “Lockdown 1” was a global hit. The Blitz spirit, the touching scenes of everyone on their balconies and in their gardens, clapping and banging saucepans for the brave boys and girls of the NHS. The orderly queues at the supermarkets Lidl notwithstanding. That was the lockdown to be in. Rousing, p...

When I was at school, I used to hate it when Christmas fell on a Friday, one week away from when we had broken up. A week of anticipation, hidden parcels and mounting frustration. Then finding oneself with only a week left to pack full of enjoyment before the January return to school. It’s a little like that this year. Work done, and only the odd zoom call this week with four days more before we can have what remains of Christmas. We are very lucky that our plans were to spend Christmas at home for only the second time in our 24 years together. Having cancelled a visit to see a friend in pantomime on Sunday, we are not going to Devon to see Richard’s family after Christmas. Yet we are on course for the Christmas we wanted. I’m using this week to send messages to those people I haven’t contacted during the past year. It’s not that I want my address book to be any thinner, But it has sometimes been hard to keep in touch with people one sees. There have been no lunch meetings, no afternoo...

A Time for Home In all the 24 years that we have spent together, Richard and I have only ever spent one Christmas together at home. Three years ago, I gave up the unequal struggle of trying to entertain my Mum for the festive holiday as her health had deteriorated, and we hunkered down in our home for the festive frolics. Only for three days, and Christmas lunch was taken out at a restaurant so it was no great hardship. A time to enjoy a home we love at a special moment in the year. Last year we were busy preparing for a once in a lifetime trip to Australia. Three weeks in Sydney, Melbourne and the Hunter Valley. We had the most amazing time. Such a holiday meant we saw nothing of our home last Christmas. No tree went up, no bundle of exciting packages lying under it. No overstocked fridge, and on the sunny beaches of St Kilda in Melbourne, no need for Christmas jumpers. I think if when we were told to lockdown in March, we had known that we would still be under strict limitations at C...