LOCKDOWN week 10. Restrictions eased … we got to meet the puppy! Oh, and our son and his girlfriend. That was nice too.

And, of course, if we hadn’t already been smitten on Facebook and Zoom, the reality of flesh, fluff and bone had us sold. The lack of personal contact was obviously hard, and the instinct to hold a loved one is difficult to suppress. But I recommend a dug hug as a means of compensation.

It was a bit like having a new baby in the family, although I reckon The Wee Dug travels with more kit and caboodle than your average newborn. We met for a wander and a picnic, and it’s fair to say her packed lunch was more complicated than what was prepared for the merely human.

So we pitched up at the side of a quiet, sunny river bank for lunch. From our socially distanced picnic blankets we wet The Wee Dug’s head with warm white wine and heard ourselves utter the words which had supposedly been banished from our lips: “Yes, of course we’ll look after her if you decide to go off travelling.” Lockdown has obviously made us soft in the head.

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Certainly, the Quarter Master seems to have mellowed. As I write this, temperatures have dropped and the chill in the air has forced me to deploy Emergency Cardigan. It’s probably fortunate that the deployment of Emergency Cardigan no longer takes place in the office, where it has hung over the back of my chair for 20 years, a friend to all in need despite its lack of laundering. It has stretched so much from its original dimensions, that now it could clothe the entire National newsdesk at once, had we been in the same place and socially near. At least, on its relocation to the Home Office, it had a birl through the wash. While this helped in terms of general odour, alas its dimensions have been further challenged. But it’s still mighty warm.

So when the QM popped into the Home Office to say hello (subtext: check up on tea consumption) and observed that we were on a Code EC (Emergency Cardigan) footing, well did he not jolly well offer to put the gas fire on? No docket required. Blow my thermal cotton socks off! It’s only on at a low peep, right enough. But still. As I said, soft in the head …

Meanwhile, with the easing of restrictions and kitted out in Sock-Mask™, we have braved the supermarket for provisions. Click and collect has been the QM’s go-to for supplies. He approves of the inventory that drops into his email inbox with regimented precision. Of course, he would rather inspect the goods himself, but a dicky chest (I suspect a bad dose of mustard gas whilst on manoeuvres) means he’s not allowed on supermarket civvy street.

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So the worst-case scenario has prevailed … I get to storm Tesco. This is not good, and the QM despairs when I return with everything on the list. And a few extras. Well, I was sure we were out of salad stuff.

Always one to think on his feet and make the best of A Bad Situation, QM has risen to the challenge. Lettuce and cucumber soup is on the menu tonight. No docket required.