Welcome to the coronavirus lockdown in France, as documented from a 12m2 flat in Paris.
I could use some company.
All in diary
What can I possibly tell you about today beyond this : I have a fridge.
Nothing else that has happened today in this tiny box I call home is worthy of note. Nothing. Serious I really mean it - nothing whatsoever. We’re lucky the fridge arrived or this blog post would have read “I watched Netflix, first in French, then as I got lazier, in English.”
10h15 : I got up with no illusions about what would be achieved today. My brain is setting a very low bar at the minute - if I manage to get dressed at some point or open the curtain (most people would have the luxury of a plural there, but I have no use for such an abundance of drapery) then I’m winning. I think there has been a psychological shift since Macron announced that we might be let out to see humans on May 11th, because now there’s a goal. Now you just have to sit and wait for May 11th to arrive and see what happens next. It makes entertaining yourself in edifying ways even more negotiable than it was before. After all, if I have not yet lost my marbles, how likely is it that I will lose them now, with one week to go? Which brings me neatly to my closing argument: why not watch the entire Marvel back catalogue? Why would you not? The defence rests.
9h15 : Had a dream last night that I went to New York on a ferry (I have never been to New York, on a ferry or otherwise). I remember thinking “This is great, why haven’t I done this before?” because it seemed like the ferry took about an hour. I remember looking up and seeing all these massive buildings right overhead, as if the ferry had just pulled up on 5th Avenue, or wherever it is in New York that skyscrapers are, I don’t know. I was duly impressed and decided immediately I liked New York very much. I got off the ferry and started to wander towards the city proper all awe-struck and happy to be exploring, and then I realised I had forgotten my suitcase. Seriously. I started rushing back to the ferry terminal and down a weird staircase and back into the ferry to try and locate this ruddy suitcase - because even my subconscious is forgetful - that’s how deep it goes, what chance do I have? None whatsoever.
9h25 : There’s no milk : second thought when I woke up. First thought : coffee. Since a morning without coffee is not to be contemplated, milk must be hunted and gathered. This simple fact gives the morning purpose, direction - two things a morning has not had these forty days past. Today, I have goals, yes goals, in the plural! For not only will I venture out for milk, I will go in search of - wait for it - a cookie cutter. What a day this will be! Cookie cutters! What whimsy, what extravagance! And they’re not even for cookies! You rebel.
9h15 : Don’t watch Medici Don’t watch Medici Don’t watch Medici Don’t watch Medici Don’t watch Medici Don’t watch Medici. I think one of the most unpleasant mundanities in life is having to taste warm milk to see if it’s gone off. It was definitely on its way out - it didn’t taste right - but it hadn’t yet fully committed to being off, so into the tea it went and I made porridge with it because it’s basically on its way to being cream, right? Wrong. But whatever. The mini fridge has been despatched!! So that’s something. As have my German Gap Lederhosen, and the new screening for the balcony. Who knows where all of these things will end up in the great lottery of the French postal system. The game is on.
Me at 9h20 : So much to do today. Monday is a new week and all things are going to be better. I have got to do some yoga because the other day I walked to the shop and put my hip out. Then I’ve got that work to do, and I really want to get back to ancient Rome for a bit, and do some French - yes - such a good learning day ahead! Must also wash up and tidy up because that would be good. Then on any “breaks” from wholesome reading and learning things I can watch that documentary on the Nazis I started at the weekend on Netflix. Yes. Today is going to be a good lockdown day.
7h40 : I know! Getting up at a time with a seven at the beginning? Unheard of. But up I am, making the first cup of tea of the day (always the best one), and ready to conquer day 38 of this madness. Got my notification from the government that my application for financial help has been approved and will be paid, and felt an upsurge of love for France and its brilliance. To be able to get through this without hyperventilating about rent or accumulating debt is a miracle to me that surpasses even my little balcony. Vive la France I say.
9h10 : Yesterday, I read. For the day entire, I read or I worked, folded up into an origami human shape on my balcony. Not only did I finish Cider House, I read a whole other book - Curtain Call by someone-or-other - which amounted to about a chapter-and-a-half of John Irving so by 9pm I found I’d read the whole thing. I thought of it as a palette cleanser, whatever one of those is - I don’t think I’ve eaten at enough Michelin Star restaurants to know. I’m not sure I’ve eaten in any, now I come to think of it.
9h25 : I have been terribly inconstant this last week, shamefully inconsistent, and I have naught to plead but insanity, which I think is a pretty strong opener as far as excuses go. We’ve just entered our sixth week of confinement and the cracks are starting to show. They’re more crevasses actually, into which I fall headlong for the length of a day or more. The hours slide by and by, and that’s really all there is to say for them, so I would venture that not posting on these shapeless, thoughtless days is really for your own good. Nobody wants to read a blog that just says, “I read for five hours and then drank a bottle of Prosecco.”
8h20 : FRIDAYYYYYY MEANNNSSS hair wash dayyyyyy! If only my no-shampoo shampoo and my aloe vera hair mask weren’t in destinations unknown I would be able to celebrate even more enthusiastically. Since 3pm yesterday the parcel has been “On its way to a post office” - so given that that was roughly 17 hours ago I can only imagine the post office concerned is located in Switzerland. The saga continues.
6h40: For the record, I did not get up at 6h40. Uncharacteristically though, I was awake. What I really wanted to do was sleep in, because at 1.45am I was still watching YouTube videos about people renovating Chateaux. Monday was rough. Apparently my eyeballs just didn’t belong to me yesterday - they went along with my soul to YouTube, lock and stock. So at 6h40 I wanted to be sleeping but instead my brain decided now would be a really good time to get really mad about the last season of Game of Thrones again.
I must confess I can’t start today’s post in the usual fashion by noting the time at which I got up, because I don’t think I can honestly say I really ever did get up. I mean sure, I fetched the occasional cup of tea or coffee, I boiled a bit of pasta which I paired with a questionable sauce, I think at one point I took off yesterday’s make-up, but to give you a time stamp and say - then is when I rose from my bed - would be to lie. I haven’t lied yet and I don’t plan on starting now.
8h25 : Earlier and earlier! I do enjoy the sunny peace of the mornings but it’s weird how clueless I am as to what to do with them. I just sit in my chair drinking a cup of tea feeling bizarrely awkward. What do people do, when there’s nothing to get ready for? My brain isn’t awake enough to read, I’m not ready for breakfast, I’m offended by the idea of sound or moving pictures, and so here I am, just sitting here, looking confused.
8h54 : Finally managed to wake up (and more importantly, get up) before 9am. Obviously once up had absolutely no idea what to do with myself, so ate porridge and watched a documentary on YouTube and felt like somehow I had missed the point of getting up early - still can’t tell you what the point would be though. This doesn’t bode well for tomorrow morning.
9h : My cantankerous brain continues its tradition of waking me up early after quiz night so I can really fully appreciate the white-wine headache. Did not win the quiz. But at least now know that Waterloo happened in 1815, it’s more humid at the equator than at the poles, and Verlaine shot Rimbaud. I’ve forgotten everything else I didn’t know because frankly it was a lot.
