Saturday 25th April 2020

It's the weekend. Apparently.

I mean, who is actually keeping track of these things? I paid thirty quid for a calendar in December and the reality is that I needn't have turned over the page from March, as every day is the same. Nothing changes, except the weather gets better.

But, the radio insists it is Saturday and therefore the weekend.

The world has changed: you just can't turn up at the butchers and buy stuff, you have to call ahead, and they will get your order, then call you back for payment, then arrange a time to collect.

Which is why I was heading to Preston just after dawn, well, half seven, having supped my first coffee of the day, in order to pick up our order.

The boys are surviving: times are hard, and there is no point in pretending otherwise. But clear thinking has them keeping their heads above water, and so one hopes that Mark and the boys will always be there.

Traffic is amazingly light on the way. I mean, it would, but until you venture from the village do you see how empty the roads are. One car follows me to Eastry before turning off, I go on to Sandwich, then take the road to Canterbury before turning off again, and heading through the fruit fields to Preston, where I am the first customer.

But there is panic as they have to find my order among the dozens of bags of orders. After ten minutes they do find it, but I am not allowed in the shop, can't shake their hands, but we swap greetings and I hope things change soon for them.

I drive home, through non-existent traffic, back to Whitfield then down to the Duke of Yorks and back home.

A Tawny Owl sits on one of of the telegraph poles, doing his best buzzard impression, but there's no fooling me.

I unload the car, the leg of lamb is too big for the fridge, so instead of Sunday lunch it will be Saturday dinner. I weigh it: eight and three quarter pounds. That was one heck of a lamb!

The day was cold, cloudy and breezy; not the weather for a wander round looking for wild flowers. So we have breakfast; fruit followed by croissants and yet more coffee. Which was splendid.

There is the radio to listen to. Which is what we do.

We have rolls for lunch.

Then ice cream.

And more coffee.

I tot up the cooking time for the lamb, and I realise if we are going to eat before bed time, I needed to start preparing. I google recipes and cooking times, and soon I am making holes in the skin and inserting slices of garlic and sprigs of rosemary. I hope this will be worth it.

Then in the oven, and three hours and 50 minutes to wait.

And soon the smell appears. The aroma of roasting lamb. It is marvellous. Mixed in with garlic too. We have several hours to wait.

I boil some potatoes, mix up the batter for the Yorkshire puddings.

But this was to be an unusual roast, as the vegetables were to be stir fried, laced with chili balsamic vinegar. But I would also make gravy as the puddings would be too dry otherwise.

Half four and the meat is cooked. I cook the potatoes, bake the puddings and so the stir fry. Lastly make the gravy.

I dish up, Jools opens the chilled bottle of pink fizz and all is done to perfection. Needless to say there is more than enough meat for everyone. Well, us two.

Each bite of the lamb is the usual lamb flavour, mixed in with roast garlic and rosemary. It was wonderful stuff. Wouldn't have worked as a traditional roast, but clever me for realising that.

I even make the spare Yorkshire pudding vanish mopping it up with some gravy.

Lovely.

We should have watched Bosch in the evening, but I can't get into it. So Jools watches the new series of Killing Eve and I lay on the bed with Scully ready some more about growing up in the West Midlands in Broken Greek.

Another day draws to an end.