Carol McGiffin
‘Iknow I sound like the Queen, but my husband and I appear to be coping quite well under the strain of SI or NGO (staying in or not going out, or ‘self-isolation’ as it is now known). I say that from our very small flat – and I don’t mean ‘showbiz small’ like ‘a little place in the Cotswolds’ which has rooms the size of a small country. I mean 450 square feet small.
It’s by no means easy, but having a routine definitely helps. It goes something like this: Wake up, realise it’s still not a nightmare; drink coffee until noon; listen to the radio until it causes an argument; then both storm out in different directions to get the daily ‘essential supplies’, ‘necessary exercise’, or ‘a new head clear of violent thoughts’. Later, we’ll watch The Chase, cook up some rice and vegetables, spend an hour looking for something on
Netflix, and go to bed grateful that we’re still alive and haven’t killed each other.
The last bit’s a joke, but it doesn’t matter how much you love someone, being imprisoned with them means that previously unnoticed habits become a matter of life or death.
Like having two bowls of muesli instead of one. Eating biscuits loudly. Listening to memes and videos on loudspeaker like a teenager at the back of a bus, why? And don’t get me started on shhh!-ing me while he watches Suits, then chatters away while I try to watch EastEnders!
But the straw that’ll break the camel’s back is his relentless questioning, about where I wish I could be in the world if this wasn’t happening. The answer is always the same: “Anywhere you’re not!”