Sometimes you are better off in the basement-Day 6

The days of being locked in a basement with every material comfort and every need taken care of are definitely taking their toll. Yet, even I, perhaps the most self-absorbed of me, can see that occasionally it is a good thing to be locked inside. (Actually, in Canada, between October and April, it is usually always a good thing to be locked inside – the only complaint I have is of the square footage allocated to my self-isolation confinement).

Today, for example, I thought it might be a reasonable idea to set foot out of the house and wander lonely to the end of the drive and back, a trip that might take the best part of 30 seconds, and which might conceivably provide me with sufficient exercise for the day. No risk of meeting anyone – Ottawacker Jr. had already assumed the Lord of the Rings position on the kitchen floor, and Mrs. Ottawacker was slaving away in the office. So out I went.

My first surprise was that it was 16°C, and the ice floe that had escaped from Newfoundland and lodged itself in the upper part of the drive had started to melt, leaving rivulets of meltwater racing down to the road below. Then I looked up and got a second surprise. There appeared to have been a small nuclear explosion in the street behind ours. Clouds of giant mushroom-like proportions were racing in, about to engulf neighbours’ houses, no doubt transforming them all to dust or shadows on the pavement in seconds. I rushed back in, grabbed my camera, told Ottawacker Jr. to stay there for just a second longer, and snapped today’s blip.

You’d think that things like this would no longer surprise me in Canada. Because, of course, it was no sneak nuclear attack by a hostile power, it was merely another winter storm racing in. As Mrs. Ottawacker said when I called up to her in panic to get out of the office and start digging the fallout shelter in the garden, “don’t you ever check the weather statements?” I don’t – and in my defence, when you go outside as infrequently as I do, I rarely need to. But on this occasion, it transpires that my non-checking of the weather network had led me to miss warnings of a major storm coming in, with wind gusts of 90-100 km/h, snow squalls, possible power outages, and temperatures dropping from 16°C to -15°C in the time it took me to write that sentence.

The clouds were the frontrunners of the storm. My breaking of cover to get a millisecond of exercise was apparently enough to set it off. I take full responsibility.

I hasten to add that I am taking my confinement seriously. Other than setting foot on our driveway, I have remained ensconced in the basement, had no contact with human or feline, and am doing my best to keep body and soul together on a meagre diet of red wine (I am halfway through my last bottle until the LCBO finally comes through with its promise to deliver what it sells) and Mrs. Ottawacker’s cooking.

Nowadays, though, there can be no excuse for not keeping up to date with information. The daily Covid19 briefings, shop closures, weather statements, etc. should all be top of mind. I can manage it during the transfer window – I am usually up to speed on who Liverpool are signing or selling within seconds of its having transpired – but somehow, I am at a loss when it comes to less more serious stuff.  

Thankfully, the Lord of the Rings keeps delivering. No let-up in the action today, as Ottawacker Jr. discovered the delights of Tom Bombadil and his singing. Well, of my singing in the style of Tom Bombadil. (I make sure I sing all of the songs, obviously to my own invented tunes, and despite having a singing voice that makes Andrew Scheer sound pleasant, I manage to keep my audience entertained.) This time I hit the jackpot. The words were supposed to be nonsensical and so I conjured up a tune that sounded a bit like something from Bill and Ben the Flowerpot Men; Ottawacker Jr. was unable to control his laughter – knocked over his water and was dancing round the kitchen (in one sock, a new affectation) repeating the words, which were (if I can recall them from the 20 times I had to repeat them):

           “Hey dol! merry dol! ring a dong dillo!

           Ring a dong! hop along! Fal lal the willow!

           Tom Bom, jolly Tom, Tom Bombadillo!”


He has an incredible memory for the spoken word (apparently, if you hold back on teaching kids to read until they have reached 5, they maintain this facility for life, which we somehow managed to do) and, unfortunately, is a very good mimic. I say unfortunately, because he usually only mimics me. It can be a difficult thing to hear your words and voice and accent coming out of someone else’s mouth. Needless to say, he brought Mrs. Ottawacker down from her desk and we both got into trouble. I am happy to say that I blamed it all on him and I suffered no negative consequences (although there was maybe a sterner-than-usual look as Mrs. Ottawacker went back upstairs).

Also today, I discovered Zoom, and was able to have a virtual apéritif with friends and family in London. Their apéritif was at a reasonable time, mine was, of course, four hours earlier. This also means that, in addition to the red wine coming to an end, I am also out of Ricard.