The confusion sown by Boris Johnson has spread to Covid-19 testing and beyond
Many people I know are using lockdown creatively either to develop existing talents or to discover new ones. I appear to be the exception, unless you count working out how to do a Zoom call and worrying even more than usual as lifelong learning. The only skill I can vaguely claim to have acquired is how to cut the dog’s hair. Badly. A week ago, Herbert Hound was in a miserable state as his fur hadn’t been cut since Christmas, apart the odd trim with scissors around his eyes so he could see out. So I went on Amazon to investigate buying a pair of dog hair clippers, only to find that they are identical to the ones I use to shave my own head – excess hair is one of the few things not to have presented a problem for me so far – except the dog ones had a nice picture of a dog paw on the handle. So my wife and I got out my own clippers and took Herbie out into the garden. It wasn’t a total success. We started with me trying to keep the dog still and with Jill giving him a number 8 cut. Which appeared to make little difference, despite the large amount of fur that had collected on the patio. So we gradually worked our way down through the attachments before ending on a rather uneven number 3 cut – with the exception of the areas around the genitals which we felt required rather greater expertise than we possessed. Herbie has looked on us disapprovingly ever since, as if he believes we have made him the embarrassment of Tooting Bec common. He now doesn’t even bother to come into our bedroom before saying goodnight to us and clearly can’t wait for the time when we’re out the house more. Annoyingly, the new dog grooming salon rang us this morning to say they had just opened. Herbie is now booked in for early July.