Quarantine diaries: day 5

 It is a strange thing to go a day without any real external stimuli. I have become aware of the natural fluctuations in my mood - which beforetimes would never have affected me very much (too many things to do according to a schedule that involved others, so I am held accountable). If I felt a bit low, so what? The washing machine just beeped and it needs to be hung out, so I would have to go outside and breathe some fresh air, and see the sun, and move my arms around stretching to get the washing in the right configuration and bending over to pick up fallen pegs. All of which would have solved the low mood issue. Now, I feel low for a brief moment and my thinking mind latches on to it and catastrophises to the point where I end up like "Sadness" in Inside Out and cheek down, arms beside me lying on the floor. 

I miss the hoover. I'm too much of a crumby, long-haired soul to be OK with living on this carpet for two weeks without being able to pick it all up off the floor. Lack of yoga mat means any kind of chaturanga ends up with me becoming hyper aware of the bits on the carpet. 

Meantime, the food is becoming the highlight of the days. Breakfasts are consistent and simple, but with something sweet that I've been saving for after as my morning tea (such an important meal of the day!). Granola and assorted cereals are reminding me of the boring but reliable porridges I was eating whilst working (god, that seems like such a long time ago now). Lunches are a bit of a mixed bag. I'm preferring the assorted salads, and I am terribly glad I am not a fussy eater or have any allergies. Dinners are the most exciting - there have been a few duds, which makes a good hot meal even more of a treat. And somebody knows the importance of pudding because there is always some exquisite little cake (well, I'm sure it starts off exquisite - they tend to smush against the walls of the little containers they are packed in, and goodbye carefully piped cream garnishes). All in all I feel like I am eating recommended portions of things, which is a novelty for me. Fingers crossed that between that and the jumping around I can get myself to a size I'm happier with - this spare tyre needs to go!

Quarantine diaries: day 4

 Subtitle: flowers and breakfast cereals.

Blah day yesterday. I think the excitement about being able to move my body in multiple directions of my choice (which probably explains all the dance and exercise enthusiasm) has worn off a bit. My glutes have got lockdown soreness - combination of overexertion in a short space of time followed by hours upon hours of sitting down. 

Flowers arrived yesterday, and the hotel was good enough to send up a vase, even though the lady on reception had to double check I was allowed. The smell is reminding me that smells exist, and the natural world is still out there somewhere, seeing as how I can no longer access any evidence of this. Also reassures me that I haven't got that anosmia symptom. I did get a little paranoid that I had a little cough yesterday, but when I think about it now, I coughed maybe 5 times and then turned the aircon to a higher temperature and put some socks on and I was fine. Being stuck in my own head is a strange way to force me to get to know myself better. 

I need to be careful to choose my entertainment carefully as well. BBC's the Repair Shop is definitely a good idea, as was the ABC's version of Back in Time for Dinner. Family-based positive kindness with a historical slant, and a focus on the tangible evidence of the resiliency of the human spirit is absolutely what I'm needing, even in the background, at the moment. Netflix art-house-style films by Charlie Kaufman not so much. I'm Thinking of Ending Things is not the weirdest or most depressing film I have ever watched, but because of the situation I find myself in, it left me profoundly disconcerted and pondering existential reality and that is So Not What I Need right now. Leave that for rainy days boozing it up with a bunch of friends over a board game, or sunny days lounging around on picnic tables at the beach. NOT when I'm stuck seeing no human faces for an extended, mandatory period of time. 

Then there was the aforementioned aircon war I had with myself. I don't know if it is because my own body temperature fluctuates during the day, which sounds plausible, or because I am so bored I need to pick a fight with machines, but I CANNOT seem to get the aircon to a comfortable temperature. I go from wearing PE kit to needing socks and a blanket and I am trying to manage the temperature depending on my activities but failing miserably. It feels like I am starting to miss fresh air and sight/feel of grass. Even whilst in full lockdown in the UK, with my lack of balcony or outdoor space, I could still open my windows and dangle my feet outside. I was still watering my little herb windowsill and still could complain when it was too hot/too windy/too rainy. This hermetically sealed room gives me the tiniest insight into, I don't know, submarine or ISS living or something. 

