Waolgado

I call this photo, "Where's Waolgado?"

Another quiet day at home -- as if I even need to say that. Olga and I took a walk to the cemetery in the afternoon, and that was about it for excitement. Going there almost daily, I'm beginning to see patterns among the other visitors. For example, there are a couple of older guys who sit near the chapel -- each on a separate bench -- and quaff tall cans of beer while chatting. They are probably pub mates who can no longer go to their usual pub.

I also saw three teenage boys lounging in the park with their bicycles, and a couple of muscle-bound military-looking guys doing pullups on the exercise bars. (If the children's playground equipment is closed, why is the adult playground equipment still open?) One woman appeared to be meeting with her trainer, working out with him but wearing a mask. A father played football with a young boy. Over the weekend I was surprised to hear an ice cream truck making its rounds, chiming its silly music. I suspect much of this activity falls outside the government's expectations for the lockdown, but the exercise guidelines are very vague.

Dave and I watched the Queen on television on Sunday night, delivering her brief message about national resolve during this crisis. I'm glad she made an appearance, even though she said nothing particularly earth-shattering. After all, if you're going to have a Queen, shouldn't it be for moments like this? I bet the cameraman who filmed her was in a full-on spacesuit.

And now Boris is in intensive care, which I find frankly scary. I don't know why the virus shouldn't affect Boris badly, as it affects so many other people badly, but if someone in his position of power with access to excellent medical care still winds up in intensive care, that shows how insidious it is.

On to something happier -- our garden fox(es). I put out some chicken for them the other day. I thought they'd eat it right away, but they didn't find it until the second night. Here's a little video -- first you see a tiny mouse, almost invisible except for its bright little eye. Then a curious pigeon investigates the chicken, but decides against cannibalism. Finally a fox shows up and eats most of it. The fox looks like he has a bald patch in his fur -- he may have mange, which is a problem among London foxes.

Did you find Waolgado? Here's a close-up to help out.

The New York Times has an interesting column about well-known photographers working in the age of coronavirus -- how their work reflects the urban emptiness and isolation of the times. I especially liked a line about Instagram filling up with "quarantine content," including "pets surprised by their owners' sudden ubiquity." Dave and I often joke that Olga must wonder what the heck is going on -- why we're around all the time. We're interfering with her five hours of daily napping!