18 May

Isolation Update – How many meals?

I am so beside myself about Trump that I couldn’t get to sleep last night. The drinking bleach comments, the hydroxychloroquine, the racism, the stupidity, the hair, the face, it is too much. The fear he will get in again in November, and how America will respond. It’s frightening, truly. When I eventually fell asleep I had really graphic dreams about all my friends dying. People keep talking about how vivid their Covid dreams are. Mine are also really dark. Maybe I need to start making more vegan dinners? Although I’ll miss the cheese.

I need you to know that I did a lot of karaoke this weekend. I had my moments where I could feel myself welling up, but I did manage to enjoy it. Finding songs with no memories attached seemed to do the trick. I have a new song that I am trying to perfect. It’s not easy, but I am determined to get it right. It’s a lesser known Cher song called ‘Just Like Jesse James’. Heard it? Go and listen to it right now. When isolation is over and I am allowed back into karaoke bars, I’m going in strong with that song. It ticks all my boxes. Country vibes with some good crescendo. It will work well with my finger clicks and air punches, my classic moves.

As usual I was drunk for most of the weekend, ate 309,581,239,058 meals and feel like an absolute bloater now, but we got through it so all good. The thumb on my right hand is very sore, and I presume it’s from texting so much. This is worrying. If I lose my hands, I lose everything. I need to protect it, but how? I attempted to dictate a few texts, but my phone seems to want to get me into trouble and does not type what I actually say. Also, Chris could hear me bitching to my mates and I didn’t feel right about that. I’m not really sure what to do. My thumb needs a break, but I need to be in constant digital contact with everyone I know. So I guess I’m just going to lose the thumb?

We got stoned on Friday afternoon so ate two huge bags of crisps before we ordered a Chinese. None of that is OK, and I couldn’t sleep because my tummy hurt so bad. We giggled a lot though and sounded awesome down the microphones for the karoake, so who cares about chronic indigestion and tripling my daily calorie intake in under thirty minutes. I DON’T.

I cut the kids’ hair. Valentine looks like he had an operation.

There was a HORRIBLE smell of fish in the kitchen yesterday. It made no sense. I was so scared there was a dead animal somewhere, then Chris discovered an old bowl of Potato’s food under the cabinet. He pulled it out and MY GOD, it was FULL of flies and maybe even maggots. HOW can that happen when we are home all the time? I feel shame.

I was getting in a tizz because none of my clothes fit any more, when a late Mother’s Day gift from Chris arrived. It’s an Anthropologie jumpsuit with a loose waist and it hides ALL of my paunch. I’m never taking it off. Isn’t that super? No need to work on my weight because I have an outfit that accommodates it. The perfect solution to what I am going to describe as ‘Quarantine Belly’.

We popped down to our new house yesterday. It’s coming on great and we really might be in in July[1]. Only a year later than expected. While I was upstairs, out of the window I saw a woman walk up the driveway. She was wearing a purple dressing gown, and my guess would be that she lives in one of the tents around the corner. Tents are a common feature in LA, the homeless problem is at breaking point. It is entirely normal for homeless people to pop up tents on residential and commercial streets. Around where we live, there are a lot. I noticed some a few moments from our new house, and I am guessing this lady lived in one of them. She was probably late sixties and looked all the lovely kinds of bonkers. She had the most radiant smile on her face. She seemed very at home in our garden, which would lead me to believe this wasn’t her first visit. She had a plastic bag and a pair of scissors. I wondered if she was coming inside to use a toilet (let’s not think about what the scissors were for) as the house is obviously not being lived in right now. I wasn’t going to stop her, but was pleased when she headed for the rose bush outside the front door instead. She proceeded to cut the heads off all the roses and put them in her plastic bag.

I probably should have stopped her, but it was nice to watch. The chances are, she doesn’t have many things, so who am I to stop her having a few nice flowers to brighten up wherever she was going next? Isn’t that exactly what flowers are for? She wandered off after she’d taken what she wanted and headed down the street into someone else’s driveway. When we left, I looked at the bush. Nearly all the roses had been chopped off, so it looked a little sad. Just a green, thorny bush, all its hard-earned blossoms snatched away. Because I am spiritual as fuck these days – seeing signs in everything, sleep with crystals and apparently talk to trees – I went over to the bush and thanked it for being kind. ‘I’ll take care of you for that,’ I said, as I walked away. And I meant it, I will.

It probably wants to stab me with all its thorns for standing by while a well-known local flower snatcher butchered it, but still. The lady’s smile stayed with me for the rest of the day. She can have the bush if she wants.

Bye for now.

