dystopian December

The irony of this slammed into my Sunday. Travelling at the moment feels like a urban myth. I feel like I have forgotten how to pack a suitcase and may not remember how. I took travel for granted before but I never will again. We are weary of no plans and wary of what is coming next.

Squeezing more irony out of a Sunday an M has gone for a test and we are back in isolation waiting for the results. We are living in wild times. A kind friend brought some Weihnachts Plätzchen (Christmas biscuits) and we have arranged to meet to laugh about the ironies of life on the Brexit Britain plague island.