I’m finding it difficult to get into some form of routine. I got back home, after a month in Oz, on the first day of ‘quarantine’ just in the nick of time so am doing total isolation in case I picked up anything nasty on the journey. It always takes a few days to get my head sorted out but this time it’s taking longer. Total discombobulation and I’m flittering from one thing to another like a demented bumble bee. Every morning I tell myself This is The Day I will get on top of it. I’m comfortable, I have food aplenty thanks to DD1 & Mr Tesco delivery man keeping me supplied. I have a garden to sit in/work on plus loads of indoor activities. But, can I be arsed? No. Tired, tearful because I hate being on my own, get up late, slob in old tatty clothes, go to bed early, can’t be bothered to watch TV or, more worryingly have a few ?? - & the hair desperately needs attention. Then, I think of my Mum and millions of others who coped on their own for years during WW2 with far less and in her case no husband for nearly 6 years and I feel ashamed for feeling as I do. Manana, manana!