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Last week I wrote about the joys of living near a zoo. Over 30 years ago it was transformed in a theme park, Chessington World of Adventures, and became part of The Tussauds Group of tourist attractions (now Merlin Entertainments). The name of the area where I live is now synonymous with thrill rides, an animal park and above all, with clogged roads in the summer. In 2018 it attracted 1.67 million visitors.

Although the park is only a mile or so from the M25, the access roads, whichever route is taken, pass through residential areas. In the summer months local people like us know exactly how to avoid the traffic, but it often involves long detours. And those who live in Malden Rushett (which still lies within Greater London) have a real problem as the cars build up along the only road through their village. After a quiet few months, that disruption will start again this Thursday when the park opens for Zoo Days, and get worse on 4th July when the whole park re-opens.

Right at the beginning, the Council laid down some ground rules, which still apply today.

First, the site is set in the Outer London Green Belt, so the Council identified the build envelope, and no buildings were allowed outside that boundary. The park has got round that a bit by grazing giraffes and oryx on the Green Belt, somewhat to the surprise of the neighbouring horses, and then applying to install buildings to support animal husbandry (and by pure co-incidence, of course, a safari ride).  They have also squeezed in two resort hotels within the envelope, which offer some resources for the local community, such as a gym, indoor pool and function rooms.

Second, substantial planting on site became a requirement, and today visitors are surprised at how green it is.

Third, no construction was allowed to appear above the tree line. As a result, the park is almost invisible from the road and nearby houses, and the trees form a noise barrier as well. I do remember one planning application for a rollercoaster that we turned down. The ride would have risen well above the surrounding trees, and the park tried to justify it on noise grounds – apparently, people only start screaming when they are one third of the way down and behind the trees.

We have been working through boxes and filing cabinets full of old documents – some going back 50 years or more – and shredding them. Do we really need life insurance reminders from 1988, or pay slips from 1971?

Years ago we bought the cheapest shredder we could find, but we spent more time detangling it than actually shredding paper. We replaced it by a larger one, until that caught fire. Finally we purchased our current more robust shredder, which works for about 10 minutes before the red light comes on. During lockdown it has taken up permanent residence in the living room, with a bin bag underneath, and we feed it as often as we remember.

Of course, what I am shredding are memories.

This morning I was feeding in insurance papers that related to when our Cortina was stolen from our front garden in 1993. The car was recovered about a week later near Littlehampton, because – bless it – the engine had seized up and it was stuck on a hard shoulder. Two men were desperately trying to hitch a lift, and pretending the car was nothing to do with them, when the police appeared. The police couldn’t believe their luck because attached to the back of the car was a brand new stolen caravan that they had been looking out for.

The police arrested the men for the theft of the caravan, then noticed one small detail about the car – we had engraved the original registration on the headlight. When the thieves fitted a new number plate they replaced the window glass, which also had the registration engraved on it, but had missed the headlight.

So we got a phone call from Littlehampton Police asking us to retrieve our car. They forgot to tell us that it was undrivable and a write off. It took ages to get it home with the help of the AA and it then stood outside our house, ugly and unloved, for weeks before the insurance company finally decided what to do with it.

I love sacred choral music – both singing it and listening to it. For me, it’s an integral part of Christmas and Holy Week. I realise that is a bit of a niche choice, but if that’s not your cup of tea (mine’s redbush, by the way) just humour me for a few moments.

Handel’s Messiah is often performed around this time of year, especially in Wales where I spent some of my childhood. My family used to put the record on during dinner and we’d belt out the main choruses. My grandmother, who lived in Aberdare, told me that she always imagined the sheep running on the hills behind her home when she heard “All we like sheep”.

The section of The Messiah that covers the events of Holy Week ends with a huge climax in the Hallelujah chorus. Another of my Welsh grandmother’s anecdotes was about her friend who was known as Mrs Jones Hallelujah, because she sang an extra hallelujah during the electric silence just before the end of the chorus.

Back in 2016 I went to hear the first performance of Stabat Mater by James Macmillan at the Barbican. The Stabat Mater is an ancient poem in Latin about Mary, the mother of Jesus, as she stands watching her son suffering and dying on the cross. It has been set to music by many composers. I must admit it doesn’t usually attract me because, in any version, it is inevitably full of anguish, though often touched with moments of tenderness.

However I was at the Barbican on that occasion because my niece was playing violin with the Britten Sinfonia. I have been to many concerts given by that chamber orchestra simply to support her, and I have heard a number of works that I would otherwise not have considered – some astonishing, some hilarious and some indecipherable. On this occasion they were joined by The Sixteen, probably my favourite choir of all time.

After yesterday’s orchids here is a picture of rubbish

This lockdown will have come as a real shock to some people, even though many saw it coming. When we decided to go into self-isolation we had two or three days to prepare ourselves, not only in terms of getting in food and other necessities, but also psychologically. Moreover, it was something we chose to do, rather than being forced on us. Today many, many people will suddenly, and perhaps unexpectedly, find themselves isolated and frightened.

For some families this period will be fraught. Younger children had been shielded from the rising sense of panic, but are now having to come to terms with it. They are angry, bewildered, scared, missing their friends and full of excess energy. Parents may feel worried because they are unable to meet their children’s educational needs.

But for most of us it’s not all that bad, if you can put aside the constant anxiety.

Here are some of the blessings…

Friends and members of your wider family, some of whom you have not heard from for a while, will contact you. If they don’t, then contact them yourself. My brother lives in Canada and we are now on a weekly Skype, whereas before we tended to email. My cousin phoned me yesterday from Australia. It has brought us all closer together.

You can now get on with all those projects that you had been putting aside until you had the time. That could mean culling old documents (I found bank statements from 1998), clearing out cupboards, sorting out wardrobes, having a good go at the garden, writing your memoirs, starting an art or craft project, reading those books you had always intended to read, even putting books into alphabetical order.

You can be creative with your cooking. Some ingredients may be unavailable but this is a good chance to try some new techniques or be inventive with what you have got. My son told me that he had made pizzas with naan bread, and it worked very well!