Hopes that coronavirus antibody tests could help the UK end its lockdown have been dealt a blow – after the World Health Organization questioned whether they offer any guarantee of immunity. (BBC NEWS)
I fear my glittered leak about anti-bodies on Thursday was gold! Hmmmm.
Not a good night, not at all. But I did sleep so deeply from 10PM – 1AM that I am not tired, just weary. For the first time ever in the morning I am wearing an apron; a weary Kath Kidson one, my grandson Dan’s favourite. Usually it is the men in our household, the chefs Dan and John, who wear the aprons butI felt so uncreative I decided to clean out our fridge. In case anyone is interested I used baby wipes and wine vinegar. Last night we played Bridge, or rather Bell played my hand and I fiddled with combining Zoom with the virtual bridge board. I have a lot of homework to do learning how to score and bid. In fact I have requested a private lesson this afternoon.
I didn’t know the National Gallery had curated a Titian exhibit which had to close its doors three days after opening. How advance notice of such an exhibit could have passed me by I don’t know. There is an impressive documentary on BBC Iplayer Titian Behind Closed Doors which is both brilliant and poignant and as the NG director, Gabriele Rinaldi says in times of crisis people/society want to turn towards their museums and galleries to seek solace and knowledge. To repeat myself that is why these are indeed ‘unprecedented times’, unlike during the Blitz. During World War Two, although the Gallery had to remove its collections to safety, before long a series of temporary exhibitions was organised – a rarity for museums and galleries at the time. There were also rolling displays of contemporary war art organised by the WAAC (War Artists’ Advisory Committee) that Kenneth Clark had helped set up at the outset of war.
I don’t understand anything at all about this virus and the worrying thing is that nobody else, except perhaps the medics at the front lines, seems to understand either. We know it is so contagious and yet it seems rather uncannily – like the first born sons of Egypt; “About midnight I will go throughout Egypt. Every firstborn son in Egypt will die,” the virus skips across households and even bedrooms. Even double beds. While I know several people who have been in ICU, it seems that nobody in their families was affected by more than a feverish cold? Why? Why?
Why, when we are surrounded by the infamous Camden tower blocks which cannot have more than two lifts per building is Camden, thankfully, along with Kensington and Chelsea, one of the least affected boroughs in London? The virus works in mysterious ways. A trickster of tricksters.
Yesterday John baked Madeleines and our dear friend Lesley baked Focaccia and olive bread. Nobody seems too keen on fancy cakes these days. I have to confess that during my insomniac night I raided my squirrel-hideaway of Lindt Neapolitan chocolates. At least I have managed a week of abstinence.
And John baked madeleines for Bell and Zac to have for tea. And Dido too.