Spring blossoms are blowing away, or washing soggily down the drains. The Covid-19 discarded gloves look less striking now the sun hides away and become merely squalid. I'm getting the hang of a hermit's existence. My apartment is the way I like it and 'it works'. No need to consider visitors, or missing girlfriend estranged in distant inaccessible Europe. I've spread. The neutral areas are mine, all the table, all the bathroom, all . . . well, all of it. A normality has established itself so quickly, and at such a cost that I’m scared of the old normality returning to disrupt us all over again. I can’t imagine what a new normality might be like.