Thanks for asking, Stilly, but I remain confined to barracks. I'm not deathly ill any more, but I'm still coughing, sneezing and dripping at the nose, still not tasting food properly, and still testing positive. People keep telling me that rapid-reaction tests are not 100-percent reliable, and I have to keep reminding them that, whatever I've got, it's most likely COVID and still highly contagious (see cough, sneeze and drip, above).

What will I do when finally released from durance actually quite comfortable? Buy my own damn groceries. The delivery service is great, but I miss being able to spot the deal of the day (not on the website!) and choose oranges for myself. This week's delivery featured a buckshee package of chocolate chip cookies (I never buy chocolate chip cookies) and a nice note instead of the Bosc pears I ordered, which left me with mixed feelings -- both pitifully grateful and absurdly irritated.

I'm living on eggs, cocoa, oranges, flatbread, frozen veg and tinned fish -- sardines and sprats bought on special some months ago and now come into their own. I can't really taste oranges or chocolate, but sprats come through loud and clear. The freezer also features nigh onto a dozen chicken cutlets, but those have less appeal because they require real cookery.

I had planned to drive a carful of friends to London today for a concert, but that's obviously impossible; I would be a one-woman super-spreader event. (Four people in a VW Golf to London and back to Stratford, plus dinner and the concert -- ya think?) The church choir is soldiering through Advent without me, and I'm not at all sure I'll be fit for prime time, or at least not a hazard to public safety, by Christmas Eve. And then I'm supposed to go to Windsor -- three hours of Highway 401 each way -- for Christmas dinner ... Aw, crap.

On the other hand, I'm not intubated or dead. Gotta look on the bright side.