Well, that was dramatic. I'm blaming quarantine. 

Quarantine diaries: day 3.

 I sorted a VPN and BAKEOFF! And more importantly, BAKEOFF CHAT! Getting up at 5am was no biggie (I think I've got some lingering jetlag that I am using to my benefit while it lasts), and then it was nice to do something normal. Admittedly it was all prefaced with the distinctly ab-normal PM's address, from which I took the message that it was all our fault that the virus was still hanging around, and Johnson was a bit fed up with the whole situation and here are some new rules for us plebs. The show was everything we need and the "bubble" that the production organised means that hugs and tastings are as they were in pre-covid times, which is amazing.

Had my first-of-two swab tests yesterday and can attest that the stories I have heard are all true and it is very quickly done, but distinctly uncomfortable. I thought the lady was trying to access my eyeball via my nostril. Hopefully I get no call, which is the all-clear. 

I am enjoying the lack of decisions to make. The lockdown followed by quarantine (which is an escalation of all lockdown rules) seems to have bestowed upon me a pleasant sense of learned helplessness, which I know should be a terrible thing, but fighting it at this point seems not just inefficient, but counterproductive. Who am I going to fight about it? It frees the mind a bit. I guess I could use the freedom to do something more creative, but wallowing in a metaphorical mental bath of nothingness is super comfortable. 

Racing to get pants on after the knock yesterday, I had the excitement of both catching my food delivery lady in the act, as well as saying hello to the swab nurses. Those may be the only 3 people I see until day 10. I was accused of swotting up on the names of all the bakeoff contestants (usually we use incidental nicknames until about halfway through the season), but I think my lack of human interaction recently means that my monkeysphere has vacancies and my tv friends are just slotting into them. Going to the wedding in 3 weeks may be actually overwhelming. 

The theme of yesterday was "bureaucracy". I have about 3 errands that can only be run in person at an RTA (or whatever they're calling them now) in order to get my life restarted here. I feel unproductive, but not for a lack of trying! 

Quarantine diaries: day 2

I've now done a full 24 hours in quarantine. Jetlag kicked in at about 3pm yesterday - put my head down "just for a second" and woke up 2 hours later. But aside from that I am being very virtuous - waking up early, doing two sessions of fitness so I am moving around vigorously for a little while, trying to maintain the different zones in the room (and thanking all that is good in the world constantly for the size of the room I was given), and eating all my allocated food. I don't know if they have been overseen by any kind of nutritionist (I think not based on the fact the only vegetables I got all day yesterday was some very strangely spiced mushy peas with my potato pie for lunch), but I'm willing to give it another day or two before I resort to an emergency grocery shop for, like, a bag of lettuce. 

Granola for breakfasts will hopefully help with operation: lose weight before the sister's wedding. I am craving snacks, but I know this is not a valuable or necessary impulse and so I am putting that feeling in a box, like I do so well, with the knowledge that mum still has a snacks pantry cupboard that will be All Mine when I get out of here. 

I am reassured by the earnestness of the mental health call I got yesterday. The questions were relevant and they said I'll get a check-in call everyday. I've realised that I have no sight of any humans out of my window (weird and unfortunate combination of overlooking next door's roof, and a jumble of buildings at just the wrong angles, combined with tinted windows that also seem like the back sides of neighbouring high rises, means I saw zero humans yesterday). Whoever is delivering the food outside my hotel door is also some kind of knock and run champion, because no matter how fast I move I have yet to catch sight of them. 

