Self Isolation Day 7 & 8. Is a Haricot Blondie a thing?

Still no symptoms. I think I might have been lucky. New symptoms have emerged such as loss of taste and smell, neither of which I have. I text my gf to mention them and she has them both. We self diagnose her with hay fever. She hasn't got the telltale cough. She took herself off for testing just in case but they're only testing people who've just got back from O/S. Really?

People in Oz have been seen lunching in close proximity with friends in the CBD. ScoMo, as we call our PM, (not without a hint of sarcasm), stuffed up tonight with a cringeworthy, rambling speech of what we should and shouldn't do. Now everyone's confused. Ten for a funeral, 5 for a wedding. A joke going around is: What do you call a group of 20 ? Two weddings and a funeral. And he mentioned the 30 min appointment at the hairdressers. Really? Is it about politicians being concerned about their wives not being able to have their roots coloured and there were fearful? As well they should be. What do women do when depressed? Go for a counselling and revamp session with their hairdresser. It's how we survive and if that doesn't happen, the world as men know it would fall apart.

The daughter discovers the joy of coloured pencils and begins to draw. After completing two drawings she declares she might have an online exhibition. I walk myself into her picture and suggest I could do nibblies and drinks. I suggest we dress up for the occasion, then realise I only have my two pairs of jeans and two jumpers. Her partner looks at us as if we're crazy. The daughter suggests I sugar wax my legs instead (they have taken a turn for the worst I have to admit). I am initiated into the agony of the sugar wax stripping of most of the roots of hairs I have nurtured since childhood. The pain is immense but after a while you forget it as you become obsessed with getting every last hair (must google how this can be).

The daughter has bought a jar of haricot beans as she needed a glass container to make her pickled onions (oh yes, we are a hive of domestic creations here) and they were the cheapest. She finds a recipe for the beans and hands it to her partner who willingly makes Haricot White Chocolate Blondies. I kid you not. We gingerly try them. They're edible but I felt they needed cheese, herbs and salt. Please feel free to ask for the recipe.

Alcohol that I can't access.

Self Isolation Day 3 & 4. What day is it?

Wake up to sunshine but then realise what's happening across the world. News via the phone is too accessible. Italian deaths are rising, they're saying a whole generation has been lost. A friend of mine who's been quarantined in Modena for some time made a bid for freedom to New York. She's made it home on an expensive flight out and is exhausted. Had lots of messages from friends saying the borders are closed in Australia. We cross the coffee quiet zone and discuss the issue at hand. None of us are too keen on trying to get back now. It would be a nightmare and a health hazard. I may even have it now, giving it another few days just to make sure. Distancing from the girls, disinfecting and washing hands continuously and wondering what day it is. It's time to put makeup on.

The river walk has been cordoned off. The daughter went for a walk this morning and the police with the pink armbands told her she wouldn't be able to walk there anymore and could only go a kilometre from her home. It's surreal, like something from a Sci-Fi movie. Who would have thought it would happen to us.

I go on another route and find in a small triangular park between two rows. There are four beautiful wrought iron chairs distanced from each other beside an old tree, self isolating.

I find another supermarket #Monoprix, it's bigger, better and has gouache paints, brushes and Canson paper. I am so elated, I decide to start a blog, paint and wash my hair (self isolation hair fact - after three days, your hair stops being so oily). The daughter has been doing the 'no poo' and was adamant that it worked but I didn't believe her until today.

Another friend texts to tell me he's been tested. He's got the symptoms, he left Paris when I arrived. I'm feeling a bit reassured that I made the right decision and worried about him as he's the same age as me.

We get excited to hear the clapping and rush out on the balcony. Thinking of the health workers putting their lives at risk and hope that Australians start realising how important it is to stay at home. Look what is happening in Italy, the young people didn't get it, they still kept gathering. The price is being paid with the elderly.

Self Isolation Day 5 & 6. To mascara or not.

I begin to think what's the point of putting on mascara plus I might not be able to get any more if I run out. Priorities. Another friend of ours has had to have a C test as he was working in a bar in Bondi where four customers were diagnosed. And there's the ship. Instead of the saying: Your ship has sailed, the new fear is that the ship has docked, potentially allowing 2,700 people into the community, 48 of which have now been diagnosed positive. I don't think Australia has realised the potential curve of this.

I struggle to go out. I feel listless, restless sleeps and I'm still not really out of the danger of having caught IT from my London flight. But I put on lipstick and concealer (a necessity as I've not been sleeping well) and head out being careful not to touch any door handles. I use my sleeve to open doors and then realise it can live on clothes for hours and then realise I've been reading too many articles.

I head out for a photo walk and realise that the route I've taken is sadly lacking. This brings the mood down as photography has been my saviour over the last few days. I walk according to the new rules, one kilometre from home, for one hour, alone and the only thing I feel joyous about is the street trees of varying coloured blossom: white, plum and the palest pink and then for some reason I look down and I'm standing in a cluster of fallen petals and realise how quickly the trees will change. A metaphor for how things did change with very little warning.

I painted a photo from my stay in Catania, Sicily last year and so feel at least productive (oh, the freedom we had then, taken for granted) but at least I feel productive. The daughter and her partner seem to always be sweeping so I'm housework free atm. I have taken over the putting out and taking off of the washing. We are starting to fall into our rolls.

Tonight we waited for eight o'clock but no one clapped. We were saddened and felt disconnected. That night I heard from my friend who went back and has symptoms - he's tested positive.