Arrival

I'm In Scarborough, on holiday with Dave. This is my room. All mine. It's the first time since the pandemic began that I've had four walls enclosing just me, my own little room. This feels like austere heaven.

The taxi to Cheltenham was fine, but we'd an awful long wait (I met Dave there) until our coach arrived, then we sped off to Rugby, an hour behind schedule. We were allowed a quick pee stop, and Dave managed to buy a sandwich (fortunately I had packed a gluten-free one). A few hours later we were allowed a whole twenty five minutes at a service station. I cracked the art of the self- service Costa machine in WHSmith. Dave is phlegmatic and enjoys the coach journey as part of the holiday. I regard it as a pain, but at least I haven't got DVT, I can still see my ankles and the tendons in my feet. When we got to the hotel in Scarborough at about 5.45 pm, I watched the News to remind myself that I have nothing to moan about. People in Afghanistan are doing the unthinkable: selling their children to pay for food for the rest of the family.

The hotel is near the sea, but I haven't been out yet. Being with Dave on a package holiday is cramping my style somewhat, so I've decided that I will spend Wednesday exploring Scarborough on my own while Dave goes on the optional excursion. Tomorrow we go to York.

Two of my nursery colleagues have posted on our WhatsApp group that they've tested positive for CoVid. Better get out my test kit tomorrow. I feel fine, but it's rotten luck for them to have to self-isolate over half term.