Isolation

So the day has been spent presuming I have Covid. Drinks and lunch are requested by IM and deposited at my door. I am masked when I leave my office. Bathrooms are strictly segregated into 1. Officially positive; 2. Unwell but negative; and 3. Well. Of course, we’re lucky to have the space and bathrooms to do that level of isolation. I feel the icy temperatures in our house probably also discourage transmission, but who knows.

This is my lunch, and other essential office supplies. The cup is lemsip without (despite one Irish client’s exhortations) a shot of whisky.

Work continued. No tribunal but lots of proper work and a lot of work gossip that I definitely shouldn’t have been told. This evening I did a test (negative) but we’re still treating me as ‘unclean’. CarbBoy, meanwhile, appears entirely recovered and not entirely unhappy to have a week in his room with meals delivered to the door.

The others spent the day foraging for more tests, and installing an owl house, as you do.

This evening, TallGirl and I managed both the English (US) language and the French Wordle (separately). Then TV (I am, masked, relegated to the far away spare sofa). Mr B has a skiing weekend to try to attend so he is testing regularly and avoiding plague victims like, well, the proverbial.