The teenager and several hundred (honestly, I’ve no idea) of her closest friends are due to meet up in Devon later this week and as you can imagine the Devon Parents WhatsApp group is in meltdown. There’s only one topic of conversation and that’s making sure the little darlings are tested for Covid before setting off. We don’t want a bunch of mini-adult super-spreaders infecting the delights of the English Riviera.

Well, her result is in and so is mine.

Yesterday she signed-up online, admitted she had no Covid symptoms, but found they were happy to test her anyway. For reasons I won’t trouble you with we are currently living in Essex and the walk-in testing station is located at a car park in Newham. Mrs Preen was having a troublesome day at work so I volunteered to accompany the teenager. This seemed like a job for Uber and moments later Karmin appeared in his beaten-up Prius, said he knew exactly where the testing station was, and off we went.

On arrival, the teenager bolted in. Not normal behaviour.  She may not have liked the idea of having a giant Q-tip rammed down her throat but the thought of spending any more time with her parents when there were hi-jinks to be had in Devon made it a pretty compelling assignment.

Waiting outside I started chatting with the bloke on the gate and asked, fully expecting the answer no, whether I could get a test. Sure jump right in, knock yourself out he said, or words to that effect. I had no symptoms but wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Unfortunately, I’d just eaten a pork sausage sandwich for lunch.

So, I too bolt into the testing station in search of the teenager who is currently self-administrating her test. She shows me how to do it and jams the giant Q-tip right down my throat, this has me gagging and heaving up some of my delicious lunch. This she finds entirely hilarious. We put our swabs into a red solution, seal up the vials and hand them in. All done and dusted in just ten minutes.

Karmin is still waiting outside and he takes up back to the leafy ‘burbs of South Woodford.

This morning the teenager and I both got the good news, we are neg.

As I speak the Devon Parents WhatsApp Group is once again pinging into action. Other results are in and it looks like the teens are good to go. Good luck Devon, you’re going to need it.

A little London lockdown 29.5.20

• We clapped for carers last night, perhaps for the last time. Though I have a suspicion we’ll be out rattlin’ those pots and pans again before we’re done with this damn virus.
• The picture you see was taken outside the Catholic care home at the end of the street.
• I’m no Christian but this is a beautifully run place and we always look forward to their Christmas and summer fund raising fetes.
• The daughter volunteered there for a while, dishing out dinners to the old and frail.
• When I irritate the daughter, she threatens to have me incarcerated there. Who knows could happen, but not yet please.
• Lockdown restriction are being slowly lifted, we can now meet up to six friends or family members in parks and private gardens.
• My friend Simon will get to see his new grandson Frankie. Lovely.
• Went to see Alfie and the boys at Convent Garden market to pick up the fruit and veg for the week.
• The strawberries are spectacular. Mrs Preen set fair to make strawberry jam.
• Strawberries mean Wimbledon and summer means cricket and the Chelsea Flower Show, but not this year.
• So many activities that are part of the London summer scene are nowhere to be seen.
• The weather continues to be spectacular. No rain, but after the UK nearly sank beneath the waves in one of the wettest ever Autumns, I’m good with that.
• Yeah you’re right, that is Rusty. Rubbish at social distancing.