I'm on holiday today, tomorrow and Wednesday. These are the first days off I've had since 10th March.
I know I'm miles better off than many people during the corona crisis, especially publicans and restauarant-owners, but I must admit that work has left me absolutely shattered.
The first set of restrictions came into force on 16th March. For the next two months, the hut was basically an off-licence. This led to more contact with the police than I'd had in all of my previous 52 years put together, as the local constabulary kept telling me I was breaking the law (even though I wasn't), yet were unable to tell me what exactly the problems were. (On one occasion, they tried to convince me that I'd committed an offence because the ice-cream deliveryman didn't have the right permit for driving a lorry in the park.) This was all highly annoying, but just about manageable.
Certain restrictions were lifted on 13th May. This meant minigolf could reopen, but with a list of conditions as long as an elephant's trunk. Unfortunately, the problems only got bigger - not with the police, but with many people who simply refuse to believe that the lockdown (as such) isn't completely over.
1. Social distancing:
We're only allowed to operate at 50%. This means that a maximum of nine groups of maximum four persons each can be on the course at any one time. In front of the hut, there are three tables that can seat a maximum of four people each. If all these slots/tables are occupied, nobody else is allowed to hang around there. They can buy food and drink to take away, but then they have to leave the premises immediately.
That's not my idea. That's the current law, as interpreted and communicated to me by local government. However, people constantly argue the toss, even after you've explained it to them.
"What do you mean, the golf course is full? No it isn't. There's tons of space. What's your problem, don't you want my money?"
"What do you mean, I have to take it away because all the seats are occupied? I can stand up next to the tables. What do you mean, I can't? Well, fuck you, then, you fucking arsehole."
2. Contact tracing:
Anybody who sets foot on the course or sits at the tables has to fill out a contact form with their name, telephone number/e-mail address and the times at which they arrive and leave.
That's not my idea. That's the current law, as interpreted and communicated to me by local government. However, people constantly argue the toss, even after you've explained it to them.
"It's none of your business. No, I'm not filling out the form. We're outdoors, why do I have to fill out a form? What? If I don't fill it out, I can't play? Well, fuck you,then, you fucking arsehole."
3. Use of the lavatory:
Only people who play golf or sit at the tables can use the lavatory (singular; there has to be a separate staff lavatory). Passers-by, joggers, participants in children's birthday parties, people playing sport or pissing it up in the park can't. *
That's not my idea. That's the current law, as interpreted and communicated to me by local government. However, people constantly argue the toss, even after you've explained it to them.
"I want one jelly Smurf. And the key to the lavatory. What? No, if I buy something, I'm a customer. Which means I've got every right to use the lavatory. What? Well, fuck you, then, you fucking arsehole."
(One bloke threatened to stab me because his pregnant wife wasn't allowed to use the toilets. I didn't bother asking him why a pregnant woman was hanging around in a 15-strong, non-social-distancing group and drinking a bottle of Beck's Green Lemon.)
I'd never have imagined that saying "No" and explaining why a hundred times a day could be so strenuous (particularly as I do it from behind a perspex screen, which not only makes for a stiflingly hot working environment, but also means I have to shout to make myself heard, and I'm no good at shouting). I know other people - parents, teachers, the police - have to do similar stuff, but at least they can enforce sanctions of some description if the people they're talking to get chopsy. I can't; I just get told to get fucked.
* Last week, a bloke turned up with his kids and asked to use the lavatory. The Lady I Walked To The Registry Office With dealt with him, and I thought that was that. Five minutes later, he reappeared - child-free, pearls of sweat on his forehead and hopping from one foot to the other - pulled his police ID out of his pocket and said, this time to me, "If you don't let me use the toilet, you're going to have some serious problems in the next few days."
I had to think on my feet, and decided that aiding and abetting a copper's anal incontinence in front of his children was probably a bad idea, at least from a medium-term business perspective in the current environment. So I gave him the key, accompanied by some (in my opinion) well-chosen words when he returned it. I was so angry, with myself and with him, that I was literally speechless for five minutes. And when The Lady I Walked To The Registry Office With found out what had happened, we had a blazing row.
