Columnist Di Wade writes about her week of discussing parallel universes, being cut off from her phone and internet and missing Line of Duty
I’m sure I was once advised that one should try everything at least once - apart from incest and Morris Dancing, which is fine by me - but does make me wonder as to the point of Mayday.
I mean, on Pancake Day one makes pancakes, over Easter one eats Easter eggs - and on August Bank Holiday one feels a sudden irresistible urge to get stuck in traffic - for hours on end while being sautéed to a crisp.
But Mayday? To me this says only getting up at 5am and prancing round a pole in a silly outfit. For which I’d at least want paying - and which essentially you can keep ... with bells on.
I shall not, however, be objecting to the month’s second bank holiday this year.
After a golden Easter on nothing but a bunch of walks on the prom and an Apostles Cake, I did the necessary for foreign travel with even less alacrity than usual.
Indeed, my opposition to preparations for going away was matched only by my disgruntlement on coming back again.
I know, there’s no pleasing some people.
I had after all just enjoyed ten days happy absorption in the culture, history and scenery of an engaging new land.
However, returning therefrom, to the regulation mountain of pizza and dry-cleaning ads, swamp of Facebook trivia and 49 cuttings off from my internet, if I didn’t immediately press 1, it just didn’t cut the Swedish meatballs somehow.
I said as much to a friend while contemplating a garden half dug up by a neighbouring cat.
‘Grumpy so and so’ she opined, through a mouth full of the sunflower seeds to which I should probably confine myself for the next six months.
She may have been right.
May 13: Rose especially blearily for work, to discover that my taxi company for the past nine years was folding.
In these cabs I’d discussed everything from parallel universes to bizarre experiments with oranges, and doubted any future drivers could be as good value.
May 14: Arrived home to my mum feverishly reporting phone fun to my answering-machine.
Three hours later we’d established that she could receive but not send texts, and receive landline calls, provided callers didn’t mind being cut off thrice a minute.
We’d also both lost the will to live.
May 15: Celebrated midweek by settling down to enjoy a recorded Line of Duty and Victoria - which had mysteriously become two unwanted Coronation Streets and a Trevor McDonald. Spent the rest of the evening researching I-player accounts.
May 16: Neighbour questioned why one should need an account, and bent my ear with tales of heinous scams.
May 17: Went for a lie-down in a darkened room reflecting that this time last week I’d been ordering a Rosé, from a waiter it turned out had actually been asking me what colour bread roll I wanted, and watching a Swedish sun’s descent in flames.
Perhaps the French Open can serve up something stirring.
Happy Bank Holiday.