Another bad sleep overnight — I am really stuck in that groove, for the time being anyway. At least being awake at odd times gives me ideas about writing. While I am sitting up I can write them down without disturbing my beloved. I woke up a bit before six, as I was in the habit of doing when bringing her in a coffee on her work mornings. (That time, when she actually left home to go to work, already seems ages ago.) Instead of getting up, I went back to sleep for a bit, and had some strange dreams. In one, I was passing through some kind of customs barrier, and being interviewed by a female official. I was carrying my orchid, which she admired. So I broke a bit off it to give her.
I was glad to hear my beloved moving around a bit later on. By the time we had made breakfast, it was time to fetch The Age (it was one of the days on which it is delivered). I took the precaution of putting on rubber gloves before walking down the driveway, in case the newspaper had been packed and/or delivered by someone with coronavirus. It was there, but only in one part — usually there are two. I reasoned, however, that this was due to the strange circumstances in which we all find ourselves. This turned out to be correct; all the expected parts were there, except for the travel section, which is suspended for the duration.
After breakfast I called one of my brothers, to whom I hadn’t spoken for a while. Everything was fine with him: indeed, his life was much the same in most respects. After that I went for a walk, during which I heard most of the Dvorak 8th Symphony on ABC Classic. We then mounted a joint expedition to get fish and chips for lunch. I was to sit in the car as usual while my beloved fetched the food. She started feeling quite hungry on our way there, however, so I drove home while she ate a potato cake. We watched the latest episode of The Capture, recorded on our Blu-ray player, while we had our modest repast.
(This was actually the first take-away meal we’ve had since beginning isolation. Fish and chips always leaves me feeling extremely full, even though I take most of the batter off the fish. What they call “grilled” fish is actually fried, which just dries it out, using no less oil than you get with “fried” fish. We only ever get chips for one. A few months ago an intrepid reporter in The Age ordered this at several fish-and-chipperies to see how large a portion of chips each one gave. Unsurprisingly, the results varied considerably between establishments. I don’t think he or The Age will get a Walkley for that!)
We had quite a bit of rain in the afternoon, so I was glad to have gotten my walk in earlier that morning. One of the pharmacy chains is offering not only delivery of prescriptions, but also flu shots. I thought about getting one of the Woolworths basic boxes, or whatever they are called, but we are actually quite well stocked with what they contain — even toilet paper. At least these services are being offered to people in our circumstances so that they can get some of what they need. Amen! What a dull day.