Sunday 9th March 2020
Earlier this afternoon, Hubby returned from his lad’s walking hol, blustering into the house, making a mad dash for the upstair’s loo and, in the process, undoing the fine job I did on disinfecting the banister.
Why use the loo upstairs, when there is a perfectly good one downstairs? And why not pause for long enough to hear my shout:
‘Don’t touch anything! Wash your hands, now, in the first-floor cloakroom! And use your elbow to operate the tap!’
And, no, he didn’t need to touch the cloakroom door-handle to get to the wash-basin – I had it open and ready for him. I think of everything! I’m right on it!
Cure for Coronavirus: Garlic, garlic and more garlic (on the authority of my Indian-Ugandan friend).
How to wash bum in absence of loo roll: Pour water from a bottle down one’s backside (also an Indian strategy).
Making a deterrent face mask: Cut panel out of reusable shopping bag, and secure sheet of clear plastic behind it, then put bag upside-down over one’s head. Do not secure it at the bottom – if still want to be able to breathe. (That one’s thanks to the person filmed wearing such, who travelled on London’s Tube train (and to the Vlogger who filmed it!)).
Creating anti-bac handwash: Pour vodka into pack of hand wipes (courtesy of an unknown guest on breakfast TV).
How to decontaminate one’s banister: Use an anti-bac household wipe, or spray with canned anti-bac; check that chosen product contains alcohol for effectiveness against viruses.
Coping with sick Sprog: Isolate said Sprog in their room. Shouldn’t be difficult, if equipped with disinfected Nintendo Switch or other games consul. Deliver Calpol and drinks. Keep reminding Sprog to deposit own tissues in wastepaper bin.
Dealing with returning Hubby: Probably best not to douse him in anti-bac! Instead, be sure to shout your instructions, before he sets foot inside the hallway.
In the end, Hubby was more than sensible, leaving his goods in the car overnight (takes 2-9 hours for viruses to die on hard surfaces, so they say), and depositing his keys and other pocket contents into a bowl, thus avoiding any cross-contamination from his lad’s walk.
All’s well that ends well.
By The Silly-Savvy Salopian