I know how the caged tiger feels

 As I am pretty certain that I had the virus for a few weeks from late December to 11 January (main symptom: fatigue), I've been more or less under self-imposed house arrest since recovery. I venture out to the supermarket round the corner for a quick replenishment of supplies, might go as far as the small post office to send off birthday cards or paperwork to the accountant and on the last two Sundays, I've gone as far away as the station to try and get things on a Sunday morning, when there are fewer people about. To the station and back is a whopping 3 km.

Otherwise, I remain cooped up in my flat. All I can do to stretch my legs is to walk around the apartment. I have finally figured out that the longest route in one direction before having to turn back takes me from the pot plant on the floor in the office room, to the furthest corner in my bedroom: 19 steps.

When I settle down to watch TV in the evenings (Midsomer Murders, Poirot, Wycliffe and Vera - my education in the art of murder continues), I use the four-minute commercial breaks to pace backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards. 

That is about as much exercise as I'm getting right now, slumped in front of my computer or hunched over my cross-stitching. 

I know just how a caged tiger feels.

Synchronised peeing

 I've noticed something weird whilst living in this flat. 

Previously, I'd lived in an apartment with no-one above me, or to the left and right of me either. It was the quietest place I'd ever lived in even though it was a two-minute walk from the station. Overlooking the garden at the back, I could sleep without earplugs. It was blissfully peaceful.

In this flat, however, I have flats on all sides of me, including above me. And although the neighbours are pretty quiet, I do hear them move about from time to time and I can hear when they use the toilet.

What has struck me is that very often - both during the daytime and even at night (even when it's 3 in the morning) - when I have to use 'the facilities', then I hear one of my two neighbours (a married couple) above me flush the toilet at the same time.

I find this weird. Whether I get up at 3 in the morning (or 4 or 5), I can be pretty certain that either Mr or Mrs B. will be in the bathroom at the same time. During the daytime, I could understand it, but in the still of the night?

A good case of synchronicity if ever there was one.

Cross-stitching relaxing? Are you kidding?

 When people find out that, from time to time, I work on cross-stitch projects (cards, tablecloths, pictures), they say things like, "Oh, you do cross-stitching. That must be relaxing for you."

And I look at them, inwardly stunned, and think, "Matey, you have no idea."

For me at least, my creative hobbies are in no way relaxing. They are a compulsion. I might not be an artist using oil paints or watercolours, a sculptor hewing works of art from stone or even welding metal together, or a writer, but crocheting blankets, scarves and hats and ensuring that each single one is absolutely unique scratches my creative itch. As do cross-stitch or embroidery kits, because even though all the kits are the same, people's use of the needle is different and we all make mistakes. I like to think that I am bringing things into the world that didn't exist before and wouldn't exist now if it weren't for me.

However, I'm an all or nothing person. It's the reason why I don't do drugs or acquire a liking for alcohol.  When I start a kit or a new ball of wool, then I have to finish it. I can't do a project for a day and set it aside for a while. It's the same when someone gives me a box of chocolates: I have to finish it all in one go. I once overdosed on Ferrero Rocher when someone gave a large plastic container of them. I got through the first two layers before feeling so sick that for about 10 years, I could only manage white chocolate. The smell of proper chocolate made me feel very queasy.

So...no, cross-stitching, embroidery, crochet, sewing...these activities are not relaxing. I shall sit at the table until my back has seized up, my neck is nearly completely stiff, I have a pain in my right shoulder and my eyes can barely look further than my hands. It's why I miss the cinema so much; as I often like to say: sitting in the cinema is the closest I get to doing nothing.

Slippers recommended

Since I don't have enough work at present to keep my occupied throughout the working day, I have been doing an awful lot of cross-stitching. 

I really don't know how it happens, but I lay down the needle and when I next look, it's gone. Sometimes, I find it lying on the floor, but it doesn't take long before it disappears again.

So far, I have lost three of them without trace. 

Hence my recommendation for wearing slippers around my flat. Given the number of needles I've lost here over the years, it must be rather like a pincushion, simply bristling with needles.

Mask 22

 This week, the German government decided that 'medical masks' have to be worn on public transport and in shops.

Today, therefore, I left the flat early and was standing in front of the chemist's shop at 7.45, waiting for it to open at 8. I wanted to beat the queues. I was the only one there.

Anyway, when the nice man who works there opened the doors, I said, "I have a dilemma. You're not allowed to enter shops without a medical mask. But how I can buy one if I can't enter a shop with only a cloth mask?"

