CONTORTED PASTA

After a week of exhausting portage, I have more or less settled into the new place. It's starting to feel a little more like home. I've embarked on the learning curve of how to use the Aga (takes a long time to reach baking temperature, however having a stove constantly on at low heat is so tremendously useful I may make it a habit in future homes) and have been applying my problem-solving skills to the troublesome radiator knobs that keep popping off (I think I fixed the one in the study this morning, but won't know until the heat turns on again tonight). Yesterday I reorganised the pantry and am feeling pretty secure in my food stocks, for now. And I'm acclimating to the ambient temperature – this may look like needless asceticism from the outside, but last year, when I went sailing for a frosty week at the beginning of April, I was the only one outside the crew who wasn't miserably cold. It felt like having a superpower, and it's a useful superpower which is worth maintaining.

It's been a long time since I lived on my own, and I was a little worried by how quickly I slid back into sloppiness and self-indulgences which I keep in check when living with others. I worry that I have not internalised the sort of changes that encourage me to seek communal living. Maybe that is a legitimate worry, or maybe the lesson I really learned was that I need to live alone. Certainly it's what I'm most suited for. Maybe I should stop taking Granny Weatherwax as a warning and instead accept my fate and try to model her better qualities. But all told, I feel like moving here is more backsliding, character-wise, than repotting for growth.

On the other hand, yesterday I dropped by the neighbours' to give them my contact info, and realised that I do have something to learn here: to reach out and make connections on my own, without fear. I've always struggled with social anxiety to some extent. This may come as a surprise to anyone who's seen me teach, as I have no stage fright at all and am very comfortable presenting to large groups of people – but that is an entirely different expereince from having a conversation, especially when one is at the bottom of the power dynamic instead of the top. I can't say the majority of my social interactions have been met with scorn, disinterest, fear, or hostility, but enough of them have – especially in the last few months – to reinforce my impression that people would prefer not to talk to me. I'm in a new place, with a new set of people, and it's vitally important I make the right first impression; hiding away in my house and not approaching anyone might feel like deference to me, but will look like standoffishness to anyone else. Thank goodness I have the lockdown to give me an excuse to hide away while I recuperate and build up the nerve.

I was expecting to spend most of May gradually moving in to the new place, but my housemates want to be able to show people (virtually) around my room, and I want to get out of here as soon as possible, so I have been throwing stuff in boxes all weekend and my one car-enabled housemate is going to take a load down tonight, so I can empty and reuse some of the boxes. If this were Ordinary Times, I would just scrounge some of the hundreds of empty boxes set out by city centre businesses before 8:00, but of course they are all shut, so I've been using anything and everything to hand, including tote bags, suitcases, and shoe boxes.

I also can't take superfluous stuff to charity shops, so I have to pack it all. In 2008 I had a week to pack up my Vancouver apartment to move to LA, and did the same – no time to sort through things – which meant that, work being what it was, it was two years before I finally did the necessary downsizing.

I have moved a lot in my life. The five years since the last move is a significant anomaly. Even in LA I moved from one side of my quadruplex to the other. So this is nothing new. But boy am I starting to feel too old for it. I am really looking forward to the new place, which is ridiculously ideal, but at the same time I am really longing for when I get to do this one last time (?) and settle in somewhere for keeps. As much as I love living in Britain, that's probably not going to happen here. Places I would want to buy in BC are either too expensive or too inaccessible. But something will shake out, eventually. The Pacific is calling. For some reason my bedroom smelled of the sea this morning, so that may be more than figuratively the case.

As mentioned previously, my favourite local pub has been fulfilling grocery orders from their food suppliers. I was running out of veg, so I put in an order a couple of days ago. This included beetroot (3).

I have, today, received beetroot (3kg).

It's a good thing I really, really like beets, but even so this may be something of a challenge ...

The thing about email is, you have to answer to get it out of your inbox,* but the faster you answer it, the faster the senders reply, and then there is more email!



*You don't actually have to, it's not a law, but it's been my personal rule of the game as long as I've had an email inbox to keep up with.

As noted yesterday, my bike was a bit stiff as I hadn't given it the post-winter overhaul before embarking into the countryside. Well, today was another beautiful day, and my morning and midday activities were sufficiently draining as to leave me in a state where artistic heavy lifting was not going to happen, so I opted to spend a few hours tending Mr Bicycle in the garden.

