Day 1: We ducked, we dived and hid in the bushes to avoid coronavirus but it caught us in the end. We are in Covid isolation.
My seven year old has it but (so far at least) I don’t.
Her symptoms are mild, just a headache and a temperature.
She is also extremely tired.
She took two long naps today but that might just be because she’s bored of me already.
Day 2
My daughter was feeling better today. Perky, even. She arranged a picnic for her teddies and, for reasons best known to her, the invitation stated that they should arrive naked.
There was a battle over the television.
She wanted to watch some whiny American cartoon. I wanted to watch the news coverage of Boris Johnson’s downfall.
She won. (Probably votes Tory).
‘’I don’t even feel like I’ve got the Co-NORA-virus’’ she bellowed, while dancing around the living room to the Spice Girls.
We cleaned out Brian the hamster’s palatial enclosure after dinner.
Not for the first time, I wished I hadn’t let her watch so many YouTube videos about hamster welfare before we got him.
His bedroom is more luxurious than mine. Yet still he strutted about, angry at intrusion. (Definitely votes Tory).
My daughter placed a series of phone calls where she told anybody who would listen that self-isolation is ‘’GREAT, ACTUALLY’’.
I phoned my neighbour to give her a heads up that I might need an emergency wine delivery at some point.
Day 3
We are slowly but surely slipping back into our feral lockdown habits.
We have daytime pyjamas and night-time pyjamas. There’s glitter everywhere. I’m fantasising about going to Tesco.
I told my daughter well in advance that I would be watching PMQs at noon.
She asked if she could watch it too and I said, yes, of course. Political engagement for the win! Just please don’t speak.
‘’Boris Johnson is angry FOR SURE, mum’’ she observed.
Later, ‘’Ohhhh, I LIKE it!’’ when a Labour MP told the prime minister that his constituents would rather be led by a lawyer than a liar.
Her grandparents left a bag of treats and sweets for us outside our door.
I’m worried that she’s enjoying self-isolation a wee bit too much. There’s a real risk she might start tactically licking doorhandles when she returns to school.
She argued against bath time on the basis that we’re not going outside this week. Sue Gray wouldn’t accept that as a reasonable excuse and neither did I.
Day 4
She phoned her dad first thing this morning remind him that, while he isn’t allowed in our house, there’s nothing to stop him leaving doorstep treats.
On my behalf, she (optimistically) requested “flowers, candles and stuff like that’’.
For herself, “just LOTS of surprises.’’
I hope the PM can cling on for a few more days because I’ve ordered fancy new pyjamas to wear while I’m watching the resignation/no confidence coverage.
— Kirsty Strickland (@KirstyStricklan) January 18, 2022
As we end another day without Sue Gray’s report into Downing St parties, I’m wondering if it might be prudent to get my daughter on the phone to her.
Day 5
Horror, as we realise that her teacher has put a list of work on Google Classroom for pupils who are self-isolating.
Relief, as I realise that I can just pretend I didn’t see it.
When the wee one is in bed, I pour a cocktail and dust off a dormant dating app, as a fun Friday night activity to break up the relentless monotony of life.
Yikes. When did men my age get all muscley and hairless? Why are they all in peak physical condition? Who signed off on this?
There are filters on the app. You can set your preferences by age and location.
There should be a ‘dad bod’ option for those of us who want a man they can eat pizza in bed with without fear of being judged.
Day 6
My daughter is usually with her dad at the weekend.
It is also my busiest time for work.
Writing a newspaper column with a seven year old in the room is like trying to tie your shoe laces while a polar bear punches you repeatedly in the face.
Day 6 of isolation:
7 y/o: what time is it
me: ten past nine
do you mean ten to nine
no, ten past nine
you need to speak in MY kind of clock language, reNEMber? like I telled you yesterday??
what do you mean –
– UGHH just tell me how many hours it is until lunch!— Kirsty Strickland (@KirstyStricklan) January 29, 2022
Not a lot of work got done, is what I’m saying.
Day 7
I have 1,800 words to write and a kid who asks for a snack after every fifth word. You do the maths.
I’ve also got an hour of TV to do. A stressful experience at the best of times. More so when dealing with a small child who has, over the course of one week, staged a coup and seized control of our two bedroom flat.
I used to be a moderately competent, confident woman.
After a week of isolation I’ve been reduced to bribing my new overlord with sweeties in return for an hour of silence and a moratorium on shenanigans while I do TV.
This should be freedom-eve, but alas, it’s not.
Despite showing no symptoms other than extreme gallusness, my seven year-old is still testing positive and it looks like we’re going to have to do the full 10 days of isolation.
Where’s that wine? It’s time to break the emergency glass…
