A Plague of Plague Diaries.

Like every body else I was going to write at exhausting length about Covid 19: my struggle with the sickness. (I had a bit of bad flu a couple of weeks ago - that might have been it or it might not. I don't know as I'm not rich enough to get tested) About the horrors of having to stay inside (except to go out for exercise and shopping - the only reasons I normally go out) and the curious delusions and the madness of crowds that I see on the news, just like the rest of you do, but filtered through the magical prism of my unique perspective.

But, fuck it. Everyone is doing it. You don't need me banging on about stuff too. My perspective on this is none too unique - I'm watching the world judder to a halt on television just like everyone else - I'm not doing much that's different than what I would usually do. A few more phone calls. A bit of face-timing, which I'm not that keen on but what can you do? I'm doing a lot of writing. Like I would be doing anyway.

Obviously if I write about my life at all the peculiar situation we find ourselves in will bleed through. It going to be there in the background like oppressive wallpaper or curtains we wished we'd changed while there were still shops in which to buy them. But if it does I won't be sharing it. I shall use this place as a repository for the minutiae of life in these unusual days. For myself, to bolster my failing memory. I don't think social media will be that bothered. And nobody reads my blog if I don't post it anyway.

My isolatory experience will be my little secret. Sssh.