Hi, George here. Welcome to my lockdown world. No, you still can’t come in!

Happy Fathers Day to my Dad and everyone else’s Dad. I’m not telling you about my Fathers Day today because it has not happened. I’ll save that for next time.

That Mr Boris Johnson is stupid. Do you think he has forgotten about us stuck up here in Nottinghamshire, still living the Lockdown dream/nightmare. Not seeing anyone except your immediate family. And those that do get through the net have to keep 2 metres away from you and can’t use your toilet.

I suppose I should not complain. (But I Do.) Things could be worse. I could have to go to nursery.

I suppose that is one thing I can thank Boris Johnson for. The fact that I have got out of the final three months of nursery.

To get across how important that is to me may I explain it this way. If we young people were allowed to vote. And I think it is a travesty that we, the under 5’s are denied the vote! We have some very valid and sensible thoughts at the side of grownups which are just ignored and overlooked.

But that aside, if I was allowed to vote I would have to vote for Mr Johnson for getting me out of nursery. He’s definitely one of my posh chums for doing that.

Having said that, it is a love/hate relationship. Because of lockdown he has stalled my life plan and experiences before they have barely got off the ground. What damage has that done to my life experiences? Irretrievable damage I dare say. Forget lockdown ending for the sake of the economy. I need it to end and life to quickly get back to normal so that I can resume gathering life’s experiences.

So, come on Mr Johnson get your finger out.

One experience lockdown has taught me is the meaning of the word ‘compromise’.

As a family we love to go on seaside holidays. Due to Corvid-19 we are not allowed to go on holiday, probably never again.

Recently, however, new rules were introduced that allow us to travel wherever we like specially to walk and have fun. The provisos are that you can only go to any place that you can get back from in one day. You also obviously have to keep 2 metres away from everyone else.

And this is how ‘compromise’ works. That rule enabled us to have a lockdown mini staycation holiday anywhere 400 miles from our house. As long as we left 1 minute after midnight on say a Thursday morning. Drive 400 miles. That is my guess of distance. If you are a good and fast driver like my Dad. You can drive at 50 mph and you’d get there in 8 hours. You would enjoy a 7 hrs 58mins mini staycation holiday. But you must return by 1 minute before midnight on Thursday night. So, that is an 8 hours’ drive home. The total is just short of 24 hours. Within the same day. Within the rules. Excellent!

It’s like Cinderella. I don’t know what happens if you don’t get back. You probably turn into a pumpkin or three blind mice.

Anyway, this turned into a mammoth occasion exactly like a holiday.

Mum and dad both had a days holiday off work. Yes, Mum too. She claims to be working but never leaves the house. How does that work then? Not for me to query. Know what I mean? As long as she is happy.

Because we weren’t staying overnight, we had no cases to pack. But Mum still turned on the stresses, just like a real holiday. She packed a bag with everything we could ever need for a week, no, aa month, let alone a day. And then hurried us up: wake up, wash your face, get dressed, teeth cleaned, toy for the car. And a quick moan at Dad to make it authentic.

As we had an 8 hour window, I was excited we had a whole range of places we could reach from:

Chatsworth Farmyard,

Padstow, Cornwall,

Torquay, Devon,




The Gower Peninsula,


Brittany France,


Or even Nashville, USA

All were reachable in 8 hours.

Do you know where we ended up setting off for? Skegness.

Why would you (Mum and Dad) make your mind up to go to Skegness when you cold have gone to all those exotic places or even say Robin Hood’s Bay. Does anyone understand grownups? I sure don’t.

But it was a great holiday. Although I missed my cousins, big time.

We took one and a half hours to drive the fifty-five miles.

There were not many people there. Infect none. We had the sea and the beach to ourselves. Not that we wanted it.

The second thing I noticed after seeing it as a ghost town was how cold it was. If there had been more people maybe their body heat would have made it warmer. I was numb with cold. The coldness made the seaside holiday so authentic and real.

It was so cold my nose went as red as my jacket. Unnaturally red.

I/we paddled in the cold, cold, icy sea. My toes were so cold I could not feel them, and they almost dropped off. But I became excited. This was like a real seaside holiday.

I tried emptying the sea of water with my bucket. We built sand pies and castles. I dithered and my teeth chattered. So, Mum wrapped me in a towel for a blanket and bought me an ice cream. She then cuddled me close for warmth in true British Seaside summer holiday style.

It t’was nice but a bit claustrophobic.

“Come on,” said Dad, “What you two need,” (me and my sister) “is some chips.”

We didn’t find a McDonalds, but we did find a Seaside Fish & Chip Takeaway. All correctly marked up in two metres.

In good old British Seaside Outdoor Fish & Chip tradition as we got the chips the heavens opened up. The rain poured down.

Although there were few people the seagulls still flocked around scavenging fish and chips. No one seems to have told them about the two-metre rule or social distancing.

If you are on holiday you have to go crabbing. But the crabs were obviously socially distancing because we didn’t see one. There were no donkeys there either. But when I thought about it, you can’t be two metres away from a donkey when you are riding it.

You can’t go on holiday and not do the amusement arcade on the pier. At first, I was surprised it was open but then when I thought it through I realised, they are classed as essential for anyone attending the seaside for a holiday compromise.

As Mum put me back in the car seat to go home, I was amazed that me and my sister and my Mum and Dad had fitted a full week long holiday into just one day.

In the car,I was warm for the first time all day and exhausted and so, I fell asleep. The next minute we were home, and it seemed as though our lockdown seaside holiday had all been a dream.

We had another trip too later in the week to Rufford Park and met up with Mamma and Grandad with 2 metres between us. We fed ducks, geese, swans and ourselves. The waterfowl didn’t care about social distancing. The mummy duck had five babies. Mummy and daddy swan had one signet. They were very greedy.

Me and Sister Freya had a socially distanced ice cream, as Mamma and Grandad coffeed.

One last story before I take my leave that shows how advanced I am now in my education due to being home educated in lockdown.

Sister Freya, 7 years old, has homework to do about snails.

Guess who caught two snails for her. Little old, four-year-old, me. You have to be slick and skilled to catch a snail. They are quick-witted, dodging and escaping all the time. But they could not outwit me.

Grandad says we need to name them. He suggests Burt ‘n Joyce. But I’m not keen on those names. I do not know how to tell boy snails from girl snails. They don’t answer to names. And they don’t wear defining clothes or have tale telling hair length. So, I think we should name them Batman and Spiderman.

Well I’d best be off and get a bit more social distancing done.

Until the next time…

Bye, George.

Please read this Blog at 2 metres. Thank you.