It’s been a while since I wrote anything and it appears that lockdown 54 has not inspired the creative side in me very much.

As the house became a prison once again I’ve found myself revisiting my role as deputy warden trying to merely assist the governor (sorry mummy) in controlling the population and preventing the riots of 2020 repeating themselves.

Our one year old remains a babbling hoover and no item of food is safe in the hands of anyone. She is however now a walking hoover, and although this means the threat is ever greater she’s certainly lost the element of surprise. The samurai scream as she charges towards you all but makes sure of that.

Our 4 year old is now ready for parole and itching to get back to school, I dread to think what the playground will have in store after 300 cooped up children are let loose and out from their shackles.

Apparently this will all be coming to a slow and meandering end soon but I won’t be counting my chickens yet. Especially because my ‘daily exercise’ at the minute is amassed entirely of cleaning a chickens shitty behind. Yes that’s right it appears even the chickens have begun their own protest.

I suppose atleast it’s ten minutes spent cleaning it instead of listening to it on the news..