The idea of the Most Boring Domestic Lockdown Activity Competition (C8) has definitely sparked joy among Column 8 readers and the contributions have flowed in. Joy Paterson of Mount Annan declares herself “so bored I cleaned the top of all of my picture frames, and being a grandmother I have many!” Fred Elderton of Toronto “raised himself from his lockdown torpor and cleaned the fly screens. This activity involved bending, stretching and circular arm movement.”
Matt White of Woodbine declares himself to be “so bored (C8), I organised my bookshelf under the Dewey classification.” Hang on, to Granny’s inner librarian this sounds like a brilliant idea and not boring at all. Unless your book collection leans heavily towards fiction, in which case following Dewey strictly in the 800s is the path to madness. Don’t go there.
It began as a cure for boredom (C8) and became so much more. Judith Allison of Bexley decided to sort through her crammed filing cabinet, in which she found “old-fashioned letters and cards, from before the time of email and texts, and spent happy hours reminiscing about the senders, many of whom have long since shucked off their mortal coil. Tears and smiles actually brightened my day.”
In the throes of the now-standard Victorian lockdown, Sue Bradley of Eltham (Vic) was “so bored (C8) I cleaned the cutlery drawer. Not the cutlery, just the plastic bit that sits inside the drawer.” Robyn Lewis of Raglan confesses she is “still trying to find time to carry out the most boring household job. This would be the ironing.” Sounds fair to Granny. If the choice to be made is between ironing and inertia, inertia will always win.
While we’re quoting the wit of Quentin Crisp (C8), Michael Sparks of Braddon (ACT) remembers that Quentin Crisp went further than the three-year rule on dust. “He once said that after seven years it isn’t dust any more, it becomes a patina.”
The response of Viv Mackenzie of Port Hacking to the revelation that all of Santa’s reindeer (C8) must be female. “Typical! Even at the North Pole women do the work and an old white man gets the glory.”
From back in the days when his father was a butcher, Mike Tucker of Hornsby Heights remembers that “standard fare for dogs (C8) was beef bones and lamb shanks. I still can’t face up to the ‘exotic’ lamb shank offerings at restaurants.”
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