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MARY-JANE DUNCAN: So the virus is in our house and we’re isolating. It’s a bit Big Brother

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The ‘Big Brother’ narrator’s voice is currently announcing everything in my life.  It started as a joke but seems to have stuck.  Day 874 in the ‘self-isolation’ house and things are getting a little tetchy…… He’s not wrong.

The big man landed himself in amongst the Covid-19 positive statistics.  What an absolute nuisance.

Regardless of concerns over his health (he’s ‘fine’ by the way) it’s had a domino effect on everything and everyone in our immediate circle.  Thanks to someone’s genius plan NOT to vaccinate front line police officers, here we are.

Hello, mild panic

Hello mild panic, slightly restrained due to our inability to go anywhere to run about like headless chickens.  Who we might have infected?  Are the staff okay?  Will we going to have to close the business (again?).  If it closes, will we manage to reopen?  How do we isolate in a small cottage?  Where do we start, what do we do?

I don’t know about you, but having maintained a reasonable grasp on ALL the rules, when it landed at our actual door the self-doubt crept in.  Suddenly we felt confused, uneducated, and set adrift.  A modern day ‘head in hands’ moment right there.  Quick! Someone do ‘the google’.

MJ had to do the drive-through test.

First things first, tests for me and the biggest.  Both negative (phew).  Has anyone been through the testing drive throughs?  I hadn’t and it was quite an experience.

Nothing like being shouted at through your car window by a rather large man wearing a LOT of fluorescence to keep you in place.  I almost suggested he said please or thank you, just once, when the biggest shot me a look to tell me to wind my neck in.

Even the tiniest of creaks from the door lead to shouts of ‘get back in your room’ and vigorous spraying of Dettol.

I don’t imagine it’s an easy job directing people round the one-way system, so I just hoped he uses manners outwith his work and drove on.

The mister meanwhile moved into the smallest of bedrooms, where he was to remain in isolation for the duration.  Even the tiniest of creaks from the door lead to shouts of ‘get back in your room’ and vigorous spraying of Dettol.

Lad has to creep about in his own house

Poor lad creeping about in his own house, waiting on us to be safely in the garden or our beds, anywhere else just so he could shower.  The irony that he’s spent his adult working life locking people up doesn’t escape me.

Maybe the narrator from Come Dine with Me would be a better fit?  He has the perfect balance of humour, wit and sarcasm for my liking.  The voice-over chap from Masterchef is a tad too high brow for this gal, I’ll switch my inside narration to that guy to mix things up a bit.

We have exhausted every board game and I’ve taught them some new card games.  The way this lot keep ‘sharking’ me, I should book us flights to Vegas as soon as we’re set free.  My lovely friends and staff have been kindly dropping off items at the gate.  I love that our people know us so well.  We’ve had jigsaws, chocolate, booze, magazines, plants and even a mug with its very own hipflask.  That was for me naturally.

Supermarket home deliveries for the Duncan household.

To keep us stocked up, we’ve ordered deliveries from the supermarket.  What an excellent service, as long you’re sober and remember the cut off times.  We’re currently surviving on cereal and crisps until the next van arrives.  I’ll do better next time.

My kids don’t like tipsy lockdown mum, they prefer carefree mum who used to do things like book flights to Florida after a few ciders.  My reasoning of ‘bank says no’ doesn’t compute and I’m handed another cider, the laptop and my credit card.

I’m not getting anything done because I’m too overwhelmed.

This is a virus potentially fatal to someone in my position and it’s now in my house.  On the flip side. I’m becoming overwhelmed because I haven’t gotten anything done.

Maybe I’ll just order myself a shiny new notebook in a lovely colour and that will release all my potential?  I could keep a diary and sign it off using a strong, inspiring alter ego name.  If Sasha Fierce is good enough for Beyonce then ‘Fatty McTired’ will work just fine for me!

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