We watched another episode of Butterflies last night. I hadn’t realised as a teenager how clever the writing was, mind you why would I? I was a naive little thing back then. Still am to some extent. Ria typifies that cosseted boredom so well. And her trials in the kitchen are hilarious. I thought of her as I cleaned the flat this morning. Hoovering is so dull, is it not? There must be more gratifying ways of keeping one’s space clean. More restrictions are being imposed upon us, necessary of course, but alarming all the same. We are not used it. I am not used to it. The sun still shines, and the rooks on the roof still chirrup. They talk of them lasting three weeks, but maybe longer. He comes home for coffee now, no more coffee shop pourings over the paper. We move inward, imploding. Meanwhile I push away at my application, still not sure if it will go ahead. What else can I do? Keep safe all my loves and those I do not yet know. We are in this together, are we not?