"Hey guys...I have some exciting news!" I say over dinner.
I have cooked us some full meat mince and some pretend mince (Quorn) to see if they spot the difference and wedged them into taco's with fresh guacamole, a home-made salsa and some tabasco on the side.
"Or do you?" says Caitlin.
"In actual fact - for once - I do!" I say whole heartedly. "For I have received a call from the Doctors and..."
"You're going to die?" says Caitlin.
"No,"
"You're stupid?" she says.
"No - your Dad is going to get his covid jab on Monday!" I feel quite emotional. You see the little chart on the tv and Bojo Gummidge or his minion Matt Hand-cock-n'balls-it-up telling us the jab will save us. But you don't believe it will ever amount to anything other than a pretty little line on an excel chart in Downing street. But no! It's actually happening to me - now! So this is good news.
"But dad," - says Fintan. "I thought they were only doing band 6 now and the over 70s?"
"Yeah - you are younger than mum. So why are you getting it before her?" says Declan, weighing in.
This is a great point and one I like to make very often - at least each Sunday before dinner when Frank Sinatra sings "You make me feel so young...because you are so old and dumb..." (Note - this is only because "Young" scans so well with "dumb" - Sarah is not dumb, except for the bit where she married me!).
"Well apparently kids. I am in group 6 - I asked if it was a mistake but apparently it is not."
We google the list of reasons for being in group 6 and read them out:
"Have you ever had an organ transplant dad?" they ask.
"Nope - just the brain...nothing important..."
"A neurological condition? Arthritis? Lupus? Dementia..."
"a BMI above 40?...mentally ill....chest complaint?"
"Hmmmm...." I say and we calculate that I would need to weigh about 30 stone to hit that sort of BMI.
"So dad...we think it's cos you are fat and stupid...that's why you are getting it..." and Caitlin and the boys burst into hysterics.
I call a friend who is in the NHS and she explains there is a fancy algorithm identifying fat stupid middle aged dads through-out the country for just this occasion. But I should take it, as cleverer people than me (basically two years olds plus) have spent alot of time on it. I agree.
I have the jab and feel mildly euphoric afterwards in the Church car park. I am being jabbed in St.Colomba's church hall where our children have had leaving parties for the end of their time at St Werburgh's and Christmas parties and disco's. Opposite is the church where I've sat numb-bummed and singing along to nativities and celebrations. It feels totally surreal seeing a masked up army of volunteers leading us through our Jab process. We head in one door and come out via the fire exit - reborn and jabbed up.
Later I feel like total shit. About 12 hours later in the dead of night, I am shaking and feverish and my head is banging. I wake up the next day feeling like I drank twenty tequila slammers and lost a bar fight with Tyson Fury. This is like the worst case of man flu ever. I moan a bit and take a tonne of pain killers. Luckily no-one really lets me operate a plane or a JCB, so I can ride it out behind my PC.
I am better after 36 hours but milk it for as long as humanly possible. My manly moans gain no traction with anyone in the family. I am gutted.
Earlier in the lockdown - the darkness is really starting to piss me off. Lockdown with sunshine is one thing. Lockdown in the freezing bloody cold and total darkness most of the time is a total pain in the arse. I don't think Caitlin felt actual sunshine on her skin for about a month. We all have a serious case of sun and fun deficiency! This is what it must be like to get stranded in pack ice on a ship on an Arctic voyage. With no hope of rescue. Forever. Combined with homeschooling and 5 of us on the internet trying to make work calls, log in to live maths lessons, biology lessons etc - it has its challenges. And when Captain Tom died - well that was just double shit.
The family pass like ships in the night. We leave our various dens once in a while for tea, coke, Jaffa cakes, pickled gherkins and beetroots (I recently had what can only be confused with pregnancy pangs for these food items during lockdown) to return once more to our workplace. Tied to the bloody laptops.
Caitlin can at least jump up and down on the couch during her school day and employs this as a useful learning technique.
The highlights are:
1. The night it snowed and we all went lockdown crazy, ran outside, kids in PJs and coats and had a massive snowball fight. Obviously a socially distanced snowball fight involving no one at all except ourselves who live in a street like Diagon Alley in Harry Potter. We were basically cloaked from all the usual muggles who never noticed the massive snowball fight outside. Guvner. I believe a police force somewhere in the midlands actually tweeted a warning for throwing snowballs. Snowballs! The only snowball that should be banned are the ones containing advocaat and gin.
2. Midway through February, my hair reaches "Peak Big" and goes beyond all hair tolerance limits that have been set for my thatch. It is at this point that Sarah calms her nerves with a large glass of red and begins to attack the Einstein thatch. I quickly become impatient and take over and totally ignore whatever Sarah is telling me. I head to the mirror and begin to use the clippers myself.
"Jesus - are you sure about this setting?" I ask as big lumps of my hair shred off onto the bathroom floor.
"Did you not listen at all Tom! I remove the guard - it's on the default setting - one!" she shouts over to me.
"Oh crap," I say, realising that I have done a Shaun the Sheep on one section of my head. It does look somewhat bald.
"Why didn't you tell me?!" I shout from the bathroom. Shout communication is a highly recommended form of family communication.
"I did you idiot!" she says.
"Ooops....well - no-ones gonna see me so what does it matter?" I conclude and continue with the clipper settings moved up a notch. It's quite difficult clippering in a mirror. I struggle a fair bit and decide to leave a "fuller" aspect to my upper head area (these are very technical hairdressy terms - I will explain down the pub in real life at some point). So now I have lost my 1980s Bon Jovi Mega Mullet and gained a bouffant blob. Niiiiice.
3. My worst Covid habit: I begin to wake the kids up each morning for their remote school lessons by calling their mobile phones. Actual shouting does not work on kids. They are immune to the voice pitch of all parents. However, they can be fooled by using an app or mobile technology. Haaa - who's the fool now?!?! I still try an old school "Ahhh Zawinga" Lion King intro once in a while as I fling open the curtains...but my heart's just not in it!
4. We did go to the shops and pick up some sunflower seeds in March - so my main highlight has been watering the random seeds with Caitlin and wondering what the hell will grow in the summer. I'll keep you posted - Life is pretty crazy in lockdown.
5. I also buy some Calor gas and feel like a proper dad when the guy hands me the actual keys to the Calor Gas Lock-up. For a brief minute I take on board the unique responsibility placed in my hands. Take out a new Calor gas bottle and add my own old one (by the way - there is a total shortage of gas bottles right now). Then re-padlock the locker and return the key to the shop. If this was a zombie apocalypse would I have been so civil? Would he have been so trusting? I try to explain this hypothetical conundrum to Caitlin but she is more interested in the pack of fruit pastilles I got her.
6. We painted a potato to look like Pikacchu for World Book Day. Is this a low or a high point or have we just embraced this new Covid reality? Either way - Pikapotato hasn't spread any arms yet or rotted at all. He's still chilling happily on the table tennis table waiting for a game I think...
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