Greetings, my fellow port swillers, and Happy Easter!  He has risen, indeed!

I hope all you friends of the decanter managed to make the best of things.  Ol’ Robbo duly dialed into his church’s livestreamed solemnities,  If this house-arrest nonsense keeps up much longer, he’s going to have to look into investing in a prie-dieu, because the joints do not take kindly to prolonged kneeling on the floor these days.  (Yes, I am as participatory as possible.  I couldn’t imagine just sitting there and watching passively.)

I’ve never used livestream before and didn’t realize that the feed keeps track of the number of users watching it.  I found myself somewhat amused that even in the Virtual Church there were still people sneaking in late.  (After my initial reluctance, I think I’m going to keep it up, by the way.  No doubt this will go down on my permanent record at the NSA.)

Easter Dinner was another casualty of coronapalooza in that with the cancellation of planned visits by my brother’s family and my cousin, I didn’t have the critical mass of lamb-lovers necessary to justify my doing up a nummy rack of same.  (My own household have no interest in it whatever, the cretins.)  I couldn’t find a roast anywhere, and as none of us care for ham we simply settled for a nice steak dins.  (I did do popovers and asparagus by way of celebration.)  Correspondingly, we didn’t bother with breaking out the good china and silver or dressing formally, but instead were fairly casual.  At least it was a nice evening to eat outside.

Saturday afternoon found Ol’ Robbo in something of a bind.  (I told you this is a random post.)  One of the upstairs “shutters” blew off Port Swiller Manor during a recent bout of wind.  Since I don’t happen to own a long ladder, I had mentally filed the matter away as something to deal with in the Undefined Future.  But as I lay in the hammock letting my mind drift, Mrs. R suddenly appeared and announced that our neighbor does have one, and that he was out front with it.  Regular readers will know of my deep-seated fear of heights, and I am here to tell you that being two stories up on a shaky ladder did nothing at all to allay it.  But what else could I do except go through with it?  When I got down, somewhat pale and gasping, and thanked my neighbor, he said if the shutter comes off again I am welcome to use the ladder.  “Heck,” I replied, “If it comes off again, I’m just going to sell the house!”

Well, that’s about it for now.  I’ve the feeling that nothing much is going to happen this week and that we will continue to muddle along in the new status quo.  (Wasn’t last week supposed to be Peak Plague, by the bye?  Where are all the bodies? I was told there would be bodies stacked like cordwood.)  So Ol’ Robbo will continue to muddle as well.