I hadn't overhauled him this year because this year has been crazy. I don't think I overhauled him last year either. I couldn't remember when I'd last done this job, so I decided instead to count how many times I could remember doing it, and counting forward from that, I think the last time was 2017.

Yikes.

If that is the case, then the level of grime shouldn't be surprising – it's probably the maximum amount of dirt the bike can hold before it starts sloughing off of its own accord. (I should clarify, this is mostly just road dust; I don't go biking through the mud if I can help it.) I scrubbed off as much as I could with an old dish brush and toothbrush, but it could do with being taken apart and cleaned by someone who knows what they're doing. The stiffness seems to originate in the axles; when I took the front wheel off, the axle made a rather sticky sound when it turned and there seemed to be some old brown coagulated oil inside. I tried cleaning it with some detergent but it couldn't get into the mechanism, so I sprayed it with some unknown chemical I found in the shed which promised to Lubricate - Penetrate - Displace Water. Between rounds of scrubbing around the back I resprayed and resprayed, working the joint to loosen it up, and eventually some brownish liquid started seeping out, which was the Penetrating bit I suppose.

One of my lasting memories from this strange time will be listening to the 5:00 government briefing on the kitchen radio while trying to coax this strange chemical into the inner workings of my bike wheel.

It probably needs to be opened up and done properly, but the monkey wrenches I thought we had in the shed are there no more, so either I try to find some at a shop that is open (??) or wait until the bike shops reopen and get it done by a professional, which is probably the better option. Mr Bicycle is well overdue a professional overhaul anyway, especially if I'm going to be using him as much as I think I will be. He needs new mudflaps and a kickstand, too, so I intend to honour him with some TLC when I am next allowed to do so. I've paid next to nothing for maintenance over the last few years, so it's owed.

Now it's 7:30pm – time to sit down to work! ... Yeah, probably not.

Having been an antisocial curmudgeon all week, I have been invited to Sunday dinner by the housemate who's in the running for this household's Frank Debenham.* One cannot turn down such a gesture of open generosity. In acknowledgement of this, I am contributing my last few vegetables. There will be wine. I shall endeavour to remember that Sour Cherry is not invited to this dinner and is most definitely not allowed to speak. Given that, when the three of us are together, Non-Debenham Housemate mostly talks to Debenham Housemate and my attempts to contribute fall flat or worse, this shouldn't be too hard.

This is the High Holy Day of the polar history calendar – Scott's last diary entry – and I usually do something to mark it, but I thought this year, of all years, the Internet would be especially unappreciative of three men dying in a tent in the middle of nowhere, so I have let it go. Besides, I am just preparing to join the farewell gala in Dunedin via my comic pages next week, which will be hard enough to get into without jumping to the end today.

In other news, I have been slouching like a teenage hacker all day and my throat feels almost normal, so I'm blaming the posture until proven otherwise.

Yesterday I phoned(!) the local pub that is offering to fill grocery orders via their suppliers, to ask what the procedure was, so today I wrote an email with my 'wishlist' (including more vegetables) and we'll see what turns up. They include an invoice with the groceries when they drop them off, which one then pays by bank transfer: truly the lowest-contact means of monetary exchange. I very much want them to stay in business so I have requested far more than I currently need. I also fear they may decide to wrap up the operation if further restrictions come down, so better have too much than too little, and too soon rather than too late. I hope a kilo of onions is enough; more than that and I struggle to eat them up before they start going mildewy.

The pub landlord asked if I wanted bread, because the baker doesn't deliver on Sundays. 'No,' I said, 'I bake my own. You don't do flour, do you?' Landlord described flour as 'like gold dust', at least in the context of their providers, but Debenham Housemate says they still have plenty at Sainsbury's, so I may get one or two more bags to replace the ones I've taken out of storage. Carbs may be your enemy in peacetime, but when you're trying to stretch out the calories, they go a long way ...

*Thoughtful and proactive sweetheart, social glue of various circles, patient and understanding balm for those who don't deserve it

19:17 GMT – 47 minutes after the start of dinner

OK, well that was a significant failure.

I joked a few entries ago about it being a long winter, but it's been interesting to observe how, physiologically at least, that's not actually far from the truth. Since getting back from Denmark and spending all day in a centrally heated house, mostly at my desk, my metabolism has fallen off a cliff and my appetite in tandem. I have a small bowl of something grainy for breakfast, one small plate of food for lunch, and sometimes am not even hungry for dinner; when I am, a bowl of soup is plenty. I am not a nap type of person, but have found myself drawn to bed for a couple of hours in the afternoon. To be fair, this may be to make up for sleep lost as housemates potter around till 11:30 most nights and I am still resolutely waking at 5:45 for some reason. I am feeling perfectly well, just very definitely in hibernation mode ... and why not? It might as well be winter on the farm in Saskatchewan. It would be a very comfortable way to doze away two months of lockdown, and goodness but it doesn't half stretch out the rations.