Love Dawn x

20 May

Isolation Update – Your five-year-old has a big aubergine

Remember how I talked about cooking more vegan dinners? I’ve just stuffed jasmine rice into a cup, patted it down and turned it upside down to create the most perfect rice mound (anyone else just get a visual of the weird plastic mound between a mannequin’s legs?) It’s so simple, but looks very impressive, and I am going to go on about it for quite some time. The mannequin’s fanny is surrounded by a very delicious vegetarian curry that I can’t share the recipe for because I made it up as I went along. I sprinkled chopped spring onions on top, and then Chris had the fantastic idea of putting cashews in it. All in all, we are currently enjoying a highly satisfactory vegan meal. Expect smugness.

Last night I messaged one of the mums from Art’s class to check in and see how she was. I don’t know her very well, but she’s so nice and she’s working her ass off with twin boys, so I wanted to show some support. As we were chatting she said something about her little boy not being able to sit down for long, and then I accidentally sent her the aubergine emoji.

She didn’t mention it.

It’s torturing me.

Did she not notice, or does she think I made a weird joke about her five-year-old’s willy?

Why can’t there be a spell checker for emojis?

OK, I need to wash up and sleep. Until tomorrow,

Love Dawn x

21 May

Isolation Update – I feel pretty

I cut my fringe and it looks OK. I have to tilt my head a little because it’s got a slight wonk to it, but it’s good. I might attempt to cut my hair next week, anyone done it yet?

I think I might be ovulating. I say this because I felt pretty today. Has anyone else noticed how that happens? I didn’t have a clue about ovulation until I was trying to get pregnant with Art. Why doesn’t anyone at school teach you that you can only get pregnant for four to five days a month? Is it just so young girls don’t get casual about unprotected sex? If I had known it was THAT hard to get pregnant, I’d have had way more fun. (I’m joking, USE A CONDOM.)

I was fascinated by it all when I wanted to conceive. After a few months in I couldn’t work out why I wasn’t pregnant. I just thought it would be a case of ditching the birth control, spreading my legs and BAM. But nothing happened. Obviously, the first thought and worry was that I couldn’t do it, but then a friend asked me when I ovulate and laughed when I said I had no idea. She explained how reproduction works. ‘You release an egg (ovulation) and the sperm has to catch it before it leaves your body.’ Simple. Perhaps I thought that there was always an egg floating around. I hadn’t listened during sex education at school, because I was too busy scratching cocks into the desks with my compass. Anyway, I worked out when I was ovulating and the next month got pregnant. Fascinating.

(I want to say I realise this is not an easy ride for a lot of people. I was extremely lucky how easily I conceived my first kid, and I don’t take that for granted for a single day. I’m sorry if the journey isn’t so straightforward for you.)

I also discovered that when you ovulate you produce a thinner mucus than the usual (I REFUSE TO SAY DISCHARGE IN THIS DIARY) so that the sperm can travel more freely to the egg. If you look out for it, you’ll see it in your knickers. (Not apologising to the male readers, this is how you were made.) ANYWAY, another thing that happens when you ovulate is that you can feel pretty. Almost like an animal in the wild that fluffs itself up, changes colour or does a weird walk, you are in ‘attracting a mate’ mode, and mother nature has given you a little dose of self-confidence to get you through it. Isn’t that kind of her?

I woke up starving at 5 a.m. Ravenous, in fact. I had to fight the need to get up and make a sandwich. I just don’t understand how vegans stay full (I had a vegan dinner, remember?). I really go for it with the nuts or tofu but it’s always the same. Starving hours later or in the morning. I really love the idea of a few vegan meals a week, but I can’t be dealing with that feeling. Tell me, vegans, I know I have a few of you here, how do you stay full? I need to sleep!

I just ate a peanut butter cup and we are having lamb chops for dinner. My fave.

Love Dawn x

PS I had a dream that we did a massive event and I walked out on-stage singing Cher’s ‘Just Like Jesse James’ and you all joined in. PLEASE can we make that happen when this is all over?

21 May

Isolation Update – Mum, stop scratching your fanny

As you’ve probably gathered, I’m really not sleeping well at the moment. I lie there for ages having horrible thoughts, and then get really vivid dreams that wake me up in a state. Last night I wandered around the house for hours before I could turn myself off again (did I just describe myself as a Nora Jones lyric?).

