Lockdown in Paris : Day Nineteen
Saturday 4 April
9h : My cantankerous brain continues its tradition of waking me up early after quiz night so I can really fully appreciate the white-wine headache I have inflicted on it. Touché, brain. Touché. Did not win the quiz. But at least now I know that Waterloo happened in 1815, it’s more humid at the equator than at the poles and Verlaine shot Rimbaud. I’ve forgotten everything else I didn’t know because frankly it was a lot.
9h30 : Glorious blue-sky day. Have decided to spend entire day on the balcony reading that book that’s the size of my head. That’s it. That’s the plan.
10h40 : Don’t think I’ve ever had a tan in April, but that’s where we’re headed. Just had to dig out the suncream, for heaven’s sake.
11h55 : Being out on the balcony in the quiet of the morning is so lovely. So lovely that I immediately had to spend some time feeling deeply guilty about it because Catholicism. Chastise myself sharply by thinking about all the people in hospital or who are frightened, people who can’t get outside easily or for long, then move on to berating myself for sounding so pitying and smug-by-default because I can actually go outside, and then I round it all off with a good-old god-Steph-you-really-are-the-worst-person. Ah yes, that’s much better.
13h : Much as I’d love to share with you some profound and significant thoughts or a slew of thrilling activities, I’m afraid the reality of this particular Saturday proceeds thusly:
14h : Read my book. (Peasants’ rebellion going well!)
15h : Read more of the book. (Peasants’ rebellion not going well).
16h : Still reading. (Almost everybody is now dead).
17h : More reading with first iced-coffee of the year which I don’t usually make until July but all bets are off for 2020 so what the hell. Caution, meet wind.
18h : Ok well at this point I may as well just finish the book.
19h : I tell myself it’s nice to have a day without much screen time, then set about undoing that by planning to watch back-to-back movies until bedtime.
20h19 : Ate most of the Cadbury’s chocolate fingers but then, reasoning that I would be very sad if tomorrow I didn’t get to eat some more, I wrapped up the remaining third of the packet and put them in the cupboard. Now they’re in there yelling at me to eat them so loudly that I can’t actually hear the documentary I’m pretending to watch.
20h40 : I want a cup of tea but if I go and make one I’ll be right next to the cupboard with the screaming biscuits. I’ve just sat here for the past 20 minutes being afraid to go any closer to the kitchen - and as I think we’ve already established I am already really very close to the kitchen. Let’s be honest by most architectural standards I am already in the kitchen.
21h : Painting my toenails to distract myself but I’m not fooling anyone. If those chocolate fingers see morning they and I will be very much surprised.
