This week has been less of the ‘Dunkirk spirit’ and more of the ‘Dunnowhatdayitisanymore Spirit’. I have recurring nightmares involving me, my nightwear and a desperate attempt to get the bins out before missing the collection. Not only does my brain no longer recognise the difference between Monday and Thursday, it can’t seem to find where I put things either. My initial joy at finally being less stressed out has waned as I become increasingly annoyed with myself for not being able to remember anything. The old grey cells appear to have gone into lockdown.

In my attempts to keep the synapses sparking, I have decided to spread jobs out over the weeks ahead instead of doing everything at once. My to-do list which includes grooming two very hairy woofers, Googling Winnebago sellers, cleaning the outdoor furniture to pack away, washing the bifold door windows (this is not an enjoyable task, I have yet to find a product that doesn’t leave smears), retrying the false nail thing and fixing my front tooth. The last two operations have already been attempted once and whilst I have come to the conclusion that I will never be a dental or nail technician, they are necessary and lengthy practices. My first go at cementing my front tooth back in place ( one should not use one’s teeth to open a plastic seal ) went well until I discovered that the instructions said nothing about not eating Doritos after fixing. Thankfully there are 3 vials of cement, the manufacturer’s idea of 3rd time lucky me thinks. As for the nails, gel is much more difficult than acrylic let me tell you although mercifully easier to get off. Still both jobs entertained my stress molecules for a good few hours yesterday especially when I couldn’t find where I had hidden my tooth and the corresponding vials and who knew nail polish was basically impossible to get off anything that isn’t a nail?

At least the weather has started to recognise the seasonal calendar. However, the lack of noise that normally comes with a sunny day in London is eerie. Not that I like listening to other people’s ideas of volume control on their music systems whilst they wait at the traffic lights but it is something one gets used to. The same goes for screaming kids and the smell of BBQ’s and I kind of miss them. As I tap the keys of my beloved Macbook with my no nail nails, something else has grabbed me. My dogs are quiet. There isn’t anything to bark at. They are sprawled out in the Sunday sun perfectly content with life as it is, I mean it’s not as though they have to plan their days or even remember what a Monday after Sunday feels like. Right now, I don’t suppose I need to either except when the bins need to go out…

“The dog lives for the day, the hour, even the moment.” (Robert Falcon Scott)

Well, we’ve managed to get through the first week of lockdown without any major issues thus far. I did managed to dislodge my root canal, tooth cement on its way thanks to Amazon (who knew they sold this stuff and filling sets too!) and remove a thumb nail but otherwise things are relatively calm at chez knollys. I took a chance and pootled off to Sainsburys earlier in the week, I have to admit I thoroughly enjoyed the serene glide of socially distance trolleys and lack of screaming toddlers. No red wine though unless you wanted to pay twenty times your normal budget for a bottle of Merlot. Aside from such essential shopping, the daily dog walk has been our only trip out in the community. We are taking self-isolating seriously.

For someone who has spent so many years chasing the clock and appearing to thrive on being a control addict, the enforced down time has had an unexpected consequence. I still keep a routine, I think for all of us this is important especially if you are used to having one. I walk the dogs every morning even if it means battling the new swarm of pests called joggers ( social distancing doesn’t seem to apply to the swift of foot), I do my yoga every day and continue my French lessons online. Being one with a slightly elevated cleaning obsession means that the house, I hope, is well sparkly. Yet, it’s the lack of work stress that has had the biggest effect on my physical and mental health. Between the hours spent actually talking on the phone and not texting and discovering new video apps allowing me to have a virtual houseparty with the girls, I have pondered over jigsaw puzzles and warred with the NY Times Spelling Bee (very addictive). And I can feel my body and mind relax. I’m sleeping better for the first time since Tony died, I’m eating healthier and not reaching for the glass of wine as soon as the clock strikes 6 p.m. The dogs seem calmer too, although this is very subtle when it comes to Arry naturally but they are definitely responding to my change of mood. As someone who is self-employed and supposed to be moving across the pond, I surprise myself with my ‘que sera sera’ mindset.

