I’ve got my emergency chardonnay chilling in the fridge for lockdown 2.0

Restrictions will be both easier and so much more difficult the second time around. We should be thankful for the things we do have, writes Jenny Eclair

New lockdown restrictions are predicted in the UK (PA)

It’s hard to count your blessings right now, isn’t it? Once upon a time I used to have a joke in my stand-up set that went like this, “I tried to count my blessings but I only got to two and both of them were vodka”.

I actually don’t drink vodka any more, having long discovered that drinking spirits makes me shout at buses.

But as we seem to be sliding inexorably into a winter of some sort of non-specific lockdown, I am desperately trying to cling onto the things that make me feel good and I have to admit that a nice cold bottle of chardonnay is on that list. However, this time around, I know not to overindulge, because in my experience dealing with a pandemic and a hangover is to be avoided at all costs.

The other thing I know about lockdown number two is that I cannot afford to put on anymore Covid blubber, because if I do, I’m staring morbid obesity in the face, complete with triple chins and buying two plane seats, should I ever have the confidence to fly again. So, in order to avoid further pandemic paunchiness (as some of you will already know), I’ve downloaded the couch to 5k app and am now on week two of my nine-week schedule and due to be running my first 5k by the end of November. That’s presuming, of course, that I don’t trip up over a shoelace and break both my legs or choke on my own “joggers smugness”.  

At least having been through the lockdown rigmarole before, this time we can really prepare for it. I’ve already started compiling lists of films and TV series in my "Covid telly” notebook for when the dark nights close in. Seriously, they really couldn’t have timed the new series of The Great British Bake Off any better, roll on Strictly and by the way that Netflix movie, Enola Holmes about Sherlock Holmes’ little sister looks rather appealing. Who cares if it’s for kids? Fresh meat is fresh meat and woman cannot live by Selling Sunset alone. Oh, and because I’m stilling missing The Sopranos, I’ve subscribed to the Talking Sopranos podcast, which will hopefully get me a through a few miserable rainy jogging sessions.

Hobby wise, I’ve stocked up on a fresh set of acrylic paints, tons of paper and a new tapestry to keep me going when I can’t concentrate to write. In any case, with money being tight this year, it’s going to be a very homemade Christmas. If families can’t mix and parcels have to be posted rather than handed over in person, I’m so going to miss my brother’s disappointed little face when he opens yet another dodgy Eclair painting or his third tapestry cushion.

When it comes to moods, I know what’s coming, there will be good days and bad and the occasional afternoon in bed. I also know that Zoom can be brilliant but that Zoom family quizzes can lead to storming off screen scenes.

As for cooking, there are many things I learned during spring lockdown that I can put into practice during lockdown two. For starters, I can make a brilliant risotto with mere scraps from the fridge, catering sized jars of chilli sauce are available to purchase online and making sourdough is more trouble than its worth.

Second time around, I also feel a little bit more knowledgeable about the disease itself, which is both a blessing and a curse, because while I don’t fear my own coronavirus-related death as much as I did six months ago, I’m now much more aware and scared of getting long-term Covid-19 and being debilitated and medically fobbed off for months on end.

I also know that while latex gloves aren’t really necessary, the boxes I’ve still got stashed in the hall cupboard will come in handy should the old man have to reopen his kitchen salon and start home bleaching my hair again.

In fact, most of the lockdown stuff I can handle, only this time around I’m going to be doing it without my mother on the other end of the phone. June is now in a nursing home, staff members willingly take an extension line to her, but she gave up on her mobile yonks ago and no longer has her own personal direct line.

This, more than anything breaks my heart, I’ve also been informed by the home that, in line with local restrictions, outside visits are no longer operational. However, I am allowed to wave through the window from the front garden. As it’s a 500-mile round trip from London, I’ve decided that in order to make any visits worthwhile, I may have to do an interpretive dance on the lawn in a spandex one piece. Although on second thoughts, do I really want my size 14 middle-aged lady Pan’s People meets the Teletubbies routine to upset my mother any more than she already is? Oh God, excuse me while I check there’s some chardonnay in the fridge.