The Chef kept coughing yesterday and was sent home—via occupational health—for a Covid test. Fortunately we'd already booked takeout pizza to eat at home with sufficient beer and wine to see us through.

We got the confirmation this morning that she's just got a traditional coronavirus, rather than the 2019 fun and games. It meant I could do a run around the shops before joining the girls in the park for sunshine and ice cream. We should really take it as a warning to make sure we've got a couple of weeks self-isolation supply, but, well, we haven't.