I make it a point never to read the papers and ignore those pessimistic posts on social media. I’m determined to remain one of those who looks at life through a filled glass. Yes, it may take months for this insidious infection to leave our planet but there is little point in being dour about it. I’m going to take this time whilst it’s available to take a step back and look at what’s most important. And I hope once this is all over, I continue to ring friends and family instead of messaging and I remember how grateful my mind and body have been because I have taken the time to calm down. I wrote a blog last year in which I suggested we should be ‘more dog’, living in the present rather than worrying about what the future entails. WE WILL get through this and I WILL get to France, it just might take a little longer than planned. In the meantime, there’s always a phone call, a jigsaw piece or a French verb that needs me….

“Outside of a dog, a book is man’s best friend. Inside of a dog it’s too dark to read.” (Groucho Marx)

Despite the emotional traumas the last few years have dealt us, we are some of the luckier ones at the moment. We have a house, a garden, food in the fridge, wine in the rack and 5 toilet rolls. And the dogs. In times when we are advised to keep our social distance, the dogs are blissfully unaware of the global crisis and collectively expect regular tummy rubs. As I look out into the garden from my writing spot, I can see spread eagled woofers enjoying the much- needed sunshine. For them, life goes on as normal. When it comes to Postive Mental Attitude, we can learn a lot from our dogs.

In these ‘unprecedented’ times, a word that no government official can resist using at least 20 times in any interview, ways to occupy our brains and body are needed. In my case, desperately. Over the last couple of weeks, I have come to realise just how difficult I find not being busy which is amusing since I had made the decision to retire from training because I wanted to slow down and take things easy. Since I have never been good at watching anything on TV that lasts more than an hour and there is only so much cleaning and yoga a body can take, I have to find more constructive ways of keeping mind and body healthy. So here’s what I have failed at so far;

1. Cooking. Nearly set the kitchen on fire yesterday when I turned the wrong hob on and the oven gloves set on fire.
2. Packing. I’ve packed so much away that the stuff that could keep me occupied is now in a box buried somewhere in the garage.
3. Doing my own nails. Since the salons are all closed, I bought all the stuff to put my own false nails on. It’s taken me 2 days to to get the cement off my nails and unglue my fingers.
4. Gardening. Weeding is a necessary practice when gardening until you stick your hands into a bunch of stinging nettles.

Despite the above, life isn’t all stings and mishaps. Thankfully I have found some jigsaw puzzles not yet packed and of course I have my daily French lesson online. My girlfriends and I have decided that as we can’t meet up, we should have a virtual night out via Skype and Whatsapp. Gossip and giggles hold back for no-one! And I ring people and they ring me. Taking the dogs for their usual early morning exercise is relatively easy in as far as social distancing goes as Arry seems to have that effect on most people under normal circumstances and the park is still muddy. It’s a bit strange seeing so many joggers out and people walking without dogs but these are of course, unprecedented times.

I’m generally a positive person and in spite of the need to relieve boredom, I’m going to stay that way. I don’t read the papers and definitely not the doom and gloom on social media. And I’ll get to France at some point in the not too distant future. I did consider buying a Winnebago the other evening if I can’t get get there at the end of April, now that would be a great book. “The Widow plus Woofers and a Winnebago”. Keep safe out there everyone and above all, keep your distance.

“Scratch a dog and you’ll find a permanent job” (Franklin P. Jones)

Surprisingly I managed to get out and meet up with friends for dinner this week. With the number of social and work cancellations ongoing, it was a nice change to actually sit down with someone other than Callum. Equally remarkable was the number of people in the bar and restaurant going about their greetings in much the same way as they had always done. No elbow bumping here. Of course, the table conversation started with Corona chat but thankfully turned to more interesting reminiscences. I have to admit though, I wasn’t that immune to the media verbals and drove rather than take the Tube. My excuse was being able to hand over a load of dog crates to Mark, one more declutter done.

Speaking of decluttering, we’ve made great in roads in packing. I have to admit I was extremely relieved when I saw the last lot of books taped away and who knew we had so many CD’s? The annexe looks like a warehouse right now. I have tried to be brutal about what gets boxed and what gets chucked but it isn’t easy when you find an old album in cassette form that you remember dancing to with your hubby. Thankfully we still have an audio system which includes a cassette player as well as a record player which will be wrapped safely along with its music. The removal company might need to bring their super-sized lorry for this lot. At least I’m less attached to most of the furniture, the daily ‘pick up’ anything that’s left outside the front gate seems to be working well.