I know I'm miles better off than many people during the corona crisis, especially publicans and restauarant-owners, but I must admit that work has left me absolutely shattered.
The first set of restrictions came into force on 16th March. For the next two months, the hut was basically an off-licence. This led to more contact with the police than I'd had in all of my previous 52 years put together, as the local constabulary kept telling me I was breaking the law (even though I wasn't), yet were unable to tell me what exactly the problems were. (On one occasion, they tried to convince me that I'd committed an offence because the ice-cream deliveryman didn't have the right permit for driving a lorry in the park.) This was all highly annoying, but just about manageable.
Certain restrictions were lifted on 13th May. This meant minigolf could reopen, but with a list of conditions as long as an elephant's trunk. Unfortunately, the problems only got bigger - not with the police, but with many people who simply refuse to believe that the lockdown (as such) isn't completely over.
1. Social distancing:
We're only allowed to operate at 50%. This means that a maximum of nine groups of maximum four persons each can be on the course at any one time. In front of the hut, there are three tables that can seat a maximum of four people each. If all these slots/tables are occupied, nobody else is allowed to hang around there. They can buy food and drink to take away, but then they have to leave the premises immediately.
That's not my idea. That's the current law, as interpreted and communicated to me by local government. However, people constantly argue the toss, even after you've explained it to them.
"What do you mean, the golf course is full? No it isn't. There's tons of space. What's your problem, don't you want my money?"
"What do you mean, I have to take it away because all the seats are occupied? I can stand up next to the tables. What do you mean, I can't? Well, fuck you, then, you fucking arsehole."
2. Contact tracing:
Anybody who sets foot on the course or sits at the tables has to fill out a contact form with their name, telephone number/e-mail address and the times at which they arrive and leave.
That's not my idea. That's the current law, as interpreted and communicated to me by local government. However, people constantly argue the toss, even after you've explained it to them.
"It's none of your business. No, I'm not filling out the form. We're outdoors, why do I have to fill out a form? What? If I don't fill it out, I can't play? Well, fuck you,then, you fucking arsehole."
3. Use of the lavatory:
Only people who play golf or sit at the tables can use the lavatory (singular; there has to be a separate staff lavatory). Passers-by, joggers, participants in children's birthday parties, people playing sport or pissing it up in the park can't. *
That's not my idea. That's the current law, as interpreted and communicated to me by local government. However, people constantly argue the toss, even after you've explained it to them.
"I want one jelly Smurf. And the key to the lavatory. What? No, if I buy something, I'm a customer. Which means I've got every right to use the lavatory. What? Well, fuck you, then, you fucking arsehole."
(One bloke threatened to stab me because his pregnant wife wasn't allowed to use the toilets. I didn't bother asking him why a pregnant woman was hanging around in a 15-strong, non-social-distancing group and drinking a bottle of Beck's Green Lemon.)
I'd never have imagined that saying "No" and explaining why a hundred times a day could be so strenuous (particularly as I do it from behind a perspex screen, which not only makes for a stiflingly hot working environment, but also means I have to shout to make myself heard, and I'm no good at shouting). I know other people - parents, teachers, the police - have to do similar stuff, but at least they can enforce sanctions of some description if the people they're talking to get chopsy. I can't; I just get told to get fucked.
* Last week, a bloke turned up with his kids and asked to use the lavatory. The Lady I Walked To The Registry Office With dealt with him, and I thought that was that. Five minutes later, he reappeared - child-free, pearls of sweat on his forehead and hopping from one foot to the other - pulled his police ID out of his pocket and said, this time to me, "If you don't let me use the toilet, you're going to have some serious problems in the next few days."
I had to think on my feet, and decided that aiding and abetting a copper's anal incontinence in front of his children was probably a bad idea, at least from a medium-term business perspective in the current environment. So I gave him the key, accompanied by some (in my opinion) well-chosen words when he returned it. I was so angry, with myself and with him, that I was literally speechless for five minutes. And when The Lady I Walked To The Registry Office With found out what had happened, we had a blazing row.
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