Lockdown Unlocked – A blog from a social distance by Thomas Willshire #2 Stadium Walk

Posted onAuthorThe Librarian

Walking the dog has become something of a loved and loathed job during lockdown. I’m very aware that without the need to get him out and exercised every twenty-four hours I’d probably have spent many days festering indoors. So, you know, bless His Little Furry Heart etc. On the other hand, I’ve never been a fan of imperative and he simply has to go out the Panting Little Turd. We’ve ended up planning our day around getting him his walk and I resent this modicum of structure almost as much as I’m glad of it. I spend the morning begrudging our Darling Mr Fuck Paws and then spend the afternoon, post walk, grateful to Lord Fluffy Muzzle Face for having gotten me out of the flat.

Yesterday Polly walked him on her own (she senses my complex feelings on the matter) and I was delighted. Then, as evening approached, I began to feel guilty and miserable that I hadn’t gone outside yet. Not properly anyway. I’m a contrary mess at the moment and without a fan and dress to swish about what is a boy to do? Ultimately, I gave in and dragged the Hairy Little Prick out for a second stroll. I took him on what I call a ‘Stadium Walk’. Once round Selhust Park (Crystal Palace’s home ground), back though the Sainsbury’s car park, down Clifton Road and home. It takes twenty minutes and this was at about 9:30 pm so it was dark (or as dark as London ever gets). As you walk along the north east side of the football ground you look up at Grangewood Park which sits on a hill. There’s a row of houses in front of the trees of that park and when I peered up at them, their lights twinkling, while Fergal squeezed out his third shit of the day, it was almost…pretty.

Suddenly I was in Devon looking across the Rivers Taw and Torridge at Appledore. We used to holiday there quite regularly and a highlight for me was the view of Appledore from Instow beach. It’s beautiful day or night. Appledore is one of those little villages in Devon which has a magical appearance thanks to its proximity to water. Gazing across at the houses with their lights reflecting in the estuary made me feel safe and content. The view possesses a beguiling illusion of permanence. People will always

be able to stand on Instow beach and look across at Appledore. Timeless and beautiful. And isn’t it a wonderful name, as well? Tolkein thought so, of course, hence that bit in Lord of the Rings where Frodo gets a hand job from a Pomme Pixie in ‘The Hamlet of Apeldoor’.

Polly and I don’t live in an attractive place. I’ll re-phrase because there’s plenty about it that’s attractive and I don’t want to appear ungrateful. What I mean to say is that we don’t live in a visually appealing area. It’s all a bit shabby with more fly tipping than flower beds so this rare picturesque moment was to be savoured.

In truth, looking up at the houses in front of Grangewood from Selhurst Park is absolutely nothing like looking at Appledore from Instow but in my aesthetically deprived state it was enough. O to be on a holiday in newly exotic Devon! O to feel the breeze coming off the estuary. O to be near an estuary! Any fucking estuary! O to not be stuck in Selhurst by guilt and fear and circumstance.

The Happy Yappy Eunuch has had his walk today. I overcame my lethargy and took him up to Grangewood and did the opposite of what I had done the night before. I looked down at Selhurst Park from Grangewood and just as with Appledore and Instow, the reverse view is nowhere near as pleasing. During the lockdown perhaps its best I try to focus on the charms of where I’m standing rather than those of where I’m looking. Now that’s going to be bloody hard in Selhurst but I’ll try my hardest.

Just quickly, I thought I’d add that I’m looking to start writing a play this weekend. My first proper attempt in over three years. Don’t worry, I won’t bore you with my process, just my progress. Given my first entry in this blog I thought it might be interesting to see how well or how poorly I manage “giving up giving up”. We shall see.

Thomas Willshire is a writer/actor/comedian who just about lives in London with his wife, Polly and dog, Fergal. He considers himself the fortunate product of a supportive and loving environment.

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