The box thing has had a weird effect on the dogs. Simi is definitely uncomfortable about the whole thing but that might just be because I’m constantly disturbing her sleep time. The smallies tend to hide, perhaps in case I accidentally pack them but Arry sees the whole thing as a chance to stick his nose in. I have managed so far to stop him from ripping up cardboard. Note on dogs; they are wonderful company when the world self-isolates but the conversation is a bit one way.

With all the daily dour news, I have had lots of conversations with friends concerned that I might not make it out. To be honest, I’m not worried. Yet. As far as I’m aware, the solicitors are carrying on as normal and apart from needing a few bits from me, no-one has raised the issue. So I’m going to just keep filling boxes and stay positive. After all, I am leaving the UK on a one way ticket. I might pack a few loo rolls in case I have to bribe border control though…..

“when a man’s best friend is his dog, that dog has a problem” (Edward Abbey. Author)

Since my departure time from this here mud island draws ever closer, my social diary is becoming somewhat crowded. That old saying ‘ you don’t know what you’ve got ’til it’s gone’ certainly rings true when it comes to friends. Whilst I have no doubt many will be regular visitors to chez maison a la France, it’s not like they can pop on the bus for a catch up over a glass or three of Pinot. I can’t say I’ll miss that much about London town except perhaps my Oyster card. I’m so glad I gave up the dating scene, the current fashion trend of soggy raincoat and wellies is matched by my besties.

Dogs don’t judge and give unconditional love to those they share their life with. So they say. Personally I think my woofers judge me a little too much and the biscuit jar seems to hold their affections as much if not more than I do at times. As a friend however, the above is exactly what is needed when life throws lemons at you. Sometimes you just need to be on the end of a phone or ready with the car keys (or Oyster card) when everything goes to pot. I have been incredibly lucky to have those who would do just that for me but this past week taught me that being there for others means just that. Just be there to listen (no texting), not judge and give unconditional love. And lots of biscuits.

Tony was always there for his friends and mine. His hugs were legendary as was his ability to just listen. He knew when to keep schtum and when to give his penny’s worth. And whilst I have to admit the number of his friends I keep in contact with has faded over the widow years, I know his empathy isn’t forgotten. No matter where we end up or which country we decide to land in, true friendship works both ways. As much as social media asks us to be #bekind , perhaps to #bethere is more appropriate. Just like dogs. And biscuit jars.

“Only my dogs will not betray me” (Maria Callas)

Those who know me well would say that I’m one of those people who plans everything so the fact that I am investing in a house I haven’t actually seen (except in photos) may shock one or two. My mum, a nephew and Callum have all seen it and my older brother will do so in the next few weeks but I haven’t. Since we can no longer live at L’horte (the family homestead) because of last year’s flooding, Mumo and I are moving into a new place a few kilometres away. Although the French government have bought the houses, we still own most of the land so it makes sense to stay close by. Summers could never be the same without dogs and kids cavorting in the river. So Mrs Control Button here is moving the entire contents of her house plus the woofers to a pretty much unknown location. And I’m not fazed one bit. If I’ve learnt anything from the last couple of years, it’s that life cannot be planned so you might as well go with the flow.

2020 seems to have had a similar effect on many of my friends. From two unplanned but much rejoiced pregnancies to quite a few sudden change of career decisions. The phrase ‘work – life balance’ seems to be the central topic at get-togethers. Most of us have reached that stage of life when the kids have started to leave home (with the exception of the belly bumps) and the mortgage is paid off and if you’re really lucky, menopause has left the building. And perhaps as the years pass and the grief fades a little, we come out of our self-built cocoons and start to take flight. As one friend described to me the other evening, it’s Me and I time. Not sure that’s grammatically correct but I like the definition.

In this period of metamorphosis, the couple who are buying chez knollys popped round to do some measuring and introduce themselves properly. It’s a strange feeling talking to those who are going to possibly own your house for the next 24 years or so and possibly bring up a family in the same room that you rocked your newborn to sleep in. They are a lovely couple and I’m sure the house will welcome them just as it did us back in 1996. It helps that they have a Labrador but I’m not sure my woofers would approve of their cat coming too….

“I have caught more ills from people sneezing over me and giving me virus infections than from kissing dogs.”  (Barbara Woodhouse). Topical I know!

