Officially confined to quarters for 12 weeks, The Spire's creator’s only physical connection with the outside world is a yellow Sex Pistols shopping bag he dangles out of his window on a rope for friends delivering provisions. Here, exclusively for the Faversham Eye, he documents life at the sharp end of self-isolation...
Day 1 – 4:
A cinch, really. I work from home, which is the flat above Carter’s newsagents, so I’m used to being there during the day. Already though, there are a few things I miss. The jolly market trader who sells the tea towels, with his Sinatra renditions. I’ve noticed that it never rains if he begins the day with New York, New York.
Colin, the booming market inspector is missed also. NASA once claimed he was the only market inspector that could be heard from space.
There are 134 pigeon spikes on the front of the Guildhall, whose clock has stopped at 8.38. It remains unclear if it stopped at 8.38 am or pm. The back light which illuminates it is still functional, which aggravates me.
The man in the crombie, as always, paces the square.
Day 5 – 8:
There is inevitably a higher police presence on the square. A couple of bobbies walk past my flat, inches apart. I yell out of the window, “Oi! Six feet apart, you two!”. The taller one with the beard looks up and smiles before distancing himself from PC31.
The Natwest queue resembles Sir Anthony Gormley’s ‘Another Place’ installation on Crosby beach. NatWest only allow in one at a time. I watched one man in the queue grow a beard whilst waiting.
Friends are bringing extra food portions to the flat, but my girlfriend has seized the opportunity to help me quit smoking by refusing to buy me tobacco. So I ask someone else.
There are 126 glazed bricks leading from the pavement to the front door of the Guildhall, and approximately 385 tiles on the roof of the Royal Cinema. Lotty’s Flowers and All Stitched Up have both chosen Azure for the colour of their shop fronts.
Today, a council worker finally watered the plants outside the Guildhall. This pleased me as I could see some of the leaves were getting blight.
Crombie man continues to pace back and forth.
Day 9 – 14:
My first two weeks of a 12-stretch are done. By and large, locals are sticking to the rules. The police presence on foot has dwindled slightly. For some reason, cars are now driving down the pedestrianised part of West Street and the wrong way down Court Street. We were warned of this type of anarchy breaking out during lockdown.
I play Donna Summer’s ‘Hot Stuff’ to the NatWest queue, but no-one buys it. They respond well to The Beatles, though, but not Pink Floyd who the pigeons seem to enjoy, strangely enough. They gather outside my flat whenever Comfortably Numb comes on.
Every night, the harvest style moon glows brighter and floods the empty square. There are roughly 12,413 bricks on the square. I’ve looked them up, and they’re traditional London reds.
Crombie man was spotted three times today, and once in the evening.
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