Anyway, I think the lack of sleep is making me sad again. I’ve been very weepy. Last night Chris took over bathtime with the boys so I could just sit outside and have a moment to think. I want space and time to think about Caroline, and that’s very hard to get. If real life was happening, I’d take the odd day off work and go sit up a mountain and sob, but that isn’t something I can do right now. But to just sit out at the back, alone, for an hour was soooo nice. Although as soon as I went out, a cop helicopter started circling the house. So loud. A little scary. There was a baddy very close. Then Lilu, who never comes out the back, started yelling at me. For NO reason other than to make peace and quiet impossible. Honestly, it’s like Caroline keeps throwing things at me every time I try to think about her too much. Like she’s saying, ‘Don’t you dare. Get up, get on with it, don’t be sad.’ I ended up having a laugh about it, because by the time there was silence it was time to read the kids their stories. OK, OK, I get the hint, Flack!

But it was still nice just to sit there.

Last night, I accidentally made a FANTASTIC lamb pie. Remember I said we were having lamb chops? (Of course you don’t, why would you?) WELL, you can imagine my horror when I unwrapped them to reveal DUH DUH DUUUHHHHH, some weird-looking lamb chunks on sticks. GUTTED. I was so excited for the succulent, crispy fat of a lamb chop. Having the salty juices stream down my chin as I hold one in my mouth, turn to Chris and say, ‘Have I got something in my teeth?’

EVERY. TIME.

Alas, it was not to be. I had to think fast, so did this.

Fried an onion, put in about seven whole cloves of garlic. Browned the lamb with some rosemary. Took lamb out. Boiled down a glass of red, some beef stock. Let it simmer and reduce. Put the lamb back in. Tin of tomatoes and a massive spoonful of Bisto gravy granules. Let it simmer an hour. Defrosted some pastry, rolled it out, put the filling in a dish, covered it in pastry, whacked it in the oven, served it with salad, went to bed, GOT LAID.

It was a FUCKING triumph.

I missed people today. My aunty, uncle, dad, sister. When will we be able to fly home to see them? It all seems so impossible. We’ve invited loads of family for Christmas, but God knows who will come. I realise it’s a bit of a funny year, but does anyone else start planning Christmas around now? I always do. I LOVE Christmas and attach a lot to it.

The whole ritual of the day: presents in the morning, a big brunch, the huge turkey, the treats, the drinks, the hats, the passing out in front of the fire. I love big crowds, or small crowds. And I LOVE the food. When Christmas is done well, there is nothing better. When it’s done badly, there is nothing worse. I’ve had a few stinkers, not that I’m not going to go into those, but some Christmas Days make for many happy memories.

My perfect Christmas looks like this.

A big dinner on Christmas Eve. (The perfect dish? Beef Wellington.) On Christmas morning the kids open stockings that we leave in their room. After that, downstairs for breakfast – ham and eggs. Call whatever family are not around with Christmas music blaring in the background. More presents. While the kids play with all their toys, I prep some food and start drinking. Some downtime for everyone around noon. At two, hordes of people arrive for pigs in blankets and whatever hors d’oeuvres I’ve pulled together. Smoked salmon, vol au vents, the works. At four, we sit down to Christmas dinner. Turkey, ham, maybe even a beef joint with all the trimmings. After that, Christmas pudding (I love it) and something else (because everyone else hates it). Then mountains of Stilton and port. We’d sit at the table for hours chatting, then play games until we are so drunk we can’t stand any more. Someone might get a guitar out at this point, and there would definitely be some karaoke. Then into the living room for a movie and too much chocolate. We’d all fall asleep, then wake up and have one more plate of food and a sherry before bed. Or maybe it would all kick off again and we’d play music and sing until we lose our voices. PERFECT.

Oh God, I can taste it all now. I hope we get to spend Christmas with people this year, although I must say, one of my favourites ever was when I was just about to give birth to Art and it was just Chris and me. I was enormous, but cooked a twelve-pound turkey with all the sides and it was SO fun. I wore a huge red kaftan and we had the best day. The idea of just us with the boys in our new house this year isn’t so bad.

Valentine is three on 1 July. His last birthday was just the four of us on a beach in Vancouver, so it’s sad to think he might not get much more than that again. Not that he has a bloody clue. Yesterday I gave him a cookie for Chris, and he gave it to him while singing ‘Happy Birthday’. He just thinks it’s a song you sing when you give people sweet things. He also yelled at me this morning for not knowing what his weirdest-looking dino was, and then ran off saying, ‘It’s my birthday, it’s my birthday.’ Maybe we shouldn’t tell him it’s his birthday and just wait until he can have a party? He’d have no idea. Every day is his birthday, as far as he’s concerned. Nice attitude, I suppose.

