We managed to meet the laundry deadline but have still failed to return the duvet cover to the duvet. It always feels an insuperable task at the end of the day. Too boring and energy consuming to begin the day with. Fortunately, Dido had a stay over with her ‘dog nanny’ so we camped. That will be my first task for the day. I slept well last night and it may have something to do with Dido not being spread-eagled across our vast Caesar-sized bed. ( 8 x7 feet) It’s like living in a studio room. Albeit not as big as the Great Bed of Ware:
Bell’s mother Tori has tonsillitis which is worrying and means that Zac care has to be shared out between us. I cannot work out when gradual lockdown is introduced, I try not to think about it, when Alex will have to return to the Nightingale where he is a therapist and Tori to the American School and ostensibly the children will have to return to being isolated from us. Unthinkable. Maybe undoable too, except John is more anxious about the virus itself than me. It seems likely now that COVID may have even worse things in store for us: along with the common cold and unlike the ‘flu it is possible that even experiencing the illness may only confer temporary immunity. This morning I just caught the new phrase used by the 8AM BBC News referring to the virus as ‘This pneumonia like disease.’ Hitherto ,and historically Pneumonia, unlike HIV or breast cancer has had a very poor PR and public image. Being thought more of as a nineteenth century pre-antibiotics hazard, or a geriatric disease. Quite the opposite is true. Pneumonia can quickly lead to sepsis in spite of antibiotics. It is estimated that one in five deaths world wide are already due to sepsis.
Talk about Pandora’s Box … For now this seems to be an even worse scenario with Hope in danger of becoming Hopeless. Nothing to be done, nothing at all except to live by the day without even – as John Keat’s would have taught us – expecting to find certainty, Most importantly to avoid becoming irritable. Temporary irritability is the emotion our household is most susceptible to. It seems to be linked with tiredness and surprisingly none of us can find enough hours in the day to accomplish all we want to, except for the children. Bell finds the days unspeakably long.
Tonight is Bridge night for Bell and me. I have some serious revision to do post Zooms if I don’t want to turn out to be the Dunce. Bell would never be allowed – in her politically correct school – to use such a word. It has fallen along – with the racist Golly-wog that malignly used to advertise Robinson’s marmalade and our ignorance – entirely out of usage.
One can still feel like one. I can’t help wondering whether or not some of the secret group of scientists and not so secret ones too don’t sometimes feel like they should go to the bottom of the class when so many of their omniscient predictions and assumptions, as opposed to hypotheses have proved not to be ‘true’.