Revenge of the hobbit: Day 18 of self-isolation

Today's photo is an evening greeting from Ottawacker Jr., coming home from his pre-bedtime constitutional. At moments like this, you can almost believe things are normal. Then, of course, you remember.
 
Spent a little time outside today, and almost undid all of my good work with a moment’s absent-mindedness.
 
We’d had a morning power cut – because, really, the current situation couldn’t get any better – and so rather than sitting down in a darkened basement, I went to the front garden and sat on the wall to watch the world go by. A beautiful crisp day, sun shining, lovely.
 
Out comes Ottawacker Jr. with a ball.
“Dad…….,” he says. “Dad, can we…?”

So we kicked a ball to each other from one side of the road to the other, carefully respecting the prescribed distance of separation. And then out comes our neighbour Warren, who is a lovely guy and knows all about my confinement issues.
 
“I’ve got a gas stove boiling some water,” says. “Do you want some to make a cup of tea?”
“Brilliant,” I say. “Let me get a cup and you can pour it in. From a distance.”
“No problems,” says he. “But don’t worry, I’ll put it in a thermos and bring it over.”
 
So we carry on playing, and then Mrs. Ottawacker comes in from picking up our fruit and veg order, carries the boxes in and tells us that the power is back on. I ask Ottawacker Jr. to run up to Warren’s house, run up the front steps, knock on the door, run to the bottom of the steps, and when he answers, tell him the power is on and we don’t need the water any more, but thank you for the kind offer.
 
This he does. And then he walks back over to me and starts walking home next to me. So what I do, as I always do, is put my arm around him and hold him close as we walk.
 
We get over the road and then the realization: “Dad, you touched me,” he said. “Now I’ll have to have ANOTHER shower.” Showers are among the things that Ottawacker Jr. likes least.
 
Fortunately, it was only his shoulders and neck, but I just wasn’t thinking. I mean, what is the point of exiling yourself to the basement if you allow yourself out to do the exact thing you are supposed not to be doing in the first place? Bloody hopeless.
 
Now, being serious for a second, I am pretty sure I am not infectious and do not have the virus, but still. This is really why I have stayed in and away from the family and even the cats. I am a very tactile person with my family – and am glad I am, usually – but obviously in the middle of a pandemic should not be allowed in the vicinity of anyone to whom I am related. I’m back in the basement till the end of my confinement now. Can’t be trusted.
 
Apart from that, I learned a couple of new words today. Given the lockdown in the UK, the town of Llandudno has been overrun by wild goats. There are three adjectives pertaining to goats, none of which I knew: “caprine” is the general one; “hircine” is for male goats or billys; and “haedine” is for baby goats or kids. The alternative is, of course, “goaty”…