Well. This is fun, isn't it?
Last week was half term - our first as parents of a school age child - and my wife took the week off. On her return yesterday, somebody asked her in all seriousness if she'd had a nice holiday.
We tried. We really did. And there were some moments of magic. But reality kept getting in the way.
In the early hours of Sunday 25 October, I was woken by the sound of my daughter coughing - a wracking, barking cough. She'd been getting over a cold, which has often developed into a cough on previous occasions. Her temperature was normal and as far as we could tell, food tasted as it should. In any other year we'd have dosed her with Calpol and waited it out.
But of course we dared not risk it.
By late morning, after a sleepless night, we were pulling into our nearest drive-through test centre - mercifully, just 15 minutes down the road. The staff were friendly and efficient, the whole process appreciably quicker than our previous visit (to a different, more distant centre) during the summer. But the test itself was traumatic, as it always will be for a poorly four year-old and the hapless parent administering it. My wife rose to the occasion as she does every single day.
By midday we were home, tears dried, treats wolfed, hunkering down to wait. Friends and neighbours sprang to our assistance, delivering essentials as well as much-needed curry and Cava, and agreeing to drop our car off for its long-overdue service should we enter a third day of isolation. Not for the first time, I was grateful for the kind people in our lives, for a community drawn together in adversity.
It was a long 33 hours - but that's all it was. At 9pm on Monday, my phone pinged. Negative. We poured large glasses of wine and let the relief wash over us. My wife set about salvaging half term.
My brother and his family were visiting our parents in nearby Bramdean, and we'd made some complex plans to meet without breaking the rule of six. The first of these was a trip to a soft play centre with the three children. I can't even type 'soft play' without an involuntary shudder, but the pandemic has forced a semblance of hygiene into the armpit of children's entertainment: hourly scrubbing, nightly fog disinfection, fewer people.
After our recent trials I felt even more risk-averse than usual. But the weather was miserable and our daughter had had a wretched half term so far. So off they went, while I turned my brain off. And of course they returned with wide-eyed tales of huge bouncy slides and ice cream.
Our second expedition, to the Winchester Science Centre, was less successful. I'd spent too long poring over ever-worsening Covid statistics and was already sick with anxiety when we entered the ominously full car park. They'd taken all the usual measures - staff cleaning the exhibits constantly, every adult wearing a mask - but there were too many people for comfort. We lasted an hour. I kept the panic at bay, but it's the first time I've ever struggled to draw breath through a mask. I remember thinking that this place and others like it would probably be shut again by December.
I was wrong there.
Hallowe'en dawned to the growing noise about a second lockdown and the loss of Sir Sean Connery, and 2020 turned another shade darker. But after a week of broken nights our daughter's cough had abated; six hours of uninterrupted sleep had done wonders for the mood of the household. We celebrated with a playdate, dressing up, face painting and a spookily brilliant pumpkin walk beneath a full moon.
As to the second lockdown - sooner and shorter might have been preferable in my uneducated opinion. Perhaps over an extended two week half term. Of course, the businesses and people devastated by the first lockdown will be most affected by this. I hope it's worth it, but there seems to be a spreading groundswell of dissent.
At the time of writing, the USA is waking up to election day. I can only hope that our fears about the result and its aftermath are unfounded, and that my friends on the far side of the Atlantic stay safe.
I'm no closer to employment than I was two months ago. But there is hope. I've managed to keep up my fitness despite inclement weather and voluntary house arrest. My mental resilience has been sorely tested in the last two weeks. And it's stood up better than I would have expected. I don't think I'm supposed to be relieved that the holiday is over.
But I am relieved. We are still standing. And we did have cupcakes with skulls on.
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