There are practical problems with self-isolating. Shouting your date of birth through the window to a delivery man who says he needs some personal details to confirm who I am before he drops off the package. Then there is someone leaning on the doorbell at midnight. Clearly they are not going away so the guy upstairs heads down in his dressing gown and I follow at a suitable, self-isolating, distance having pulled on a hoody and some trousers in case he needs help when he opens the door, at which point I guess self-isolating would have had to have gone out of the window, though neither of us looked dressed for a proper confrontation. It turns out to be one of our regular visitors who has been doing well recently but had decided to hit the bottle again. He wanted a glass of water. I did not hear what was said but don’t think it was too welcoming. Meanwhile we are following our routine of keeping me in my rooms and at times allowed in the kitchen which is working well. Scout Scar is still calling.
One thought on “17th January 2021”
By far the worst thing about self isolating is not, despite what others might say to the contrary, an absence of Scout Scar in one’s life, but is being denied free and ready access to Oakroyd’s bakery at Bentham and the toothsome pork pies therein.
One feels pretty sure that Dante would have included this deprivation in the top five of his inner circles of Hell, had medieval Florence been blessed with an Oakroyds and he for whatever reason been barred out.