Day 38

The sun is shining and it is the weekend. And I really can’t be bothered to get up. Perhaps this is the most “normal” I have felt in weeks?

I have become used to living in my little bubble: I work the same hours but don’t have to drive anywhere; I have (mostly) healthy, home-cooked lunches; I go for a walk or cycle most days; I speak to my colleagues via video or email; and I get dressed but don’t necessarily brush my hair.

#COVID-life

Hence this morning it feels like any other Saturday. So we laze in bed, watch a film and then eat bacon and egg rolls in our dressing gowns until one of us makes the other get up and “do” something. Of course it isn’t the same as before. We can’t drive to a beauty spot and have a walk, or pop to the pub for a drink. We can’t meet friends for lunch or even go for a mooch around the shops – something I have taken for granted.

There is a major difference for us though.

I miss Charlotte so much it actually hurts my stomach.   I miss the weight of her in my arms and the fact that she nearly always has sticky fingers. I miss the way she starts every sentence with “can I tell you something?” and insists that we eat sausage rolls for lunch. Sometimes I sit in her bedroom (which is currently a bike and timber store) and look at her clothes and toys, wondering when we will get to see her. Darren and I usually drive to Cornwall every fortnight, and this time last year we were camping in the sunshine and taking Charlotte swimming and unicorn hunting on the beach.

But life goes on.

We ring Charlotte and she makes us laugh and we are grateful to see her face and hear her laughter. I am conscious that some people don’t have the capacity or equipment to video-call their loved ones. My heart goes out to those who cannot bridge the physical distance, or worse, have lost someone they love. Our hardship is nothing compared to those grieving in these troubled times.

*****

We walk up to the shop to buy some provisions and to feel like we are doing something productive with our day, detouring to the next village in the hope we will discover some duck eggs. There are half a dozen outside one of the cottages, so I pop the money into the slot and take the box. I hear dogs barking and look up, seeing the duck-owners in their garden. “Hi” I shout, waving and they smile and call back “glad you are enjoying the eggs, have you tried baking with them? They make cakes really fluffy!” They’d have to be bloody magic eggs to make my cakes fluffy, I think to myself, I can’t bake for toffee. (Mmmmn… toffee) “I’ll give it a go – thank you!” I lie.

At home we eat our pre-bought, pre-packaged chocolate mini rolls and think about planting some seeds and hoovering. And maybe baking.

Thinking about is the new doing stuff.