the stratfordian

One of the many things I will remember during this lockdown are the times The Stratfordian’s household has exploded. Not literally of course, (although I wouldn’t be that surprised to find out someone (no names) was in the process of constructing a bomb made from every-day household ingredients as an act of revenge), but in anger, caused, I presume, by frustration and boredom.

We live in a hobbit house with six people crammed in. For various reasons when lockdown struck, we found ourselves in a position (cramped) whereby nothing could be done. Here we all were, six of us (4 adults-I use that term loosely and 2 kids-boys under 8-aaaagh). There were no alternatives, no way out, and as the American’s say, ‘we had to suck it up’.

All was well and good (ish) to start with, but it wasn’t long before me and Mrs Stratfordian started to get irritated by minor things. You know what I mean, each other, lights being left on, toilets not being flushed and general mess that wasn’t my general mess. (For me and please don’t delve too deeply into this, discarded bras).

The ‘temperature’, not unusual in these situations was slowly rising. The canker was spreading until one evening last week we experienced blast-off. Sticking with the space analogy, a bit like ‘Houston we have a problem’, but in this case,   ‘The Stratfordians household has exploded’.

I was in my office (converted garage) where I now sleep (another story) when I heard raised voices. As I say above, it wasn’t that much of a surprise. I could sense the atmosphere changing over the past few week. Storm clouds were probably gathering long before that. It was, I’m afraid to say, inevitable.

When I finally summoned up enough courage to enter the house, the insults were flying. Better than anything EastEnders could produce, the air was thick with imaginative and colourful language. After a second or two of trying to calm things down, I was struck by the argumentative virus and found myself joining in. And then…like a damp firework it fizzled out, the devil left the room, and everything was back to er…’normal’. Thankfully, no blows were struck, and I was inwardly relieved that we didn’t live in America where guns might have been available.

I’m interested to know if we are the only family to experience The Lockdown Blues.

It would be good to know what other families do to avoid these dark moments? Also, what’s the aftermath? In our case, I found it interesting. No grudges, no acts of revenge. We just went back to talking to each other as though nothing had happened. Weird.

If you want to share your coping mechanism (or how to dispose of a body), leave me something to read below this in the comment section.

Or send £3 a month to help this mad family cope. (Joke),

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