M-m-m-my Corona part 2.

 

 “How long now?”
“Third week for me”.
“And you’re already talking to yourself?”
“No, I've been doing that for years”.

I seem to be in competition with myself as to how much coffee I can drink. I won’t win. Nobody I know drinks more coffee than me these days. Does anyone remember “Camp Coffee”? It was a brown liquid; something to do with chicory essence. No doubt more chicory than coffee. It had a “faithful servant” Sikh soldier on the label, waiting on the needs of his Scottish Major, a Gordon Highlander. (Maybe he was a “camp” soldier?) Anyway, it would have been the Gordon Highlander name that got it into our house. I was practically breast fed on “Camp" because of the kilt on the label. It was only going to be a matter of time before I hit the harder stuff.

You know how the 20th century actually started in 1914? And, on a smaller scale, the sixties in 1963? Or perhaps you don’t. Well, it feels like the 21st century has gotten underway. Twenty years after Tony Blair’s silly Millennium Tent; nine later than the loss of the Twin Towers. Remember what Jack Harkness said: “The 21st Century that’s when it all began”. Welcome.

Today I donned my purple surgeon’s gloves, pulled a scarf up over my face, and joined the line of Sainsbury’s shopping trolleys. Police tape on the ground measured out the distance between each customer, as limited numbers were allowed to enter the store. I felt and looked like a cross between Claude Rains' Invisible Man and the Lone Ranger. Have to confess, in a “dark” sort of way it was quite humorous.

Seeing anyone cough or sneeze now, is a bit like that moment in a soap opera or movie when you think “that’s it, they’re going to be written out of the script”.

White oil paint has become the new toilet roll in terms of rarity, at least that’s what it seemed like trying to purchase some Titanium White on the ‘net today. Maybe everyone is doing what I’ve been doing: Locking myself away and painting. I still have a long since unfinished plastic pollution painting, which I’ll get around to during the months of confinement ahead. Today I re-arranged my laptop and easel for maximum efficiency, enquired about a new place I might want to move to, ate far too many chocolate bourbons, and got news that relatives in London have sore throats. It’ll be fine.

 All text copyright Ian Gordon Craig.

#animalmarch 2020

 

 Animal March was a Twitter art challenge.

All text, pros, poetry & artwork, copyright Ian Gordon Craig. Gordon Craig.

M-m-m-my Corona part 1.

 

 

This pandemic is going to be around for a LONG time, isn’t it? One is reminded of the “over by Christmas” promises of a century ago. I very much doubt we’ll reach any such deadlines.

I was out shopping this morning. The first Sainsburys I went to had a long equidistant line of supermarket trolleys around the car park, monitored by security guards. Deciding to drive to an alternative Sainsbury’s slightly nearer home, I found I could walk straight in and purchase pretty much anything I liked, in moderation. The petrol station at the end of my road has a floor to ceiling toilet roll display. In a crisis, toilet rolls always become a kind of currency in the UK.

I have enough stuff, for now. Probably more tins of beans and macaroni cheese than I’ve ever eaten in my life, but also a good stock of fresh fruit and veggies for my morning blender. (Can’t cook won’t cook). And vitamin pills.

Obviously, I’m spending time making art. I think I started on this self-isolation malarkey back in 1960. My favourite childhood weekend activity was setting out with a home-made sketchbook and an improvised specimen box for the pheasant feathers and owl pellets I collected along the way, all then to be studied and sketched beside a strictly out of bounds deer hut. No such opportunity at present. Over these past two days the sunshine brought to mind all the places I like to go sketching but can’t visit, as scenic estates and attractions across the county are understandably shut down. No complaints.

Yesterday, as I stood on my doorstep nursing my usual morning coffee, a peacock butterfly came past and settled down on the sunlit path. It seemed so out of place.

All text & artwork, copyright Ian Gordon Craig.