You know that saying of sorts, “you don’t know what you’re missing until it’s gone”? Well, sitting in London traffic this week, I can honestly say that twiddling my thumbs and looking at red lights in front of me won’t be one of the above. And yet, weaving down the back streets of Kensington and Chelsea just to avoid the red light syndrome, it occurred to me how well I’ve come to know this little old town. Almost quarter of a century of pootling over potholes and cursing at the lack of car parking space has worn over me like a suffocating blanket and I won’t miss it. At least I hope not. I’ll miss the dogs and their owners though, I worked out the other day that in virtually every street on ‘my patch’ lived or had once lived, a dog I had trained. Memories of the halcyon days of running 14 or so dogs over Hyde Park (there was a time when we didn’t need a license kids!), Dog Hollow’s legendary lunchtime ‘meetings’, watching puppies grow into well-mannered members of society and holding an owner’s hand when that short life ended. I might not miss the traffic but I will miss the people.

In these ‘in between’ days as I like to call them, the bit after the house offer and before you can actually start moving, I am suffering from a severe case of boredom. I started packing books away but ran out of boxes. talking to a friend about this dilemma, she pointed out that removal companies generally provide boxes. Another job put aside then. I would go into town and do the museum and gallery thing but have you looked outside today? I don’t know which storm we are on now but frankly You Upthere we’ve had enough and promise never to complain about heatwaves ever again. So I’m here twiddling my thumbs instead of sitting in traffic doing the same.

Thank heavens for my woofers, as much as I hate getting up in the morning (I’m convinced you revert back to teenage bed love as you get older), they need to stretch their legs and occasional brain cells over the park. Even though this daily routine is somewhat mundane, same time same place sort of thing, the dogs never see life that way. It may be lashing a gale out there but they will always find something to make you smile or swear at. As my search for a better work/life balance is reaching it’s end, I will always be thankful for the memories that all those dogs have given me to tuck away and the boredom breakers that share my little world. I’m glad they have no idea about the future, one of us with itchy pants is quite enough.

“Dogs, like horses, are quadrupeds. That is to say, they have four rupeds, one at each corner” (Frank Muir)

Okay, brace yourselves. Deep breath…IgotanofferonthehouseandIacceptedit. Yay! Whoop! Finally! Oh dear Lord, the great move might actually be happening now. To be honest, I spent the first day post phone call feeling stunned and discombobulated (always wanted to use that word). All my musings about how I wish for my new life in France to start were just that, musings. Yet, in a few months time, the woofers and I may well be several hundred miles away from the home I’ve known for 24 years. Quite a lot to take in.

As anyone knows who has lived in a home for more than a year or two, lofts are put up high for a reason. It’s called the ‘out of sight, out of mind’ principle. You can keep putting stuff in this magical place in the sky and it never seems to fill up. And you don’t have to remember what you put up there because it’s out of sight, out of mind. Unfortunately, when you agree to sell your house, the new owners would like the loft experience for themselves so you have to bring it all back down the ladder again. Two decades of miscellaneous memories and antique electronics now fill the spare bedrooms, over flowing boxes of faded Christmas decorations and photographs of long gone dogs piled up in the corners. And I have to sort through the whole lot. With a lot of help from Callum and none from the dogs. Thankfully, their only issue is that lack of space to lounge.

In between the six or so duvets that had been hoarded up there (do duvets reproduce in lofts?), I found a box on which Tony had written ‘Sophi’s Scrap Box’. I suppose my O’ level results could constitute as scrap but the letters, postcards and photos from our early years together could never be. The first picture ever taken of us together, the letters he wrote from New Zealand when I was pregnant and the menu from the honeymoon hotel in Mauritius. And the Walkman that Tony gave me for our first Christmas together. Amazingly Callum managed to get it to work! That will help with the decision over whether to keep the two hundred or so cassette tapes taking up surface space.

And so, the next phase of the journey begins. Thankfully, apart from filling out endless forms, the solicitors and agent take care of the legal bits now so I have plenty of time to ruthlessly divide and conquer the loft innards. It’s time to box up the past and gear up for the future, how much can you fit in a removal van?

“Handle every stressful situation like a dog, If you can’t eat it or play with it, just pee on it and walk away” (Anon)

You know those American road trip movies where the camera pans out to an endless horizon of nothing but the occasional desert flower? Well, that’s how my weeks seem to drift by. Sort of blah. I do pretty much the same thing every day and this journey is getting boring. I know I have to be patient and let time do it’s thing but I don’t think I’m very good at waiting.

