Just sitting here watching the snow. Too sick to do much else. It's slightly ironic that just when I decided to stop doing my coronavirus diary I should actually go and catch coronavirus. It's bloody horrible. I feel horrible. But the snow is pretty. Makes the endlessly bleak concrete views from my window marginally less ugly. I've tried to take a picture of it but unless you've got some way of actually slowing down the snow, it just looks like, well, nothing really. Although I suspect my poor picture has more to do with the poor view more than anything.
In which I describe with great hilarity two new kinds of anxiety: parcel anxiety and facemask anxiety. (Apologies - it was a cloudy morning and I didn't realise how dark the recording was until it was too late).
I live in Bloomsbury.
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