Self Isolation Day 25. I am a Donkey Breeder, who knew?

Keep getting strange men texting me on Instagram. They all look similar, slightly greying, bearded, handsome of course, seemingly all employed by the army, with child or two. None of them have looked or liked any of my posts. Their conversation usually is similar, today's was a bit more archaic. I laughed out loud and the daughter enquired as to why. I told her, she said could she answer him? I handed the phone over. The following conversation made my day.

Name: Rashid.doctor. Photos: Brad Pitt lookalike. With tattoos, with child, with musculature, wearing a Texan style hat.

Conversation: Hello my lady, how are you?

Hello Rashid! Wow. So incredible to hear from a doctor at this time! How are you going?

Am good my lady. My names Dr Rashid bin am from Dubai precisely. What about you my lady what is your name and which part of the country are you chatting me from my lady?

I'm from Texas.

Is a pleasure. So what do you do for a living my lady?

I'm a donkey breeder.

So what do you do?

I breed donkeys. I love the animal. My grandmother is the queen.

Of what state my lady

State of sadness.

What did you said that my lady?

At that point I blocked him. All credits go to the daughter for giving me the best laugh of the day. I needed it. I didn't go for a walk but I did cross the road to go to the supermarket which always requires an act of bravery I feel. Said hello to my favourite daffodil who is still looking sprightly after 3 days, braved opening the door handle, washed hands before unloading Easter treats, washed hands after putting them away. Made another pot of coffee and consumed various parts of the chicken easter egg I bought myself. She was nesting in a basket with eggs. I'm hiding the eggs for the girls on Sunday. I am alive and well and doing better than the chicken. All is right with the world.

The daughter ordered us some Yankee Candles. Sweet Bunny Treats is the best.

Self Isolation Day 24. I Begin to Fear for my Sanity.

Well, we had cocktails a bit earlier today and I watched a handsome young man on the opposite balcony making sure he's ready for when we're allowed back into the world as we knew it. After the Daiquiri incident, we have cut back on the alcohol ,slightly. We have stopped discussing whether we should only drink on weekends. One of us ,without consulting the others, just makes sure some sort of alcoholic beverage is in the daily shopping bag with the vegetables.

We've been waking in the middle of the night now the daughter and I, not getting back to sleep for ages and then sleeping the morning away. It takes up some of the day, a sad fact of quarantine after you enter the fourth week. Another sad fact is that a woman of my cleaning sensibilities, (a woman who has been known to iron pillowcases ) has now turned the sheet around on my double bed twice and turned the cover over. Please don't judge me harshly, I have washed the pillow cases a couple of times. None of us are particularly keen on going for our walks any more as I, for one, am familiar with most of the doors and their knockers and I'm on first name terms with some of the plants. I have given up wearing jewellery and my hair by the end of the day has it's own life force. The daughter is not seen so often with the broom any more. We have progressed to three pots of coffee so just after consumption, we become quite talkative and then we all retreat.

I can't imagine what it's like being isolated on your own. I'd probably survive, having discovered last year that I can go for long stretches without human companionship, but what about the extroverts? It's not the being alone, it's what happens when you're not living in a pack anymore. The only time we come together as a neighbourhood is at night to clap. Our day evolves around coffee time and wine time, with snacks in between. I am ashamed to say that today I bought some sort of French cheesy, puffy rice snack and I ate it with chocolate and it was good. It was very, very good. I now fear for my sanity.

A friend I made on my walk.

Self Isolation Day 23. Full Moon on the Rise.

We watched the Super Moon arise over Bordeaux this evening. I remember when I was here last year in late March. Such a different city, people filling the tiny narrow streets deep in the city centre, lights strung between the houses, bars and music, students everywhere. Today as I walked all the doors were closed, the shops shuttered, the odd person carrying a baguette peeping out of its paper wrapping. We're going to do a full moon ceremony, the girls and I, with gratitude and a visualisation of us getting home safely.

My daughter, if I had to identify her as a Quarantine bird ,would be the Bower Bird - 'Starts a home renovation project; Prepper; Thinking about building a bunker.' This is the daughter in a nutshell. When we're finally released from our two weeks quarantine (13 nights to be precise the daughter has found out; we breathe a collective sigh of relief, that extra night could be detrimental to our mental health), she is planning to rearrange her bedroom and she is plotting a takeover bid on half of my art room. She has also planned to finish University sooner rather than later has raised her spirits slightly. She's trying to cheer us up. I don't like her chances but I'm grateful for her positive attitude. I remember I had it once, not so long ago. A lifetime of making sure everyone else was buoyed up on my false enthusiasm has left me a bit frayed around the edges. I hand the baton over to the daughter.

We watch the last episode of Kath & Kim over dinner and wait for the moon to rise. As we do, I come unstuck having just read of someone in the early forties, dying within a day of arriving at the hospital. Why do I do this to myself? Normally I'm a resolute, let's get on with it sort of person. She's left the building. Let's hope she returns. Meanwhile I painted an eggplant.