It’s a weird time right now, isn’t it? Who thought that our generation would experience world war-level lockdowns? And, even weirder, that it wouldn’t be due to a penis-measuring competition between Trump and Kim Jong Un, but instead the actions of an unsuspecting, bat-eating individual (sadly not the Joker, although I’m sure Batman is relieved that he’s not the victim of cannibalism). Whoever said ‘one person can’t change the world’ clearly never ate an undercooked bat.
Many of us have had our lives, and our livelihoods, severely disrupted. I know many parents who are holding themselves back from selling our children on eBay, while the rest of the child-free population has nothing else to do but create Carole Baskin memes. And things are going to get even tougher for everyone stuck working from home with their other halves - at least I’ll have the chance to shoot the weddings of those on their second marriages in a year or so.
But seriously, life has been difficult over the past few weeks. Especially on the gin front. With a lack of weddings to shoot, I’ve exhausted almost all the gin that was gifted to me by my clients. As many creatives will know, being inebriated sometimes encourages you to release your creativity, to go places with your work that you’ve never gone before - and not just the toilet bowl at 3am after a greasy kebab. I’ve had some of my best eureka moments after my third or fourth gin of the day. But recently, my life has consisted of staring at my office wall and contemplating whether I should just get on with my regular editing work in my uninspired state, or muck in with some household chores.
Unfortunately for my wife, work always wins. Or should it be ‘fortunately’? After all, if I’m cooped up in my office where she can’t see or hear me, then I can’t annoy her, can I? It’s been around a month after the lockdown measures were introduced by Boris, and we’ve had zero arguments. I’ve left her alone, divided what’s left of the gin between us both, and mucked in with the cooking rota (I make a mean beans on toast). I think we’ve found the recipe for the perfect marriage. But, just to make sure, I’ll update you in a month or so. That’s if she’s not slowly poisoning me at this very moment.
If, by the end of all this, you haven’t beaten your partner to death with a spatula to make it look like a dreadful kitchen-poltergeist accident (damn, I’m giving my wife too many ideas), might I suggest eloping for your wedding? Let’s face it, you’re going to need a holiday, and getting away from the family that you’ve spent so much time with during the last few months will be the icing on the cake. Leave the kids with their grandparents, save money on invitations (who even wants their third cousin at their wedding anyway?), and jet off somewhere exotic. You can get the paperwork out of the way, then head straight to the beach for your ‘wedding breakfast’ of pina coladas and paella. Sounds idyllic, right?
However, if you’d rather stick to your home turf, that’s fine. And if you’ve already booked with me, I’ll even hold your dates for you if the offer of gin is there. Well, I’ve got to keep my cupboard filled somehow, don’t I?