Bunting

I had a flyer through my door about holding a socially distanced street party for VE Day. It was being organised through a What's App group, but I'm not really one for that kind of thing. The flyer said you could look online for details of how to make bunting, but I've still got the stuff I put up the last Royal wedding. That would do I thought. I didn't particularly want to risk climbing on a step ladder with the NHS currently so busy. I did think about decorating the garden wall, but that would've meant taking my chances with the hordes of sweaty cyclists and joggers who seem to have arrived from nowhere since lockdown.

As I arranged the red, white and blue bunting around my front windows, I thought how sensible I'd been not to fork out for a mug to celebrate Prince Harry's nuptials. I mean they're not even Royal now are they, those two? I don't suppose even 'Flog It!' will ever be interested in selling their commemorative tat.

It wasn't until I'd finished displaying my bunting that I happened to glance across the road. The man two doors along on that side, was, like me, up early and had hung an impressive display of union jacks from a line stretched across his front garden. He only moved in a few months back, and I haven't had the chance to speak to him yet, but he looks like a friendly sort, despite having one of those awful beards young men seem to think is trendy nowadays. So I gave him a wave and he waved back. Then he went back into his house to emerge with another flag. As he straightened out to peg it on his line I could see that it was blue. Blue with a circle of yellow stars in the middle!

I used to teach. When I retired they gave me a blackboard on an easel as one of my presents. It was quite a struggle to carry it out into the front garden. It's hard to shout across the road with all the traffic and I'm not a person who likes to raise her voice in public, even when I am a bit annoyed. I couldn't very well cross the road and speak to the man from a safe social distance either, as former health problems have left me immuno-suppressed. Instead I chalked in big, thick letters on the board:

'EU on VE Day?'

The man across the road was busy arranging cakes and wine glasses on a table in his own front garden and didn't immediately notice my message. When he did, he turned straight around and went back inside. I felt a bit guilty then, because I didn't really want to upset someone on VE Day, even a remainer.

Well after a minute or two the man returned and he was carrying an easel. Then he went back in again and brought out a white board - the kind teachers write on with marker pens. Perhaps he was, or more likely still is, a teacher too. He wrote in thick black marker on his board:

'R U Brexit?'

Well I'm not sure I approve of writing 'R U' as letters like that. I hope he doesn't do that when teaching his class. I rubbed off my own message and wrote,

'Of Course'

He then erased his and replaced it with:

'Thought so.'

I wasn't sure what my next response should be and was about to go back inside, when I heard the roar of an aircraft engine and a Spitfire zoomed overhead. It was the one the Daily Mail had hired for a flypast travelling between Brighton and Worthing. As the plane disappeared into the blue, I realised the man from across the road was now standing opposite my house, but still on his own side. He was placing a tray containing a glass of wine and a cupcake on the wall of the house there that is currently unoccupied. He gestured across to indicate the wine and cake were for me and then returned to his own garden.

As you can imagine, this left me with something of a dilemma. I haven't been able to book a supermarket delivery slot in a fortnight, despite that fact I'm shielding. It was such a hot day and that wine was so very tempting. Should I put politics aside and accept his offer in a spirit of generosity?

I waited until there wasn't a cycle in sight and no joggers pounding the pavement. A supermarket lorry thundered through followed by a car with a canoe strapped to its roof - which surely breaches lockdown regulations? Finally, I darted across to the opposite pavement, collected the tray and returned to the safety of my garden. That wine was a good one: crisp, dry and definitely expensive. I like to think I'm a bit of a connoisseur and I think I could say with some certainty that it was French, and probably Chablis.

'French?' I queried, via my blackboard. I felt sure, for some reason, that the man across the road would know what I was referring to.

'No, I'm German' was his written reply. Then he raised his glass in a toast and I found myself doing the same.

'Cheers!' I wrote on my blackboard.

'Prost!' my new friend replied.