Numbering the days

I took a notion there to count how long I and my family have been in some sort of isolation or lockdown during this whole COVID-19 business.

I developed a fever and general unpleasantness on 12th March, meaning that (according to what we were being told at the time) I had to “self-isolate” for seven days or until my symptoms were gone, whichever came first. (That was eight days, in the end. Maybe I had the thing, maybe I didn’t. We’ll likely ever know.)

The following week, the guidance changed to say that other members of a household where someone has symptoms needed to isolate for fourteen days. That saw the boys through until after the schools were closed, so they’ve been here since 17th March (right alongside the cancellation of various St.Patrick’s day festivities here and there).

And before those two weeks were up, the Prime Minister was on the TV announcing this thing we’re calling “lockdown”.

Totting that lot up, I make it 41 days in this house, with time off for officially sanctioned exercise and occasional grocery shopping.

I actually hadn’t realised it had been that long. That’s probably a good sign.