One of the ladies in the widow and widowers support group recently decided she was going to try something new every month to get her out of the doldrums. Brilliant idea I concurred except for that old adage of ‘easier said than done’. The problem is that despite the monotony of daily living, I am actually busy. No time to be spontaneous between the dog walks, the endless cleaning for house viewings and work. Well, I’ve got my yoga but that’s more to settle my mind and body. Yoga’s not really an impulsive thing. So I’m bored with the mundane but no time to do the extraordinary. And it’s February, the month of weird weather (have you looked out of your windows if they are still in place today?) and comfort clothes. I have memberships to Kew , the Tate and the V&A but no time or let’s face it, enthusiasm, to traipse up to town. I admire my dogs’ joy at the sight of yet another boot-sucking muddy field. Especially as I spend that precious spontaniety time, washing all the bloody stuff off.

And I’ve missed Tony this week, more than usual. The lack of sleep due to recurrent nightmares over the dogs’ safety (for another blog perhaps) and a late night party next door. I can’t operate on no sleep. It makes me stressed, cranky and emotional, all of which Tony would know how to make better. A Galaxy chocolate bar would magically appear with the best of hugs. God, I miss him.

Mind you, it hasn’t been all bad this week. We had a couple of nice viewings, by that I mean the people were nice. I don’t know if it was because both couples happened to be gay but I did feel they admired rather than criticised the ‘period’ features. As I said to our Irene after our David Copperfield cinematic experience (excellent film by the way), my house liked them. And there’s the highlight of the week, cinema and pub with my girl, Irene, who knows me I think sometimes more than I know myself. “Bored, are you?” she said. She’s quick this girl. “Well, moving is a logistical nightmare so perhaps you can start sorting out what’s staying and what’s going?”. Ummmm…..best not complain too much me thinks….

“If it wasn’t for dogs, some people would never go for a walk” (Emily Dickinson)

I scared myself this week. I got sick. One minute I was making dinner for myself (Callum being in France for a few days) and the next I was overcome with the need to pay homage to the white bowl. Suddenly I went from someone who is rarely ill to a complete hypochondriac, my mind battered with possible doomsday predictions. I hate going to the GP as 1) I hate waiting for anything and 2) he wasn’t there when Tony needed him most but I did wonder whether I should have taken up that offer of a health check. Since this sudden life in limbo nausea had decided to manifest itself outside of GP working hours however, I did the next best thing. Ginger tea and bed. And a whole lot of hairy pillows. Sleep has the most amazing health properties especially when one is cosseted by woofers and I was well enough yesterday to polish off a packet of M&M’s, the ultimate medicine.

I suppose my sudden obsession about my lurgy stems from losing Macgyver, Tony and Pop to silent killers. Whilst Pop had been ill for some time, none of us thought he wasn’t going to recover and both Tony and Macgyver fell victim to the invisibility cloak so many cancers wear. And being on one’s own doesn’t help either, my thoughts varied from “who will know if I collapse into unconsciousness?” to “can one give oneself CPR?”. My positivity resolution had shot out the door. Thank God for little coloured chocolates.

It struck my mind a few days later that the possible cause of the queasiness was my decision to ‘fix’ the half-finished little bedroom upstairs . With most of the feedback from the viewings being about the rooms upstairs needing work (I mean who moves into a house that doesn’t need some personalising?), I decided to paint the walls, fill in the remaining cracks and sand the floors. Only Steven who had plastered the walls had seemingly jammed the window closed and me, being me, opted to do all the above anyway despite the obvious health and safety warning. Those who know me will say, of course you did because you’re impatient and when you decide to do something, a little thing like lack of ventilation isn’t going to stop you.

I suppose learning to cope on your own is part of a widow’s journey but that doesn’t make it any easier. And even though I’m nearly two years in, there are still times when I scream about the unfairness of it all. Actually I scream at Tony a lot, especially when I drip paint on the newly sanded floor or get bits of floor on the newly painted skirting board. Mind you I’m just a little bit pleased with myself for those magnolia accented walls although a friend of mine said you should always call the colour Sussex Cream, it sounds much classier…

“When an eighty-five pound mammal licks your tears away, then tries to sit on your lap, it’s hard to feel sad” ( Kristan Higgins. Author)