It's been 12 weekends in the Confined Kitchen

Twelfth weekend of not-quite-but-basically lockdown. Goodness. That feels strange, still, although lockdown itself is now my base state for all things, and although more fundamental issues have finally started to make the news, the concept of change to this home-bound life is impossible. That taxi ride I took three weeks ago? Still by far the most daring adventure I've had since 18 March. But we've had some cheering things in the Confined Kitchen this week. Francesca has brought us a return to parties, Catherine promises picnics, Kate did some serious #BoredBaking, which never goes out of style, Ruth made elderflower booze, Sharon made sausage rolls and had our second ever-welcome takeaway. And me? I ate some excellent quick meals focused around fruit and veg (and a filthy miso mustard mayo that I'm still obsessed with).

Twelve weekends feels quite a lot. Three months, give or take. And I've definitely noticed a change in how I'm treating lockdown. I am nesting more - just finally put in an order for a yoga bolster and blocks because whenever we get back to studio I'm not sure we'll be there long term. I seriously want an office chair (I keep coming back to this yellow one), because however we go back I think I'm going to adopt working from home a day or two a week. Maybe I've acclimatised to my smug little I'm all right bubble, while the world outside is troubling. Or maybe this phase is not about what I actually think re the future of pandemic living and it's just because this is a terrible time to be a claustrophobe (do not ask me about supermarket panic attacks in masks), and it's also a terrible time to be prone to anxiety of any kind, because right now, everything outside feels new, and dangerous - claustro-agoraphobia? Even things I did every day in the Before Times are now unfamiliar. Do not want.

In less brain-focused, more practical news which militates against the smug bubble, then there's this, as well observed by Jonn Elledge: the little things that are just going wrong because nobody wants to invite people into their home for small things. I need a tooth checked (it was okay last time, and hasn't got worse, but there's a massive filling in it that *twinges* sometimes and I want to know annually that it's not festering). My kitchen sink taps still drip. My bathroom sink plug disintegrated early in lockdown and most if it fell down the pipe so now everything rattles every time I wash my hands (which is, needless to say, often). Luckily, I have no more sinks. My hair is no longer constrained by hairpins when I'm in down dog. And I've done so much yoga my wrists ache. Lockdown isn't all comfortable nesting.

But on the other hand, nesting. And getting very, very used to the delivery lifestyle. I've had tomatoes and asparagus. I've had cheese and I've had wine. (Not all this week.)

Then it was beautiful weather, it was June, it was summer, and it was chicken 'n' fish week in my planning calendar. And a voice spoke to me, through twitter, and it was Katie B's, and she said some time ago, "Cley Smokehouse does deliveries." Deliveries of stuff just ready to eat, no lunch planning required, from a fantastic small business and some local partners, who aren't getting the tourist trade tis year.

Reader, I got a delivery. I got such a delivery. I had to clear the ice, ice cream, frozen grapes and some of the peas out of my tiny freezer to make space for smoked prawns, duck breast, crab pate and gravlax. It's going to be a cracking summer, though I'm strategically planning what to eat so I can have ice for cocktail hour next week.

Right now as I'm drafting this post, it's 11 degrees and a north wind is gusting to 30mph (and coming through the sealed unit in my living room which also needs adjusting as the window no longer shuts). [Let the record show, by the time this was scheduled to post, we were in the middle of a serious cloudburst-slash-thunderstorm yay.] And I had a crab pate and asparagus lunch, while dinner's going to be fresh crab pasta with peas of various kinds. Before then, cocktails at 7 if you're around. Well, very cold white wine in my case. So summery, so ideal for June. It'll go beautifully with the crab.

Brrrrr. Keep warm. And cheers! We made it to a twelfth weekend. Slightly loopy and with deficient plumbing here, but we made it.