Min, Te Awanga

I would like everyone to look after themselves. To stay positive and safe, and to find a goddamn good dance party every night, even if it’s a party for one.

I’m Min. Well, that’s a nickname of course, my real name we won’t go into. I live in a wonderful little village, Te Awanga, which will be my saving grace throughout the crisis. And I’m old, very old. And hoping to get a whole lot bloody older too.

Well, I’d love to be here on my own, but I’m here with Nigel. He’s even older. He’s spending a great deal of time in the bedroom reading, which is a fortunate thing, because it means he’s inside and I’m out. Lockdown for me means being up early, between 6am and 7am. I listen to the 6 o’clock news and then do not listen to the news again until 6 in the evening. I find the whole hour by hour too overwhelming, so twice a day it is. That’s my plan. I walk a nearby farmland track, so that usually takes me about an hour. You’re not allowed to walk on the farmland itself, but there’s a little track you can go up. It’s beautiful. Then I cycle in the afternoon or walk along the beach if it’s low tide, and in-between I garden. I was going to paint the living room walls pink, but my plans were foiled in that regard as I got to Resene at least three days too late and they’d sold a month’s worth of paint in three hours. Anyway, my lovely next-door neighbour Tina has rung this morning and she has a pot of black paint for me, so I’m going to paint the woodshed instead. I’ll take the wood out, no plan of where I might put it yet, and make a frost-tender garden in pots inside the shed. I like that idea. That’s my plan. That might be my rainy-day plan, actually. So yes, that’s my lockdown look.

The garden was always Nige’s scene, but I think it’s hard for him to get down at the ground level now. He does the odd trip to the Four Square in the car instead. He did put walking shoes on for a very brief moment the other day, but they came off as quickly as they went on. So, that’s him.

It’s our wedding anniversary tomorrow, he says he’s out scouting for a present. I won’t be holding my breath on that one. It might be something from the Four Square. It’ll have to be.

Before this, I worked for a lovely company called Little and Fox, Thursday through Sunday. I was always up early, always out walking or doing exercise before work. And visiting, lots of visiting people on my days off. I adore my mates. I was always meeting my beautiful friends Bron and Sue and Bells, hanging out with Lulu … now, it’s a wave from the other side of the road as we each do our own exercise. I miss sitting around the table with them, having a gin or a glass of wine and laughing about things. The phone isn’t the same as face to face. Henry FaceTimes me and that’s fabulous, but it’s not the same as putting my arms around him and giving him a hug. I miss the physical side. The contact.

In Te Awanga we’re very lucky. It’s a small community, so you do see people day to day on your walks, but it’s not the same, is it? I’m in touch with Henry every day and Milly most days too. I’m very lucky to speak to my children so often. A lot of people aren’t in touch with their children because they’re overseas or just somewhere else. And that’s a big thing, I think, to be able to contact your family. It’s so important. My 96-year-old mother, Granny B, I ring her twice a day now instead of once. That’s important for her. She’s only been in a rest home for a year, bless her. She’s very social but is now in lockdown and not allowed to go for a walk or have visitors, like the rest of the elderly or unwell people. It’s bloody hard for them. Their worlds have become a lot smaller.

I am feeling positive about all of this. I think we have to be positive, there isn’t any other way to be. The outlook for some time is grim, so if you don’t have a positive outlook going forward, well – you’ll be grim. In six months from now, or even this time next year, we have to be able to pick ourselves up and get on with life and make it better, make it brighter. Be grateful for ourselves and our families.

What do I appreciate? Well, family. Always. And the way we live now with our social media. That we can all be in contact and FaceTime each other, how wonderful is that? The amount we’ve moved on in my lifetime, to this point where you can actually be isolated but remain connected … our lives, we are always so connected, and we can still remain so. We’re damn fortunate I think.

The worst thing to run out of? Well, I would say gin but I’ve already run out of that! No, the worst thing to run out would be the ability to laugh, I think. That would be the worst thing, if you suddenly found there was nothing to smile or laugh about.

I’d like to be in lockdown with Richard Burton. Ohh, I thought he was just fabulous. He led quite a debauched life, I think he’d be quite fun. Or Jack Nicholson maybe. He’d be something else. You could be as crazy as you wanted to be with Jack and he’d be right there with you, along for the ride.

I would like everyone to look after themselves. To stay positive and safe, and to find a goddamn good dance party every night, even if it’s a party for one. Get on the ‘Mashed Potato’ and Chubby Checker’s ‘Let’s Do the Twist Again’ – why not? I’m doing it. It’s quite fun to do on your own, but you wouldn’t want to see it. Henry and Milly would be horrified. Light the candles, turn the lights down, put on your party frock and away you go. Like Jack would.

Min’s garden.

“I miss sitting around the table with them, having a gin or a glass of wine and laughing about things.”

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