Hand, Face, Space

I've done nothing today, apart from mixing some face creams and answering/sending essential emails. Getting dressed was a step too far. I'm not ill, just having a rest day, even though it happens to be Friday.

Steve had a market stall in the Shambles. I went back to bed and watched The Secret Garden, the Agnieszka Holland version, 1993, on DVD. I had bought it in the summer as a feelgood antidote to realising that the new version wouldn't be released in the UK any time soon. Now I've heard from TML that the new version is dreadful, so I think I did the right thing. A very poignant, beautiful film, though I did think that Colin, the boy mistakenly believed to be disabled, should have been fitted with a caliper or splints. Surely the doctor would have made some effort to help him walk, even in Edwardian times? He was so clearly the scapegoat for his father's grief at his mother's death. The boy survived his mother's fatal accident, a fall from a swing in the garden Father, who was a hunchback, couldn't bear to see the child and locked him away in a shuttered room. The garden was locked, too. All very Jungian, and moving, perfect for a quiet afternoon.

As I did very little, this is my EB selfie. For those not in the UK, our government's new anti-Covid slogan is Hands, Face, Space (wash your hands, cover your face with a mask, make space between yourself and others).
Scientists say that social distancing is the most important factor in reducing the spread of the virus, so maybe it should be Space, Face, Hands.