Never mind Clap for Carers, I’m trying to start a new weekly morale booster called Scream If You’re Going Round The Bend.
The idea is you come out on to your doorstep once a week and stand there screaming until you’ve got it all out. It could be fantastically cathartic and do much to help the growing mental health problems caused by lockdown.
Let’s make it every Friday at 8 p.m. I don’t want to clash with the key worker hero worship, so Thursday night is out, and doing it on Wednesday would only make it look as though I was trying to upstage Our Wonderful NHS. If we make it Friday night it could be something to look forward to, a way of starting the weekend.
While wailing and crying in public may look primitive, it does help process the emotions to let them out at a set-piece occasion. Formal screaming sessions once a week might go some way to stopping people jumping off buildings and drinking themselves to death.
Muck and mud keeps me sane. I don’t know how everyone else copes
Some of us are getting very depressed. You can sense the despondency now, the foggy-brained weariness, and above all the boredom.
In my little corner of Surrey, the locals seem to be coping. But when you scratch the surface, it becomes obvious that many are struggling, and the way this manifests itself is in acts of gross pettiness.
I wrote last week about the disappearance of my second parking space, as one of my near neighbours moved up on me into the communal space outside my house, leaving a good five spaces the other side of them, only one space for me and the builder boyfriend to park our two cars, and then giving us accusing looks when we parked the other side.
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