when a tanner was a thing

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You would be forgiven for believing that spring has arrived in Lincoln. The sun is shining, the birds are chirruping away and life is good. Spring is uplifting. Funny how different a day today is compared with yesterday. Yesterday we needed to deck ourselves out like Nanuk of the North to go out on our walk. The cold was bitter. Today I have the doors to the shed open and am listening to the avian chorus.

You do have to ask yourself why birds such as blackbirds and robins don’t bugger off south for the winter. Presumably they think there is enough grub around and like the miserable weather. It’s not as if they are wage slaves and have a mortgage to pay. Perhaps they can’t fly as far as swallows, to mention a known migratory bird:)

The day, however, has flown by. I nipped out at lunchtime to get a few bits and bobs but my time, after the usual slow monday morning start, has been occupied with conference calls and contracts, marketing discussions and sales meetings. Commerce. Also noted that a new booking came in for Anne’s Vans. The day of the vintage VW campervan has arrived. Rock on.

At five thirty twilight is just upon us. I have not yet changed the shed lighting to night time mood mode. In order to do this I would have to get up out of my chair. The whole world is pretty much controllable from the chair. Changing the lights is not on the list. It is something I could work on but frankly my dear I don’t give a damn. Other things take priority: World peace, the eradication of disease, saving the planet. Miracles we do at once. The impossible takes a little longer. Yanow.

Today, it would seem, is the 50th anniversary of decimalisation in the UK. I remember it well. I don’t recall whether it had any effect on me. My pocket money had previously been 3d although I think that by the time of decimalisation it might have gone up to a tanner. What would have happened to my pocket money. There was no coin equivalent to sixpence in new money. I could ask my dad but I doubt that was his department. It was such a long time ago he wouldn’t remember anyway. I don’t.

It’s dad’s birthday coming up. 87. There isn’t much you need at 87. Chocolates, biscuits and beer. That’s what I’ve got him although I need to figure out the beer bit as he lives in Cardiff and I won’t want to send that in the post. Deliveroo maybs. Or just ask Sue to drop some off. 

We can’t visit yet. He is in an “assisted living” facility as they call them these days. It’s quite a poshun but that’s all well and good. I’m sure he would give up a bit of poshness for some time outside the jailhouse bars. At the risk of over melodramatizing the sitch with the isolation rules we have in place it feels almost as if a lot of innocent and vulnerable people in our society are gazing through their prison bars at a world outside. Everything you hear about in the media is true. The effects will last long. Dad has a device called the GrandPad with is an iPad type tablet designed for the “older user” so we are able to have frequent video calls but it definitely is not the same as being there in person.

When he was with us over Christmas I’d have to help him up from the sofa. I’d always have a cuddle at that point. It’s making me smile as I remember it. Dad was a scrum half and a cricketer in his youth and when I was growing up we would play golf every week. Now he has Parkinsons’ Disease and has lost his strength. Moving into a care home where he can have his everyday needs attended to was essential for dad’s wellbeing but it would have been massively better had we been able to visit him. He has been caught at the wrong time in a situation totally beyond his control

We now look forward to the day when we can head down to Cardiff and go for beers with dad in the Robin Hood pub which amazingly is only about 100 yards from where he lives. On the subject of beer I am about ready for a night on the piss with the lads. I suspect the 6 nations will have finished before the pubs reopen.

To change the subject completely tonight we are having baked potatoes with baked beans. Can’t eat posh stuff every night innit. In fact in the past when I’ve been doing a lot of business travel “posh food” is something that you quickly tire of and you hanker after beans on toast or similar.

Published
Categorised as Lockdown 2

By Trefor Davies

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