It is looking increasingly likely that I will be unable to return home in the foreseeable future. The Age newspaper reported that Quest has offered all 140 of its properties to the government for Australians undergoing mandatory two-week isolation. I cannot even begin to imagine what a Quest hotel is like, so must remain in Blighty.
What a week of firsts it has been. I saw a family walking their cat, yes you read that correctly, cat, on a lead. Today I saw people queuing to enter a Supermarket, fortunately the people at the head of the queue left a nice space ahead of them for me to walk straight in. They obviously know who I am.
Now I do like the prospect of slipping into my smoking jacket and lounging around for days on end, but this virus thingy is becoming a bit of a malarkey. I think the police are doing a fabulous job keeping the proletariat locked up at home but who are they to decide what is an essential journey for me. I see my new Homburg as essential, but apparently hats are off the essential list. This is particularly bizarre when one considers Easter Eggs are essential.
Thursday nights have become a sort of unusual clap the carer night, which in itself is probably not a bad thing, but when the Scots start playing bagpipes one has to wonder what they really think about their NHS carers.