Self-Isolation Diary: Day 4
At least this shenanigans means I can laze about in bed watching Netflix all day, right?
WRONG.
One of my lads tested positive.
Shite.
He’s fine and showing no symptoms, unless running round the kitchen shouting ‘BUMS’ like a pint-sized Frankie Howerd is listed as a ‘new’ symptom. (It probably is. Everything is.)
Our other lad tested negative via PCR so, because my wife had it the other week, according to all the new government rules that we checked and triple checked, he can still go to school.
Which is great news.
But it means I’m back to homeschooling.
Instead of Netflix.
Bollocks.
Haven’t felt this devastated since I dropped my Nokia 8210 out of a third floor window. (It still worked, obviously. But it was a tense five minutes.)
So we’ve had to split the house right down the middle to avoid spreading the virus like an anti-vaxxers’ game of spin the bottle.
No-go zones. Different bedrooms. Bathroom rotas.
We’re literally living in a sitcom pilot episode.
Me and Ben have nicknamed our bedroom the ‘Covid Cave’ which sounds rather like a quaint Cornish tea room.
Found myself earlier drifting into one of those heartfelt monologues you sometimes start spouting towards your kids. You know they’re not really listening but you need to say it, more for your own benefit.
‘Ben, I know we’re stuck inside but we’re so lucky to live in this house.’
Nothing.
‘This house is so warm.’
He doesn’t even look up.
‘So full of smiles.’
Bugger all. Wasting my time here.
‘So full of laughs and love.’
‘AND COVID!’ he shouts back.
Pissed myself laughing and then headed back the Covid Cave. No wonder Bin Laden started vlogging. There’s fuck all else to do.
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