Gonk, but not forgotten

When he was in lockdown, Alan Sillitoe wrote a book entitled: “The loneliness of the long-time working from homer”; after ten-months, social interaction is almost a thing of the past.

As a commute substitute, I walk each morning and hope to greet other passers-by.  But, because I don’t own a dog, people ignore me.   (It could be the Bayern Munich bobble hat and loudly singing along to various choral works I have on Spotify which puts them off).  After three-months, I crocheted a giant snake-shaped draught excluder and now drag it around local parks telling people it is a Dachshund who suffers from narcolepsy.  Anything to have a brief chat with strangers; something my mother actively discouraged until I was in my mid-twenties.

I am only child and can cope with my own company – as many of my childhood imaginary friends can attest; but there is something about office banter what you don’t get WFH.  I have erected a water-cooler in my Man Cave for me to stand round and talk to myself about the Bundesliga, the latest episode of 24-hours in Police custody and how many toilet rolls are secretly hidden around my house.

When at my desk, and not on a video call, it is important for me to have someone to talk to/at.  So, I have rescued from the loft, my lucky gonk I had on my desk, keeping me company during my O-levels (a 16.6% success rate suggests the gonk was that lucky).  The gonk, like me, needs a decent haircut.

I’m lucky that I sit near a window; together with my Teach Yourself Advertising book and 1847 edition of the Observer Book of Birds (it’s so old, it suggests you might spot the occasional dodo during the summer before it flies to back to Mauritius) I gaze forlornly, in the style of Madame Butterfly, out the window.  Sadly, I haven’t got a giant bird sticker on my window, so I witness the occasional avian fatality.  The only sticker I have says: “Vote Whig” (it’s an old house) and this fails to prevent any accidents.

Before I discovered Sonos, which, before lockdown I thought where Captain Corelli’s Mandolin was set, I’d only got an old transistor radio; it’s quite difficult using a PC while one hand is constantly up at your ear.  Sonos has been my saviour.  Because I am an intellectual snob I have BBC Radio 3 on – everyone needs to be listening to Mahler when you’re creating a media plan and BR-Klassik, a Bavarian classical music station which helps with my German, as I can listen to Mahler (although, Wagner (the 19^th century local Bayern boy composer, not the one-time X-Factor star) is played more; weather updates – handy to know if it’s snowing 550-miles away and traffic updates – again, if the Munich to Nuremberg Autobahn is busy, that could have an adverse effect on the congestion on the A3 and then I’d never get to Aldi and back in time for Hollyoaks.

With the radio on it is another inanimate object to whom one can talk and moan about the inclement weather and heavy traffic just outside Augsburg. Because of this lonely existence I have created my own imaginary desert island and provided myself with two books and a luxury item, so, when it’s lunchtime (or February – wherever we are) I have the Bible; the complete works of Shakespeare and a copy, in the original Greek of Where is Spot?  Next week it’s my turn to hide in the laundry basket.