Reader, he allowed me in with a cloth mask and I bought 7 FFP2 masks. I have read that you can wear them 5 times, so long as you hang them up in a dry place for one week. I shall mark each mask with the day of the week I wore it and then mark also how many times it has been worn. When I read 5 times, I shall have to dispose of it.

What a world. 

Brexiters got what they wanted, and now they're furious

 As somebody who never thought that Brexit was an even halfway intelligent idea, watching the incipient fallout of the UK's withdrawal from the European Union is a delicious delight. 

Oh, the sublime satisfaction of watching Brexiters spit feathers while wailing, "The Dutch/French/Spanish/Germans are being vile to us. It's not fair how they're treating us! Why are they treating us like this? If it wasn't for us, the French/Dutch would be speaking German."

Well, mateys, they're treating you the way you wanted to be treated: as a country that no longer belongs to the club that is the EU. The UK didn't want to be part of the single market or the customs union. It wanted to be completely separate from the EU. And now it is. And the Brexiters do not like the consequences at all. 

Take, for example, the fact that - just as in the US, Australia or New Zealand (all English-speaking nations) - British people can no longer bring certain foodstuffs into EU countries. This meant that lorry drivers entering the Netherlands are now having certain foodstuffs taken away from them and destroyed. 

https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2021/jan/11/dutch-officials-seize-ham-sandwiches-from-british-drivers

The reaction of Daily Mail readers is breath-taking: "We liberated the Dutch in 1944 and now they do this to us?" "Maybe we should have tulip-bulb sandwiches instead." "We should have left them to Hitler." "I'm never buying tulips and Dutch cheese again."

https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-9134685/Dutch-police-officers-laugh-British-truck-driver-confiscate-ham-sandwiches.html

Yesterday, there were reports on problems with fresh deliveries of fish in France. Under the new rules, UK fisherfolk can no longer land their catch in France. No, they have to land them in the UK and then export them to France. And because of all the extra paperwork, the fish and seafood are no longer arriving in France as fresh as they used to be. Some catches are spoilt - either in part or in full. The quality is, therefore, not good enough. This is why the French are suspending orders from UK fisherfolk.

https://www.reuters.com/article/britain-eu-france-fish/weve-lost-30-years-brexit-shatters-supply-chains-for-french-fish-hub-idUSL8N2JM5YG

What do the Daily Mail readers say? They say it's not fair. They say, "Well, that's why we left the EU." That is to say, they believe the French are being nasty to them so it's a good job they are no longer in the EU. They don't seem to realise that it is because they got what they wanted - to leave the EU - that this situation has come about. Really. Seriously. They are that stupid. 

https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-9139127/French-fishmongers-say-supply-chain-shattered-local-bureaucrats-enforcing-post-Brexit-red-tape.html

And it's still only 13 January, a time when trade is normally a bit on the low side. What will happen when things really get going again?

As McDonald's said so ungrammatically a while back "I'm lovin it".

I must be better - my sleep is awful again

 For the last couple of weeks, I have been laid low. I reckon it was the virus, but, no, I did not go to the doctor. Frankly, I was incapable of moving much and any bit of physical exertion knocked me sideways.

From Wednesday 30 December to the following Sunday, all I could do was lie in bed. At one point, I remembered that I had bought a laptop for one of my evening classes early on in the year, so I opened it up for the first time since then and found that I could watch re-runs of Midsomer Murders and Poirot on ITV3 from the comfort of my bed. Reading books was out of the question; I just trawled the headlines on a couple of newspaper websites. 

After the bed, I then took to the sofa for another four or five days. As I got slightly better every day, I then graduated to being able to sit at a table and do some cross-stitching, while bingeing on audiobooks. Last Sunday (10 January) was the breakthrough, the day on which I felt almost back to normal.

And what do you know? On Sunday night, I barely slept, waking every couple of hours and finally waking up at 5 a.m. after 5 hours and 7 minutes of sleep in total (according to my Fitbit).

Until then, while I was feeling like death warmed up, I had experienced two weeks of pretty good sleep. In the week of 28 December, I averaged 6 hours and 58 minutes of sleep. Last week, the week of 4 January, my average time asleep every night was 7 hours and 45 minutes. This week? The week I feel better again? Five hours and 52 minutes. 

A C-list 'celebrity' (Peter Andre, just in case you're interested) reported on the Daily Mail website that coronavirus made him want to sleep all the time. I can vouch for that. I'm not sure whether I'm pleased to have nearly all my energy back again, or sad that I am barely sleeping again. When I was ill, I went to bed and the next time I looked at my watch, it was 6, 7 or 8 a.m. and I was able to turn over and fall asleep again. Now? Now, I wake up every hour or so and can no longer doze on until 7 or 8 o'clock. It's very frustrating.