The trouble is, I have an awful lot to do, so burrowing down into happy dreamtime isn't really an option. I was hoping to be seeing the end of drawing roughs for Vol.1 by now, but for various reasons we still haven't left New Zealand, and I haven't drawn new pages since the beginning of March. Follow-up work for the Antarctica trip includes fun things like writing up blog posts, and less fun things like writing up my ACA report (due 1 May). There are two countries' tax records to be caught up. The ironic thing is that actual winter, with its short days and warm indoor light, puts me in the perfect headspace to do jobs like that, but the lengthening sunny days of March simply lull me to sleep.

I need to figure out a new routine, one which includes the daily government-sanctioned Outdoor Exercise. One of my problems is that everyone else in this area will be going down to Midsummer Common for the same thing, so to avoid people I'd have to get on my bike, and taking it out of the shed and through the house to the street is just enough of a faff that I'd be discouraged from doing it every day. Every time I do get out, I never regret it, and vow to do it more often, but that initial psychological hill is just that little bit too steep.

Well, it's about time for my bowl of soup so I will leave it there. I hope your respective metaphorical winters are cosy ones.

I gave up on finding some live yeast, so I decided to start some sourdough starter from scratch. I had never done this before, but these instructions made it look achievable. The only problem was, I needed some yoghurt. I didn't know what my chances were at Sainsbury's, but there's a Little Waitrose not far away and they don't mark up their dairy products too much. That part was fine, but I happened to end up in the checkout queue (at a safe distance!) behind a lady buying two carrier bags' worth of groceries on two different bills – I assume she was buying for people on lockdown.

The other benefit of going to Waitrose was I could circle back around via The Free Press, on the off chance there were any eggs to be had. There were! And they were so pleased I had brought my own carton as they had run out of their own. I asked further about how to order things and what was available: Most basic stuff, was the answer; if you ordered before 9 they would be there the next day, and they offered delivery service. I paid for the eggs, then remembered I also wanted to stock up on my favourite beer, so asked for three bottles. From the dark recesses of the pub a voice proclaimed 'They're 4 for 2!' which was impossible to refuse. I thanked them profusely for offering their service and wished them well before I clinked home. Besides egg baskets, they had run out of takeaway bags, so it sounds like business is doing OK. I hope they are allowed to continue.

Now I have everything I need to make perogies – they have gone from Eastern European peasant food to Canadian student food; one of the things I miss outside Canada is being able to find big bags of cheap frozen perogies at any supermarket. They are stodgy as anything and cheap as chips, so they should keep me going a long while. I will make them English by using Stilton (of which I have lots) instead of Cheddar (of which I have none) but that shouldn't damage them in any way. We are ready for winter.

The Prime Minister is addressing the public at 8:30 GMT, and is widely expected to be announcing stricter lockdown measures after a weekend of crowded parks and holiday destinations. Winter could be very long indeed.

UPDATE: Yup, we're on lockdown. Allowed out once a day for exercise, alone or with one's housemates, and for acquiring the bare necessities of food and medicine, but otherwise everyone is to stay indoors. Wellp! Here we go.

The great global lockdown is upon us, and various friends are making motions to restart their blogs, so I figured I might as well get on board and party like it's 2004 again. Before the everyday inanity starts, here is a rundown of events thus far:

I arrived in Denmark on March 7th, travelling via surface routes rather than flying from Stansted to Billund as I usually do. I have wanted to do this for years, but Ryanair was cheaper; however, the school has recently adopted a travel agent rather than booking travel themselves, and the agent does not work with Ryanair, so the usual route was no longer available. This meant I got to go on a ship! And then about seventeen trains through Holland, Germany, and Denmark – all told, about 24 hours in transit, but a good time except for having a cold.

