LONDON, U.K. -- Twenty-five days already. My God how time flies when you’re sitting around the house working on The Dog Lover’s Jigsaw Puzzle, or baking up another loaf of sourdough.

Carpe diem and tempus fugit everybody.

I mean, really, who wants to go for a walk anyway? Or grab a pint at the Princess of Wales, when you can happily gorge yourself on YouTube. 

I realized this morning I haven’t been inside a shop, or a supermarket in…well…25 days. Nor have I spent any money. I mean real money, the kind that folds and tucks into your pants pocket with the Queen’s picture on it. There is a small pile of bills and coins sitting untouched on the dining table, exactly where I put it…well…25 days ago. 

Somebody help this man, please. 

Okay, so let’s talk about groceries. Ours now come in delivery waves, which has created a new domestic phenomenon: Meal planning, 10 days in advance.

Grocery deliveryI have to ask: who knows what they’d like to eat 10 days from now—beef or chicken? That’s where the airlines have one up on us, I guess. 

“Stop joking around,” she says. “This is serious.”

“You’re right,” he answers, “I’m sorry. What’s for dinner next Tuesday?”

You have to understand that one of us in this locked-down arrangement—and well before—doesn’t do the online ordering, doesn’t put stuff away, and had the audacity to ask for hot dogs to be put on the list. He looked at the barbecue and suddenly had a craving. Forced isolation will do that.

There are glitches of course in any 10-day planning cycle. For example, this week, we ran out of milk on Wednesday, when the next grocery delivery wasn’t due until Friday. 

I want to make this plain and absolutely clear: the milk shortfall was not the fault of the meal planner herself. She has done an extraordinary job of juggling the right quantities of meat, fish, eggs, chicken, vegetables and hot dogs for…well…25 days. 

As First World problems go, it’s still nerve-wracking to try and book a grocery delivery. (Confession: I’ve never done it.) We have friends who stay up until midnight—like it’s New Year’s Eve—poised over their computer, because that’s when their preferred supermarket chain opens up a few precious time slots. 

This week the resident meal planner—always looking to flatten the delivery curve and avoid going into stores—found a restaurant supplier who offers free drop-off in central London. Brilliant. A small business, trying to adapt and survive, and not too expensive. 

So, almost magically—to me anyway—a cardboard box appeared on our doorstep bearing an assortment of fancy tomatoes, avocadoes, rib-eye steak, and a bunch of asparagus. It was like ordering in your own do-it-yourself Sunday dinner for two. 

Fresh tomatoesIn fact one London restaurant is doing exactly that: you can order ready-made dishes, or they will send you the ingredients to cook the same recipe in the comfort of your locked-down kitchen. Adapt and survive. 

Anyway, our prized, and frequently updated grocery delivery showed up this morning. It was like waiting for Christmas. Yes, it did contain a few bottles of wine, and no, we are not hoarding. They even deliver ice cubes.

Which made me think, can you imagine how much money provincial liquor stores could make if they started delivering groceries with their over-priced wine? Send me a six-pack of sauvignon blanc, and while you’re at it, could you throw in a dozen tubes of Pringles and a pound of bacon. Adapt and survive, people. 

I only bring this up because a new Nanos poll shows that Canadian adults under the age of 54 are drinking more because of COVID-19. I see a lot of hands raised on this one. 

Getting to the climax here, or perhaps we could call it the peak. Please bear with me a little longer. 

We all thought after a few weeks of this, as life settled into a pandemic rhythm, the food-delivery mess would get straightened out. Supply would go up, demand would down, and the milk would never run out. Well that doesn’t seem to be the case, so the resident meal planner has taken matters into her own hands. 

She’s going to start growing salad and herbs in a hydroponic gardening kit that’s been sitting in a corner of the living room for…well…25 days. Right beside The Dog Lover’s Jigsaw Puzzle. If only the damn seeds would arrive. 

I have to admit it sounds intriguing. 

“Harvest your baby greens, throw a handful into your soups, salads, smoothies and juices for powerful nutritious punch to your everyday diet.” 

It appears there’s time, since the lockdown here has been extended for an additional three weeks, and some British scientists are warning we could be social distancing for a year or more. 

How long does it take to grow a head of lettuce anyway? 

I’ll let you know.