Just to add further calendar confusion to this whole COVID landscape, this year May Day Bank Holiday Monday is being celebrated on a Friday. This switch allowing none key workers a day off to celebrate the 75th anniversary of VE Day. Subsequently, today those employee’s residences will return solely to domestic abodes, not the recent daily amalgam of home and workplace.

Around the UK, they’ll be numerous social distancing compliant street parties, affording the populace time to celebrate this day 75 years previous, when the allied forces WWII victory over German foes was confirmed.

Today’s ‘knees ups’ including a respectful two minutes silence, hanging of bunting, smorgasbords of buffet fare and the rousing singing of Hang Out Your Washing On The Siegfried Line (maybe).

The West Yorkshire street where I live is holding one of these parties. An event yours truly’ll join in some capacity at some juncture throughout the day. This despite waking in severe discomfort from lower back trauma, resultant from overly enthusiastic shrub removal whilst gardening on Monday.

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This paragraph contains my inaugural sentences since standing on the doorstep where mum Maggie and me joined a section of the neighbourhood in a two minutes silence. This a small but reverential tribute to those who lived and fought during World War II.

It was a poignant few moments, not just the deference to the protagonists of the 1939-45 conflict, but it’s also the first time I can recall since moving in here in July that Maggie been bloody silent for two minutes….. I’m thinking of contacting the War Office in Whitehall to request we opt for a one hours silence next time we pay tribute to the fallen.

As I write my mum’s quirkily knitting a birthday card for my son (her grandson) Jonathon, whose birthday is in a few weeks. With self -isolation (this is the 7th week since leaving the house) Mags is deprived of an opportunity to purchase her oldest grandchild a greeting card.

Steadfastly refusing to believe you can create bespoke birthday cards online, via conduits such as Moonpig and Funky Pigeon, the Luddite septuagenerian deems knitting Jonny her good wishes as the most suitable alternative. I haven’t got the heart to tell her she’s already spelt his name wrong on the woollen greetings token.

Maggie absolutely loves knitting. In my childhood she even used to knit woollen soup bowl holders. This idiosyncratic trait undertaken apparently to maintain the broths heat. Eccentric behaviour leading to soup in the Strachan home becoming frequently infiltrated by wool strands, and a cause of very few mates being keen at lunching there.

My mum was 4 years old when VE Day took place. As she’s ordinarily a good raconteur, I’ve asked her on a few occasions if she’s any memories of living through WWII. Maggie can evoke the occasional anecdote from that time, but as they mostly revolve around the topic of wool not air raids, I’ll not darken your door with them.

Anyhow, I’m going to bring this narrative to a conclusion; sitting on this dining chair for the last hour is doing my back injury no favours whatsoever.

Happy VE Day anniversary y’all!!