One of the many strange affects of this pandemic is the way one day merges into another seamlessly, so that most of us who are in "hibernation" not only do not know what day it is but often which month we are in.
At first this worried me, but now nearly seven months since I ventured out into the real world it is no longer a matter of concern.
Soon, as it becomes darker and the days shorter it will no longer matter whether it is day or night.
Like many of us I have learned a new way of using my days/nights and find that in my case it is better to do what needs doing as soon as it appears necessary, or with the switch of a button the monster in the corner otherwise known as the TV will rule all my waking hours.
Yes I still feed the birds and record their daily appearance in my garden for my BTO records, and I still occasionally walk out and dead-head roses and other shrubs.
I walk to the post-box (all of a quarter of a mile) and back and consider my exercise for the day to be complete.
A phone call from a friend or even the window cleaner has become a major 'happening' filling my day with good feelings, while the silent days merely cause hollow echoes of a previous life.
Since the only outing I now can look forward to is the weekly shop courtesy of my kind and lovely neighbours, I find it increasingly difficult to imagine a time when (hopefully) there will be a church, and a town and library and other wonderful things to enjoy.
Worst of all, is the suspicion that I may now have become accustomed to isolation.
If anybody has a storecupboard full of motivation will you please send me some, by carrier pigeon (suitably masked of course).
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