If anyone ever sees me broadcasting from my desk, they can damned well take me as I am, with my hair on end and Watson the cat climbing onto my shoulder. He’s the worst editorial assistant ever.

Today I went to Kitchener for my monthly allergy needle. The doctor’s waiting room was stripped of its comfy chairs and magazines, and the nursing staff had the place set up for isolation technique — one patient at a time, halt at the door, bring nothing in with you, lots of questions, mask and hand washing, don’t touch anything. When I took my sweater off, the nurse told me to hold it so it did not touch anything in the room; she shot me, and then let me out by another door after washing my hands again. It was like 45 years ago in the infected wounds ward at Stadacona Hospital.

Instead of the recreational shopping I usually indulge in when I go to town, I came straight home and made a large batch of soup.

I notice that we’re saving money. Lunches out and fancy coffees cost a lot; who knew?