Some days the muse is missing: Day 20 confinement

The main event of the day was the Great Basement Company’s semi-operratic (spelling intended) reading of the Lord of the Rings.
 
The chapters are such irregular lengths. I was reading The Council of Elrond to Ottawacker Jr., trying as always to vary the voices for the characters and, as usual when 45 different people all have speaking parts, mixing them up.
 
“Why did you say Boromir’s part in Aragorn’s voice?”
“Did Gandalf say that bit of Saruman's sentence?”
“Why does Elrond sound like Sam Gamgees?”
 
The only possible answer to all these questions is “I don’t know.” At least there were no elven-lore poems to read today. I think I may well take up AngelShare’s advice and skip them. Ottawacker Jr. will never know, especially if, assuming I escape my oubliette on Sunday, one of my first steps is to hide the second copy of Lord of the Rings that he has apparently taken up to his bedroom. Honestly, having a 7-year-old boy is a constant worry.
 
Other than that, I managed to get on to the exercise bike for the first time in a long time. Only 15 minutes (let’s not get ahead of ourselves here) but it was a first step.
 
Mrs. Ottawacker went to pick up our first large grocery order since the onslaught began – from Loblaw's (a large Ontario supermarket for the uninitiated). They managed – in the 10 days since we ordered – to “substitute” a large amount of what we had ordered. So, not sure we will be going that route again. There are smaller shops that don’t make you order 10 days in advance and deliver to your door. It might be more expensive, but (a) you get what you order and (b) you don’t have to risk your health going out to get it.
 
Mrs. Ottawacker told me the queue for Loblaw's was long – people scrupulously observing the two-metre rule – and they only allow 20 in at a time. I hate shopping with a passion – it is right up there with colonoscopies and watching Manchester United play – so it wouldn’t bother me if we always did it this way. I’ve always secretly yearned to return to an agrarian society (but less Pol Pot, more The Good Life). The question is, is Felicity Kendall available to come and help.
 
Today’s blip is of our neighbour walking his cat. It’s a new cat. The previous cat, which he also walked, was the attraction of the street. George his name was, and he died earlier this year at the ripe old age of 16. I had a horrible feeling it would be the last we saw of our cat-walking neighbour; I’m delighted it isn’t. As soon as all this is over, I’m going to fill a hip flask and go for a walk with him.
 
If I can get off the exercise bike, that is.