My kids gave me a pedicure nearly three months ago and I still have it. I’m all for keeping up appearances in some ways, but in others I’ve totally dropped the ball. My nails being one. When I first moved to LA I used to get mani/pedis once or twice a week. I had a brilliant place that charged me $30 for both and I was in and out in an hour. Back then, I only ever wore bright orange and I saw those nails as an extension of my personality. I later moved on to white, which I loved because it felt all sixties. Nails always very short and filed round, never square. That was my look. Since having kids, however, my look is what I like to call ‘the mummicure’. It consists of no nail varnish, overgrown cuticles and various uneven lengths. This is largely due to hands being in either washing up or bathwater. Because I got so used to having no varnish on, I quite like my one red foot and one nude foot that the boys did for me. Some nails were only half done, but still, who cares. Also, with my Covid Toe still lingering, what the hell does it matter anyway?

HAVE YOU THROWN UP YET?

I have a mosquito bite right up in my crotch and it’s causing me a great deal of stress. I’m worried that, when I’ve gone, my kids will describe me like this: ‘She never stopped singing, wore ridiculous dresses, drank too much and was always scratching her fanny.’

It’s not how I want to be remembered.

ANYONE ELSE GOT AN ITCHY FANNY THEY WANT TO TALK ABOUT?

Please don’t answer that.

Love Dawn x

22 May

Isolation Update – Godzilla found his way to my knickers again

Earlier this evening, as I was washing my child’s hair, I had a strange feeling of unfamiliarity. Washing my children felt like a novel experience, but why? I do this every day, I thought … Don’t I?

It turns out, I do not.

I realised I hadn’t done it since last Wednesday, and even then, there had been no hair washing. They were disgusting. Sticky. This is now how we roll.

Art has dreadlocks. Valentine has developed a fear of cleanliness. I made a Happy Birthday video for my friend, then realised after I had sent it that there was food all over my chest. I used to be better turned out than this. I used to wear clean clothes. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I still wear GREAT clothes. They just stink.

I’ve been shopping for sofas and it’s impossible. Why are there so many? Like, if you were going to start any business, wouldn’t sofas be the last one you would try? It must be the most saturated market on the planet, right? I mean, I get it, there are loads of us and we all need a place to sit, but Jesus. I am overwhelmed. I just want a nice-looking comfy sofa bed that doesn’t cost a million dollars. But they’re all SO ugly. And if they’re not ugly, they’re impractical. And if they’re not ugly and impractical then they have weird piping on them, and if they’re not ugly, impractical with weird piping on them, then I just HATE THEM. It’s such a huge part of your home, isn’t it? There’s too much choice. Everyone should just be given a free sofa when they are born and have to keep it forever. That would be so much easier. Luck of the draw.

Might just get some bean bags. Maybe if we don’t fill our house with furniture, we could just lay rugs down instead, with occasional pouffes and sleep mats. We could squeeze in as many friends as possible and create a commune? Because I don’t know if you’ve noticed but ‘WE HAVE A VACCINE FOR COVID-19’ is NOT a sentence I am hearing. What if isolation goes on for months, years, FOR EVER? Honestly, the world has gone so mad this year that I am not ruling out anything. It’s time to make plans for permanent lockdown, and it starts here. No sofas and multiple friends moving in. Throw in a wine, tequila and lime juice delivery service and I reckon I could coast like this for years.

I keep watching videos on how to make sourdough bread. I want to make it so badly, but it’s SO much effort for a loaf of bread that I can just buy in literally 1/10th of the time. I have enough on my plate (BA BOOM). This is not the time to make very demanding bakery items, is it? But Instagram tells me I should be better at baking. You know what, I successfully made cupcakes a few weeks ago, or wait, was that months ago? What date even is it? I have no idea. What’s my name again? Oh yes, bread. I’ll get some from the shops tomorrow.

What were we talking about again? Who cares.

My womb has fired up again. Last night I slept badly, because nothing changes there, and was up in raging agony every three hours. I’d take more painkillers, then BAM, three hours later Godzilla found his way back into my knickers and started eating me from the inside out. If that sounded remotely sexy, I can assure you, it wasn’t. I have a few more nights of it to go, then I’ll be done for a few weeks.

I’d totally forgotten I did it, but I was in so much pain in the night I must have googled alternative remedies and ended up spending $100 on this thing called an Ovira. Has anyone ever heard of it? It’s a weird contraption you put on your belly and it sends electrical pulses to your brain telling it you are not actually in pain.

I think we all know I just wasted $100.

What a hideous design fault our menstrual cycles are. It could have been so simple. Go to shop, buy a baby. But no, we have to menstruate instead. It’s rubbish.

