Self Isolation Day 22. When Life Gives You Lemons, have a Daiquiri.

I realised after yesterday that when I let my routine slip, my emotional mind falters and crashes. Then I have to nurture it before it descends again into the depression that I was swimming in last year. I am not going there.

Today, I headed out into the empty streets thinking of Boris, BoJo, the Boris Johnson of Brexit fame. Why him you ask? I have had little interest in him until I saw he'd been admitted to intensive care. He's 55! He's got a baby on the way (well his partner has). He's got the best treatment in the world but it might not be enough. I had another slight panic moment where the hypochondriacal me (that has been developing in the fertile womb of my quarantine life), stood up and said this could be you if you go home. But I chose to ignore it. I walked and I breathed in the fresh air (only saw one car in the hour that I walked) and took photos of the emergence of spring that was all around me. Hollyhocks, wistaria, potato vine, tulips and daffodils. I was buoyed with photographic material. All was right for a time. I even came home and christened the paints and finished two paintings for my online course!

Then I put up a post I found this morning called: Which Quarantine Bird Are You? I chose the Fairy Wren - Gets out of PJ's every day. Still does make-up. Day-drinker. The first two are correct, the third I pride myself on having not succumbed to but...I have become an afternoon pre drinks person. That was an unexpected consequence of the quarantine and at some stage I will have to forgo it but tonight's cocktail hour superseded all others. I bought one of those Cocktail mixes (Daiquiri) and knowing that usually they are weak, I thought I'd top it up with some Rum and added some bruised basil leaves. Within minutes I had the giggles, within minutes the daughter and I were revealing our souls. The daughter's partner was busy cooking so she didn't have the time but still she did reveal her admiration for Elvis and we bonded like never before. Elvis, the love of my 8-16 year old self! We ended up watching him in action in Jailhouse Rock which is appropriate at this moment because we all all imprisoned by this virus and we are learning to live a very different life than before. Interesting times for those who haven't succumbed to the virus and those that have and who've survived. Living with fear is what many people do on a daily basis, in war, with compromised immune systems, within the home, without a home. Surely at the end of this we will have stronger empathy systems in operation. We can but hope.

Self Isolation. Day 21. I Don't Want to Leave the House.

Easier said than done, our decision. So many variables that we started alcohol consumption earlier than usual. Where can we leave from? How do we get there? If we do manage to get a flight will the one remaining train to Paris run on time? Should we get an Uber but are they operational? Do we drive but will they let us through check points? Which airlines are operating from Paris, if any? We went through three pots of coffee during this time. My faithful travel agent said there's tens of thousands of Australians trying to get back. Are we all the glass half full ones, the ones who thought it'd all be over soon. Would have been great had we been the glass half empty type of people. We'd be in self isolation in another location by now. We tried the Australian Consulate in France and couldn't get through and the Australian consulate hotline. They told us to try and get to London and if that failed to stay where we were until things calmed down. No idea when that might happen, although the curve is flattening slightly in Italy, Spain and France but there's still quite a way to go.

Woke at three again last night. Unfortunately I checked the phone (I know, I know) and happened upon a story about how the virus is also causing cardiac arrest, a new strain that is killing people in New York without having previous heart conditions. The hypochondriac in me awoke fully. The trip to Paris ( if a taxi turns up), if they don't cancel the train, then to Doha and being in airport lounges, then bundled into crowded buses to get to a hotel quarantine, will be a minefield, with corona virus hot on our heels. Mainly mine as a woman of mature years with breathing issues. So attractive to a Corona virus.

The day didn't help us, the sun didn't appear. And after two weeks my paint, brushes and paper order arrived but by the time I'd unpacked them all and washed my hands at least three times (in case some corona was hiding there, waiting), I was totally not in the mood to paint. No one wanted to go for a walk, we thought maybe we should start packing our bags in the off chance we'd get a plane out sooner rather than later.

The daughter even suggested that she watch Coraline, her all-time favourite when in a bleak mood. I even wandered off during the clapping! It's strange how quickly, when you're not in the flow of life as you were previously, that you can so easily just switch off. I'm sure everyone else is feeling the same. That's Day 21 and we're the lucky ones.

Self Isolation Day 20. The Decision.

Breakdown of equipment, a computer battery dead, a knitting needle that snapped, a knife that broke whilst cutting a cauliflower. Today I walked a long way but I didn't touch a paintbrush. Welcome to Day 20.

Today we began to realise that this virus is not going to go away any time soon. The penny dropped for all of us. The girls I think have come to terms with the end of their overseas learning adventure but I am slow to pack away my dreams. I realise that if I could get into Italy, I could stay as I've got a residents visa but then if something happens to me, the daughter probably won't be able to come to return. Realisation freezes us in different ways. The daughter starts to plan a different future. Her partner is stoic even though she has the most to lose, having only just having started her year abroad. I stop as if I'm holding my breath - it's not that I just want to continue a long holiday, it's that I've become so infused with Europe's struggle with this that I want to be here when it emerges victorious and there is dancing in the streets. I want to be in Italy when this ends, where I've assimilated myself deeply within it's psyche because it offers us anglo saxon people an emotional escape route. I want to laugh, mourn and sing with them. Because sing they will. Even though their socialising lifestyle is probably what led to so much death within their country, it is also what will save them when they open their shutters, lean out of their windows and weep and vocalise their feelings. When I return home there will be no clapping at eight o'clock. We will close our doors and retreat inside and I'll get used to it because that is what I'm used to.

But when Europe's doors open again I'll be back to gather their celebrations within words, within photos. In the meantime I will have to clothe myself in the fabric of the Mediterranean people who don't worry about toilet paper and haven't stripped the shelves of shops bare.