Self-Isolation Diary: Day 3
For someone who can’t taste, I’m ploughing through a lot of biscuits.
They just feel nice in my mouth.
And if that sounded sexual, I apologise.
*Cut to slow motion footage of me in my undies eating Jaffa Cakes to the sounds of ‘Je T’aime’*
Today’s excuse for pigging out is that I need to regularly check my taste buds.
I’d be ace in those clinical trials. As long as they included copious amounts of Hobnobs. (And not those snide Aldi versions either. The good stuff or I walk away.)
But these symptoms are weird. No taste. No smell. And a strange lethargy like I’ve just been to a double spin class after a night on the Cheeky Vimtos.
If I was gonna design a man-made virus I’d give it loads of funky, harmless symptoms. Stuff like you can’t stop listening to reggae or you keep quoting Columbo.
‘How’s your nan getting on with Covid-24?’
‘She’s over the worst thanks but she’s still chatting like an East End gangster. Threatened to cut me the other day and then called me a slag. Everyone in the Post Office was staring.’
Feel a bit trapped today but it’s hardly Shawshank Redemption is it? I’ll be out soon enough.
And hopefully won’t have to crawl through miles of shite to get there. Not that I could smell it.
Finally, I’ve been really touched by all the comments and DM’s wishing me well. Thanks to you all.
Interestingly, messages from Australia / NZ seem shocked and concerned about what’s happened whereas the British ones are mainly resigned to the fact that we’re all gonna catch this shit at some point.
Faintly depressing really.
Great Britain, 2021.
Expecting the worst.
Electing the worst.
Getting the worst.
How very British.