I cooked meals for two families and dropped them round this weekend. It felt SO good to partake in some community activity and do something nice. I’m going to do more of that this week. For one family I made Jamie Oliver’s ‘Sausage and Cherry Tomato Bake’ – my signature dish.

And for another, who are vegetarians, I roasted loads of veg and made a really good pasta sauce. I blended it all to look like tomato sauce, because their kid is fussy and that’s his favourite. Everyone said they enjoyed the food, but I definitely want to expand my veggie repertoire to cook more exciting things than pasta for my vegetarian mates. I find it quite hard to be exciting without meat. Said the actress to the bishop.

I’m really scared about never having another buffet. Apparently ‘the buffet’ (my favourite meal) will be almost wiped out completely after Covid because people will be too afraid of them. IMAGINE hotels without buffet breakfasts? Pizza Hut without a salad bar? It’s UNBEARABLE. I was OK with all this until I heard that, now I don’t care if I never leave the house again. I might start an underground buffet movement, where we all gather in derelict mansion houses and eat from giant trays with our hands, because FUCK THIS.

On that note, I’m off to prepare a dinner spread of cocktail sausages and cheese on sticks for my family. ALL HAIL THE BUFFET.

I hope that you and yours are all OK.

Love Dawn x

24 May

Isolation Update – ALEXA, fix my womb

After another night of rolling around like a cat that had been hit by a car, courtesy of my uterus, I really could have done with a lie-in this morning. PLEASE can I just go to bed for a year? Instead, I was woken by Art, who was trying to be brilliant but not quite nailing it. He was asking Alexa to read to him, he was just doing it really loudly. ‘ALEXA, PLAY “101 FACTS ABOUT DINOSAURS”,’ he yelled. To which Alexa yelled back ‘HERE IS “101 FACTS ABOUT DINOSAURS”.’ To which I yelled, ‘ALEXA, VOLUME FIVE.’ But what did it matter, I was well and truly awake by then. So up I trudged into the kitchen to make them some cereal. Here we go again.

I am so pleased that my kids will never have to go through the trauma of period pain. Last night was so awful. If this was any other illness, I wouldn’t feel like I have to get up and act normally, I would declare myself unwell and have Chris take over. And as much as he would if I asked, I don’t do this because this isn’t an illness, it’s just how it bloody is. I know I’ve gone on about this before, but the way we women accept pain is crazy. Why, when I was up so much in the night, when I have taken way more painkillers than I should have, when I feel like I’ve been hit by a bloody truck, am I even pretending to be normal? I am either a trooper or pathetic, I’m not quite sure. I should be lying on my back screaming for crisps, demanding help and attention. Not cutting up a mango and spreading peanut butter on a bagel for someone else. It’s ridiculous.

I had fried eggs on toast. Why isn’t all food fried? It would just be so much better if it was, because then you wouldn’t feel guilty when you eat it, because there wouldn’t be any other options. Wouldn’t that just be better?

As I am writing this, I can hear a massive house party a few doors down. I mean, for fuck’s sake? I can’t imagine they are wearing masks at this party. Some people really don’t get it, do they? WATCH THE NEWS, YOU KNOBHEADS.

I don’t need house parties, because I had a VERY exciting morning. I worked, then went to my local UPS store to pick up some printouts. Isn’t that riveting? I know, I could barely contain myself. They even gave me a free folder for all my paperwork. I expressed a very over-the-top-level of gratitude, even using my arms at one point. It’s amazing how one gesticulates when no one can see your face, isn’t it?

We ran out of toilet paper and I went to three places to get some and they were all out. I eventually found some that is scented with lavender and I am almost positive it will give me thrush. WHY do I need my fanny to smell of lavender, to keep the moths out?

Do I tell you too much?

I’m pleased to say I have found some childcare and now have a few hours a day of help. It’s a lovely lady called Fatima who is isolating at her house and just comes straight to us. Thank GOD. It’s OBVIOUSLY game-changing, but the kids want to be with me anyway, and the time just flies. Still, it’s one step closer to anything resembling normal, so I am very very happy and grateful about it. Finally, I get a few hours a day to work. We are really hoping the Governor (said in a broad Cockney accent with a cheeky wink) announces that small gatherings are allowed next week. I know that’s coming in London soon, and New York has done it too. I really do feel like we could keep our life really tiny for ages. But we just need a couple of friends to do it with. Drinking alone has started to feel wrong.

Anyway, the kids are asleep so I’m going to get into bed and prepare myself for the onslaught of tonight’s agony. You know, all entirely normal and everything. WTF.

NIGHT-NIGHT x

Love Dawn x