家里的笔记：杰克·埃利奥特关于家里的小乐趣

家里的笔记：杰克·埃利奥特关于家里的小乐趣

The Modern House team are sharing their stories of life at home at the moment. Here, Senior Appraisals Specialist, Jake Elliott, shares his thoughts on the small pleasures to be found at home right now.
Jake Elliott: As our ability to move around, socialise and interact with each other was abruptly curtailed in March, I decided to keep a short diary of the experience. I rent a flat in Nunhead with my partner Georgia and my friend Dan.

Here are some edited entries:
Monday 23/03
We’re in. They announced it this evening, but we sensed all weekend that it was coming. Now we’re in and it feels like a strange mixture of novelty and peril. We spent most of Saturday preparing for this, but theres some unspoken nervousness between us. Some trepidation. Concern for family and friends. How will we fare in such close quarters together, for however long this will last? By sheer coincidence, our monthly loo roll subscription (a subscription I routinely mock and disparage) arrived today. Some relief.

Thursday 26/03
We’ve known each other for years and have lived harmoniously together for a long time. But we’ve never brought our flatmates to work before. Our ‘offices’ are now within earshot of each other and its quite something to experience the ‘professional persona’ and working routine of people you know so well. We have each scattered to separate corners of our small flat. Dan and I in our respective bedrooms, George at the dining room table. We have each learned when the other might need a cup of tea, a pat on the shoulder, or a quick chat.

Friday 27/03
Last night the whole of our street, a pair of terraces sloping down towards Peckham Rye, came out to do the first clap for the NHS. I saw faces I’ve passed countless times emerging from doors not that far from mine. Families, students, elderly and young. We stood opposite each other and clapped as hard as we could. Some kids brought out pots and pans and you could hear the collective cheering of the parallel roads too. The three of us stood in our front yard by the bins and looked up at two pairs of hands sticking out of the windows of the flat above; two pairs of hands flapping wildly against the sunset sky.

Saturday 28/03
On Monday, it will be my birthday. It’s been decided well celebrate this weekend. We spent the week sourcing vegetables and a bit of wine. George works for a restaurant and has been able to get hold of a few special items that we will cook up over the course of the weekend. I don’t think this occasion would’ve been too different without Coronavirus; perhaps a few more people? We drank a bit too much and talked animatedly about our anxieties and the latest news and the commentary on the news and Twitter’s commentary on the commentary. At dusk we walked up to One Tree Hill, breathed the new clean air and watched the silent city twinkling in the distance.

Monday 30/03
The post has taken on a new significance. Two friends have a bakery in Oxford called Hamblin Bread; they’ve sent me a loaf in a shoebox with some beans. I spent most of the day writing a list of immersive books for The Modern House Journal. It was refreshing to get out of my own head and try to imagine what other people might like to read. It strikes me that ‘immersive’ is probably just a by-word for ‘good’.

Tuesday 31/03
Queueing outside the shop, a girl and boy have been waiting together, two metres apart. He shops first, she follows after. He waits for her and she emerges with a bunch of tulips, places them on a bench and backs away. He picks them up, blows her a kiss and they walk off together. Two metres apart.

Thursday 02/04
I haven’t been very active. The virus has put an end to my work meetings and has massively increased the amount of internet I consume. The nervous energy is on the up. Twitchy leg, that kind of thing. The jitters made for another good round of clapping on the street for the NHS. There is a rhythm to this event now, a new ritual; we awkwardly smile at each other, thinking about loved ones and the amazing people who make up our health service. I’m writing this at midnight, instead of scrolling through Twitter, looking for the piece of information that will scratch the itch.

Friday 03/04
I decided to get up very early and cycle into central London to burn off some steam. Woke up with the sun and trundled through Trafalgar Square (deserted) steamed down the Strand (deserted) and through Temple, bang on six o’clock, just as the bells of St Clement Danes began to chime ‘Oranges and Lemons’. Crisp, bright and entirely quiet, apart from the bells. Who was ringing them?

Saturday 04/04
The weather today was glorious again and must signal the start of summer. The exercise yesterday helped me a lot. Dan took George and I for a ‘High Intensity Training’ session to compound the ‘good feeling’ of yesterday’s cycle. In the beating sun, I attempted burpees for the first time in years, before collapsing in a pile. I’d forgotten how quickly the profound physical pain of exercise can turn to endorphins and an inner calm. Meanwhile, the online discourse quickly turned to vilification of those with no outdoor space. I spent the rest of the afternoon reading and poking at our sorry-looking garden with a pitchfork, feeling angry and grateful.

Sunday 05/04
An exchange has started with our neighbour. She has two young boys at home and a full-time job and is now home-schooling as well. Last week, George passed her and the boys a plate of apple and walnut muffins over the fence. Today a chocolate cake was passed back, along with a large branch of rosemary from her allotment.

Wednesday 08/04
It strikes me that we’re trapped in here with our moods. But we are capable of altering our moods. Calm can be constructed, orchestrated, and our flat can be made to sing a sweet soothing song if we know what notes to hit and can get the timing right. I feel more ‘in tune’ with the people I live with than ever before. If I’m not careful, the news can make me spiral into worry, but filling the flat with Dennis Young’s record ‘Quest’ has been helpful. The mind gently takes shape again.

Sunday 12/04
Spent most of Friday nursing a hangover, lounging around and reading ‘Darkness Spoken’ by Ingeborg Bachmann. We cooked lamb this afternoon and ate it outside. The occasion seemed special, none of us had left the house since Thursday, so we took a wobbly walk down to Peckham Rye, past the Japanese Garden, along Brenchley Gardens and up towards One Tree Hill. This is becoming our route.

Monday 13/04
Woke up to a text message from my friend in New York. It read: +1 (641) 793 8122. I called the number, it rang and John Giorno’s voice said, “Dial-a-Poem… Diane di Prima” and Diane di Prima’s voice read her poem ‘Revolutionary Letter #3.’ John Giorno is no longer with us, he passed away late last year, but his Dial-a-Poem service has been running since 1968 and continues in his absence. It is magical. It is joyful. I listened as di Prima’s voice said, “…make a point of filling your bathtub / at the first news of trouble.” It felt like a heavenly instruction. Bank holiday, eight am. I stumbled out of bed, grabbed a book and made my way to the bathroom.

• 转载自：The Modern House
• 语言：English
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