COVID-19 Journal: Day 52

Today I'm considering turning myself in for the flagrant misinterpretation of essential I exhibited this afternoon. It was about 2:30pm when I wandered out of S.T. Food & Wine London with an ice cream and a bottle of Tequila. Now in most people's books, that seems like it should be a good time, n'est-ce pas? Unless you're not a drinker, of course. I am out of Tequila, so, there's minuscule justification. And I am developing my ice cream practice, but that's not really a thing, n'est-ce pas?.

Before, I thought I was floating like a balloon, but today I'm wondering if I'm in zero gravity. Going where it takes me with zero resistance of any kind. I'm not at the stage yet where I can manoeuvre in it either, so it's confusing, a bit fun, but ultimately needs control. At least tomorrow I'll be able to talk to someone else about it whilst sunbathing in a park.

I will say though that I'm relieved I'm not as "visibly unwound" as Donald Drumpf. I'm certainly not under anywhere near as much pressure as our leaders, obviously, but, this is destabilising, n'est-ce pas? Wow.

The good news is, my husband and I are still getting along:


The best thing I saw on the internet today was Fuck the Bread. The Bread is Over. by Sabrina Orah Mark. It is a fairy tale full of clues.

I hope this is OK as my entry to the 12th of May Mass Observation Archive. Hello, whoever you are, reading or listening in the future. I hope you and yours made it through the pandemic as unscathed as can be. This post has been licensed under CC0 for that purpose.

Exciting! Inserted into history!