I have one more non alcoholic beer.
Today they gave me butter with my croissant. It was a highlight.
Tomorrow I have to drive to the airport and prove that I don’t have Covid again. After that I’m allowed out without getting fined. I can drive to the airport to get tested. That’s ok. But I can’t drive to the seashore and look at the sunset through the window because that’ll give everybody death. The pathogens respond to the nature of your journey, I think. If you ever worry that you’ve been exposed to it, just believe in your very soul that you are going to an airport to be tested, and the angel of death will pass you by.
Oh I’ve made a mess in my den. I have asked the hotel if they can let somebody in to change the sheets. The people who give me all the milk stay very very far away from my door and spend as little time as possible near it in case my contagion gets through the wood and into their lungs. They might come in while I’m off to be tested. The owner isn’t certain though. They’re wary. I guess the fear is that if my test comes back positive then they lose work.
It’s a constant diet of fearfulness, this era. Things like the Daily Mail that already specialise in separating us – they are having a field day with this, hammering wedge after wedge. “You are not safe you can only trust us!” And we are so absorbent. It’s why advertising is such a huge industry. We are sponges.
I’m going to delay much of what I came here for because it involves seeing very old people. Just on the offchance that I am carrying a brand new late developing asymptomatic variant of COVID, I’m going to avoid seeing Michael a few days longer until after my day 10 test. It’s as much for his peace of mind as my own. But this is bullshit and we all know it. I can’t even easily find a place to live because the idea of me coming over in the filthy boat with all my leaping nastiness – it’s not appealing at all in theory to people. I bet most of it Airbnb self catered places on the island are still closed because of this. I really don’t want to have to keep eating sandwiches and crisps and the occasional takeaway, in a suspicious smelling beige den.
It’s just me and my head, kids! For another 24 hours at least.
It’s not so bad. I keep my own company well enough. Aaargh.