The class was super talented and they really took on board what I delivered in my lectures, so I was looking forward to this being an exceptionally successful year ... until Denmark shut universities that Wednesday night. We were allowed back to the school Thursday to discuss plans and collect stuff to go home, but no classes. Despite only having two weeks' clothes and my laptop and tablet, I wanted to stay in my accommodation there rather than return home, but the very sensible administration instead bought me a plane ticket for that night, flying in to Heathrow. We planned to continue the class, to the extent possible, online. Before leaving, I stopped in at the local supermarket to buy my annual block of Danish yeast. There had been no panic buying – it was slightly more crowded than usual for a Thursday morning but the shelves were still fully stocked – however the yeast was cleaned out! It may have been a supply issue, but I like to think it's because the Danes have their priorities figured out, and if you're going to be stuck at home for an extended period of time, good bread is a bare essential.

Anyway, because I had used every mode of public transit through four European countries in the space of a week, I decided I ought to go into lockdown myself, just in case I was carrying something. Having eaten up most of my groceries in anticipation of being gone for a fortnight, I needed to do a little stocking up, so Friday morning (March 13th) I did a Sainsbury's run for some essentials. The pasta and tinned beans were gone, but I didn't need them; the rest of the store was fine, and surprisingly there was still ample supply of instant noodles. So far that's the only thing I wish I'd stocked up more.

Since then, aside from a brief excursion on Monday to see if the organic wholefoods shop had got their occasional Monday delivery of live yeast (no), I haven't left the house. Now, this is not an unusual circumstance for me – I spent most of my teenage years in my bedroom, and I'm sure there were weeks in the summer where I never left the house either. I find that a tiny bit of socialising is usually enough, and I rapidly reach my limit. I love teaching, and my classes are always full of excellent humans whose company I enjoy very much, but when I get back I have run out of words entirely and have to spend a week in seclusion just to let the well refill. So in that regard, situation normal.

The complicating factor here is that my housemates have been sent home from work, so instead of having the house to myself for most of the day, there are now people around, ALL THE TIME. I am reaching my social limit just hearing them bustling around and talking to each other and to other people on the phone, on top of the computer-based socialising I am doing with my class. I feel like the only person in the world who is suffering from too little isolation under quarantine, though I know there must be plenty more like me.

But there's nothing that can be done about it. I just have to put on my headphones and get on with things. Once upon a time I was very good at shutting out the world and living in my own little headspace. In recent years, though, I have made a conscious effort to be more sensitive to what's going on around me and more engaged with the real world. It has made me both a better artist and a better human, but at times like this I miss my pomelo-thick rind that nothing could penetrate. Maybe I just need to grow it again, like a dog grows their winter coat when the weather gets cold. It doesn't happen immediately but it will turn up in time.

Meanwhile I am contemplating strategies for how to cope with the new normal. One of them is to go on the night shift. I am by nature a night owl, but have somehow trained myself to be an early riser, as that enables me to do all my morning stuff and leave the house before the housemates start their morning routine (two people competing for the bathroom is more harmonious than three), and then I return when they've left for work. As newbie workers-from-home they are still at the 'roll out of bed at 9' phase, which is giving me a nice long lead-in to the day. However, being late risers, they are then up late, so my attempts to get an early night and sufficient sleep before an early start are not being met with much success. However, if I were to go to bed as they're sitting down to their work day, and rise at dinnertime, they could play their music until half midnight if they wanted to and it wouldn't bother me. I went nocturnal during the blazing hot Utah summers so am well practised at sneaking around in silence. I don't remember when I first read the diary of Anne Frank, but that and other Holocaust stories inspired a long-running fascination with how to live in hiding. I could never have expected to employ that practice in this context, but it will not go to waste!

There's a rather sweet little white cat who lives at the end of the road. When I am walking home of an evening, I often see her there, crouched under or beside a car, watching things go by, and we have a little mutually-beneficial petting session.

A couple months ago, I saw a 'lost' poster for her. It was a bit of a shock, but given that she always seemed anxious to cross the road that has buses and taxis hurtling down it, I regretted that the worst had probably happened, and that was that. But she was back again the following week, and I had her address.

Last night, she came to visit me. I heard a cat mewing and thought next door's had got locked out somehow. It kept going for a while, so I poked my head out the window and saw Little White Cat looking up at me. I came down and she wanted to come in, but after some reassuring scritches I picked her up and took her back home. Apparently she's rather devious and loves making new friends; her predecessor had gone calling at every house down the street, according to her owner. Probably when she got 'lost,' she had just moved in somewhere else.

It's been ages since I've had a cat, and I'm old enough now to know I probably shouldn't have one, but it's nice to have a cat friend in the neighbourhood who will go out of her way to say hi.