It doesn't feel like I am properly in Australia yet. I'm hearing the accent on the radio and TV but it's hardly something I'm interacting with. I haven't felt the weather, or even the sun on my face (again, the unfortunate angle of my room and the building around me). More than even when I was in lockdown in my little flat in England, I'm feeling like I'm in a bubble. At least then I had to go out for groceries once a week, did my (sometimes) daily walks, was able to look out the window and see people on their walks, and had daily news that had a direct impact on what I was doing myself. Here, I go nowhere and see no one. I have no say or prior warning about what I'm eating (I realise how much time I spent planning, cooking and eating meals before), and don't even have the option of opening a window to see what the weather is like. It is all very odd. 

Legs nos 3 and 4: get in the van

 There were even fewer people on SQ288 out of Changi. The plane was for Brisbane via Sydney (which is a denial of geographical logic, but I'm sure has some cost-benefit). I hit jackpot and got a middle row of 3 seats to myself, so no films this time and straight out SLEEPING. I had no issues sleeping with the mask, which confirms everything I had been told and knew in my head about masks not actually restricting airflow - the mild panic I had at the end of the Heathrow-Changi flight was clearly psychological (but no less traumatic for that!). 

Landing and shepherded through Kingsford-Smith like I herd kids around at school (although we were much better behaved, probably due to the moral and sheer physical authority of the border force, state police, ADF, nurses, and airport staff that were doing the shepherding). I got congratulated on having a non-fever temperature and then onto the coach. As we pulled away in the Sunday night darkness the driver popped the radio on and we drove through Sydney city to the nostalgic refrain of Killing Heidi's "Weir". Proper year 7 memories.

The rumour was Sydney Harbour Marriott and it was all true. No view to speak of, unless I am really into cranes (some things don't change in 7 years) but all the staff were efficient and friendly, and the first two meals I've had are convincing me that if I remain good and don't go UberEating all over the place, I will come out of this healthier than going in. I am constantly grateful for the massive room and excellent bathroom amenities. I intend to be good and "make the most of my indoor time" (as the Marriott handout suggests) - set an alarm, do yoga and fitness videos, read and cross stitch, annoy my friends via social media, write the blog, eat all my foods, and not watch too much telly (although my next order of business is to figure out the best way to access UK Bakeoff when it starts in a couple of days). 

there are right angles
and empty windows
the cranes go up and down without passengers.
I have taken no souvenirs
except the love of my fellows
and thankful for my constitution
I pace the shapes in the carpet
and listen to the strine to get acclimated
imagining the outside air.
I control the hot and cold and stretch to accept all the feelings they raise
I eat out of boxes
the lucky dip of these four walls for 
the good of 
my love for
my fellows. 

Leg no. 2: 13 hours in a mask

 Singapore airlines SQ317 is 3-3-3 seat configuration so they have left that middle one free in each case. Which means my dreams of lying across a whole row are right out. Got ourselves a little covid kit and and the loos are pristine the 7 times i go because i nervous drink apparently. Between the more regular cleaning and less people on the whole flight, this is definitely a bonus. 

Arrival in changi ahead of time and into the transit passenger pen. A stackful of overly eager ground staff - morning shift-itis? I think i have a mask related headache - beside the warm airflow, my glasses sit weird over the top of the nosebridge - and all i'd like to do is suck in  cold fresh air, but this sounds a luxury i will  not get for another 2 weeks. Lord only know how i will force myself onto the next 8hr flight. Blergh. 

Leg no. 1: straight outta swindon

 So here is the blog as promised of my travels (travails?) back to Oz. It should have been a document of a round the world backpack trip through eastern europe, russia and across asia by train and bus and no planes. Instead it is to be coach, the interminable plane trip to the other side of the world, then get in the van to 2 week hotel quarantine. 

We begin in Swindon, the bus station, which was the first thing i ever saw of the town. It is overcast and blowy but a pleasant temperature for speedwalking across town centre. Goodbye terrifyingly new and shiny metro bank, goodbye all those free ATMs (have they sorted that out in Sydney? I will find out soon), goodbye bus station. 

The lady across the row from me in the bus decided mask wearing should only occur after she made a 10 minute phone call. People are the worst. 

A-vert my eyes from the rising sun
The east greets strangers running
We miss touch and sight of smiles
An intake of breath, smell of memory.