You need to self-isolate...

I thought we were done with all this. Then at the start of this week the NHS Covid app pinged me to say I’d been in contact with ThePlague and therefore had to stay in my room for four days with just a couple of cats for company, and that was the week gone.
Funny thing, though, having initially been daunted at the thought of rearranging plans for what had been looking like a scary-busy week, I ended up doing more writing – work and personal – than I’ve done in the last month. I’m exhausted, and so are the cats.
This image is an actual picture taken from my last sunlit evening of confinement. Sounds of dinner tinkle faintly from downstairs; tweeting bird chatter filters through the open window from our jungly garden. I’ve had several zooms, chaired a networking meeting, completed this week’s projects in total and enjoyable solace without once having someone come up and ask me where This or That is. My food arrives on a little tray, upon which I have been asked to place my used crockery. (Oh don’t be too impressed, I know it’s only because Mr L has a much-awaited lads’ trip to Leeds on Friday and he’s terrified the pinger will get him too.)
I’ve not been bored at all: I’m halfway through my second Netflix crime series, have watched two feature films, completed three eggs on my DuoLingo Spanish course (hola) and read a few chapters from my latest bedside table stack. I’ve not been near the washing machine all week yet every day a small pile of laundered, ironed clothes appears outside the door. What IS this hotel?
I really like it here, and part of me wishes the app had said I needed to self-isolate until 1 September. Having said all that I don’t like people telling me what to do, and I’ve missed out on many things I really wanted to attend. So roll on 16 August.
Oh, and apologies to the running schedule – two Nike workouts and a zoom Bolly session aren’t nearly enough to curb the constant stream of dinners and snacks from the magic tray. Salads all weekend, then.