FOR f**k’s sake.
Pardon my French but it’s just come to my attention that we could be facing a further 15 days of lockdown here in Spain.
We’ve only endured one week of the original two and I’m already feeling a shadow of my former self.
Having arrived in Marbella last weekend in anticipation of my niece being born, I quickly found myself stuck with my mother and brother and unable to return to my flat in Sevilla as the nationwide lockdown came into force.
We were also lumped with my sister’s Labrador puppy, Buddy, which at first seemed like a blessing but has rather rapidly become a curse.
The teething terror seldom takes a break from jumping up at us – with his Wolverine-like paws leaving welts on our backs – or having a gnaw on our arms, hands or toes.
Meanwhile his evident failure at puppy school sees us stepping into surprise puddles of pee (not to mention he destroyed my flip flops one morning before throwing them up two days later…on our only rug).
And what was supposed to be a weekend stay has turned into a week-long doggy vacation as my sister was only released from the hospital with her newborn Elsa today.
And, rightly so, we have been forbidden from visiting them in the hospital due to the strict restrictions and will not be able to see them for at least another week.
But things could be a lot worse.
My thoughts go out to single parents or families with young children who will now have to feed and entertain all day everyday, and to the brave doctors and health professionals battling on the front lines 24/7.
I will have a toast to them tonight, and to all those who have been the hardest hit by this crisis.
And I will try to have that toast at a reasonable time, given that my definition of wine o’clock seems to be changing by the day, reaching a new low of 5pm yesterday.
Thank the lord for cheap and good tasting Spanish wine, but I may have to find another crux if I don’t want to leave this quarantine period as a wino.
My diet has also spiralled and I have no one to blame but myself, having taken up the role as designated chef.
I started out strong with healthy lentil soups, vegetarian fajitas and a fancy mexican shakshuka, but as the week dragged on I couldn’t resist a trip to Iceland.
The last few days have been pizzas, chips and burgers topped off with copious wine, gin and tonics and Bakewell tarts – not to mention a mountain-like daily dosage of chocolate.
Meanwhile, having left my beard trimmer at home, I am rapidly growing a ginger-tinged forest on my face while my overgrown hair is nothing short of a disgrace.
To put it bluntly, if I don’t get my act together, when I’m finally released from self-isolation I will have turned into a fat, ginger alcoholic.
I must eat better, do some exercise and cut down on the drinking…but then again it is Mother’s Day today.
Hmm… mañana mañana.
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