I go nowhere except my desk. I leave my desk to go the kitchen, (I live in an apartment with a kitchen-diner arrangement). I have supper and then go to visit my brother-in-law along the street. We are each other’s Support Bubble.
We talk about his grand-daughter, watch the Stoke vs Forest football game fade away into the televised mist while listening to the Norwich home game from just over the river on the local radio.
We talk about the latest health restrictions and our respective children and grandchildren. I walk home under the full moon. I realise that I have been quietly worrying about my friends and family all day. It is a low level of anxiety that most people will recognise. It is always there. I want to hug everybody; make sure that everybody knows how much I love each of them.
I pass a tall young man walking back to his apartment in the block next door. He is wearing Norwich City Football Club branded clothing. He has not had far to get home from his evening’s work as the football ground is only 400 yards away.
Game over. Day over. Tuesday over.
When I get in I organise my starter for the next batch of bread while listening to Spiritualized’s song “Won’t Get To Heaven” for the umpteenth time this evening. It has some beautifully hypnotic rhythms and delightful moments. My funeral song?