Corona Journal, 16 April: Day 32
8.30am Make myself a decaf coffee. It’s definitely not as nice as regular coffee, but I don’t have a racing heart afterwards and nor do I feel especially foggy or tired. Urgh, am I a decaf girl now?
9.30am I have to say I’ve done a brilliant job with my hair trim. Got rid of all the wispy bits and it looks nice and healthy. As predicted, when I asked boyfriend if he noticed anything different about my hair, a look of panic descended over his eyes and he blurted, “Um, well, no. Actually yeah. It looks a bit blonder. Is it blonder? It’s not pink. It definitely doesn’t look pink.”
10am Log on for first Italian lesson of the day. K’s dad is there, takes one look at me and asks if I am wearing my pyjamas. Am taken aback. “No,” I reply, “this is just my… normal… shirt…”
11am The Italian exercise I did today made reference to the Twin Towers in New York. Am relieved to find that K knows what 9/11 is, even though he was born (argh) 3 years after it happened.
3pm Aldi shop for essentials like milk, fruit, bread and prosecco. As I’m queuing outside, I briefly consider how quickly I have accepted what are essentially government restrictions on my freedom. Obviously I know this is for a good cause, an essential cause in fact, but it does make me wonder if I am quite as much of a Rebel Without A Cause as I previously imagined.
5pm Flatmate has spent the past 4 hours cleaning the oven, which we have never done in the almost 2 years we have lived here. Apparently there is a glass window in the front that you’re supposed to be able to see through, so you don’t have to open the oven to check on your food. Who knew?
6pm A socially distant walk with a pal. We have found a park that is roughly equidistant from where we both live, so we meet there and do laps of the park, while remaining 2m apart the whole time. It’s nice to see someone who isn’t boyfriend or flatmate (no offence to boyfriend or flatmate).
7.30pm Get home and cook mackerel for boyfriend before his last shift. Flatmate is slightly less than happy that I’ve cooked the world’s stinkiest fish in his newly scrubbed oven.
8pm Miss the NHS clap because I am too busy smashing plates and knocking things over in the kitchen. Boyfriend is wearing his scrubs ready for his night shift, though, which would have made for funnier viewing than usual as he hides from the window.