Two Sainsbury's deliveries later, I am still showing two lines on the little plastic thing. I'm beginning to wonder if I haven't confused it with a pregnancy test and am, in fact, pregnant. This would be remarkable for a number of reasons and the Daily Mail would love it.
The first Sainsbury's delivery person made me feel a bit daft. On seeing the van I wandered down in my slipper socks and mask with a Waitrose bag and said hoarsely, at a safe distance, "I'm here mate." He withdrew almost imperceptibly in his cab and said "Are you Jane Capon? Are you isolating?" He then said if I'd read the text or picked up any of the calls he just made I would know that because of my disgusting COVID the shopping would be deposited outside. I sort of said "Oh" and went back in, and looked wanly through the glass door, feeling like a plague victim (minus buboes or imminent death).
The second Sainsbury's delivery person cheerfully knocked on my apartment door having miraculously got in the building, apparently willing to brave the plague. I popped on a mask and told her I was positive. She said "Everyone is!". Turns out she had it last week.
I look forward to getting one line on the test. In terms of the illness, it's been a rough few days and quite a lot better today. I might even try going outside for a walk (but will paint a red cross on myself so people avoid me). Lord have mercy upon us.
