Our writers Rosie Paterson and James Fisher — who have both, one way or another, ended up alone for the duration — are sharing slices of their lives.
Up until now they've ranked musical instruments (and not in a good way), mused over mysteries, shared tales of curious robins, video chat and little old ladies winching shopping through windows.
They've even gone slightly bonkers and started writing themselves letters. Catch up with all their previous entries here.
| I’m back in London. It’s a boring, but essential, story involving a plumbing emergency and some missing internet banking details. My first 24 hours back in the capital were discombobulating. (I’ve been waiting years for a suitable sentence to use that word in. Turns out it took a global pandemic.) For space-short, green-starved Londoners, social distancing is more of an aspiration than a way of life. But it isn’t living and walking in such close proximity to other humans that’s confused me. It is the total lack of change. In Devon, the landscape was in a constant state of flux. It gently transformed with every rising and setting of the sun; it pulsed with life both long and short. It had completely changed by the time I had to leave, nine weeks after arriving. In London, everything was precisely how I’d left it. It is, I’ve realised, a season-less city. Leaves are swept up as soon as they hit the pavement; flowerbeds are maintained and manicured year-round and anything that cannot survive the harsh, urban conditions is quickly replaced (I’m still talking about plants here, I think…) The London I love — the galleries and restaurants, the constant state of anticipation — doesn’t exist right now. And in this absence of culture, London’s shortcomings are laid bare. There are, of course, two sides to every story and upsides aplenty. On Sunday, central London was empty and mine for the taking. I wandered through sun-dappled streets, admiring, for the first time the factory-style casement windows in Soho and the handsome dark brick facades in Fitzrovia. Outside a pretty home, on a street behind Hyde Park I’d never imagined was home to anything but offices, a Voss’s laburnum left untended (a rare exception) to bloom in all it’s sunshine glory and trail yellow petals across the pavement like confetti. Its only companion a proud-looking 1960’s Rolls-Royce Silver Shadow. I can tell you where all the other cars are: taking part in a great exodus from city to countryside. I journeyed eastwards just before the Government’s relaxation of lockdown rules, in a small peloton all terrified to drive above 70mph or overtake one another.We needn't have worried. Not because there weren't plenty of police around (there were) but because they were too busy being distracted by the masses travelling in the opposite direction — towards the sea, and freedom.I've no doubt many of them had good reason to be on the A303. Others, not so much — particularly not the couple with a giant canoe on their roof rack. I only wish I could have heard what they said when trying to explain that one away to the officers of the law... | Row 0 - Cell 1 | Did you know that a wineglass floats? Even when it’s full of red wine? And that after two minutes of bobbing around your knees, said wine will be at perfect drinking temperature? It’s little revelations like these that can only take place in the bath, my amphitheatre of emotion. The bath is good. It’s a good place that I have neglected, frankly, for too long. ‘Who has the time for a bath?’ I would say to myself, before a nasty little virus annihilated what I used to call a ‘social life’. I’m a fool. A moron. The bath is king. Can I fit in the bath? Not totally. Is this relevant to the story? Not at all. Time is a luxury, we are told, and if that’s true, then I’m drowning in it. I have the time to write this column. I have the time to weed the garden. I have the time to finally watch Breaking Bad (will I watch Breaking Bad? No. But I could). As the red wine bobs, I have the time to sit in the bath and stop and think. In a gingerbread world, is a man made of house, or is the house made of man? If everyone, everywhere experiences something, do any of us experience anything at all?Why are some horses called grey when they are clearly white? It feels like we’re constantly forced to think of the positives. ‘Think of the positives!’ howls Doris next door, barely audible over the sound of her smashing two pans together to prove that it is she who cares about the NHS the most. ‘Think of the positives!’ your liver and bank balance cry out in unison, as the pubs and clubs remain shuttered. Okay, okay! Please, just put the Le Creuset down Doris. Living in London is a busy life, of constant rushing and panic and missed trains and doors closing just as you reach them and, sorry, what? This beer costs how much?In a way, it’s nice not to worry about it anymore. I feel relief. The endless panic of living in a city such as this may feel inescapable, but it’s of our own creation. Stop, breathe, take a bath. I have time, and that is a positive. What is more positive, however, is that I now know that I always had time. Unless you want to do a virtual quiz. Then, sorry, I’m busy. Probably in the bath. |
Credit: Debby Lewis-Harrison / Cultura / Getty
Rosie and Jim: 'I have baked myself out of my jeans'
Have our correspondents reached the peak? More like the trough.
Credit: Alamy Stock Photo
Rosie and Jim: The instruments your neighbours are learning, ranked from pleasant ditty to audible hatecrime
This week, Rosie gives an eyeful to the neighbours she'd assumed didn't exist, while James gets an earful from the
Rosie and Jim: On binge-watching Normal People, and discovering that 'running is pain'
This week, Rosie Paterson fails to tear herself off the sofa just as James Fisher finally stirs from his.
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Rosie and Jim: 'I’m fairly sure the elderly lady with excellent hair doesn't usually winch her shopping up through a second floor window'
Country Life's Rosie Paterson and James Fisher are, separately, in isolation at opposite ends of the country.
Rosie and Jim: 'The robin has probably been here for years; I’ve only just noticed him. He’s probably as curious as I am'
Country Life's Rosie Paterson and James Fisher are — as we all are — in isolation, entirely alone except for
Rosie and Jim: 'You’re stuck/safe in one of the UK’s most beautiful swathes of countryside, so give thanks and get outside'
It's not just flour and toilet roll that's hard to get hold of during lockdown; it seems that paragraphs are
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Rosie and Jim: 'Mungo could either be a 12ft python trying to devour the cat, or a six-year-old child with his hand in the cookie jar, and everything in between'
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Rosie and Jim: The time I bought a house that came with a 'free' catThis week, there's an editorial health warning on Rosie's column for those suffering from SAD, while James tells a delightful tale of an unexpected lodger who he found in
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Rosie and Jim: Spectacular nature, bitter cold, fantastic parties and the utter misery of flu — the love/hate affair with AutumnRosie and Jim just can't agree on autumn — and the division is so deep that they can't even agree on whether to capitalise it.
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Rosie and Jim: 'Some things have longevity, but it feels like maybe this pandemic isn’t one of them'Our columnists take a break from worrying about their domestic situations to ponder Venice's empty canals, melancholy reminiscence and the debate over who struts better: Mick Jagger or Nick Cave.
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Rosie and Jim: 'They realise there’s no Uber, the postcode takes you into the middle of a muddy field and the local Waitrose is 600 miles away. Then they come straight back again.'Our columnists are back and have been finding somewhere to live, with wildly varying degrees of success.
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Country Life's top 10 blogs and columns of 2020, from wise owls to the invention of toilet paperYou'll scratch your chin, nod in recognition and quite probably chuckle out loud at the most-read columns from the Country Life website this year.
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Rosie and Jim: 'Why was I always so busy? How did I cope when I wasn’t busy at all?'Our writers come to the end of lockdown, one with a Zen-like sense of acceptance, the other with a trip to Italy. We know which we'd rather copy (sorry James).
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Rosie and Jim: 'I did not miss this. I did not miss the pain'This week, the phrase 'be careful what you wish for' comes back to bite both of our corona-correspondents.
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Rosie and Jim: The 10 rules of throwing the perfect beach picnic (N.B. You're going to need a unicorn)This week, Rosie shares a series of tips which in now way reflect bitter personal experiences, while James reminds us all to take care of ourselves, and each other.
