Technically, the government rules state that today, the ninth day I have tested positive for Covid, is actually day eight. The actual first day I had symptoms is called Day Zero. I thought I’d best point this out just in case that famous arbiter of the rules, Al ‘You Can Call Me Boris’ Johnson, sends Inspector Knacker round to fine me. Either way, it doesn’t change very much. Today’s lateral flow test is as clearly positive as any I’ve had since I caught the sodding thing.
So, as if by magic, the first time I will be allowed outdoors will be this Wednesday but only if I test negative tomorrow and Wednesday. Otherwise it’s Thursday, regardless of what the test says. Great.
It’s worth saying at this point that I’m not in a bad place as a result of the latest positive. Although something is going to kill me, sooner or later, it’s unlikely to be Covid, at least not this time. It’s disappointing because I shall now have to cry off at the last minute from a social event I was looking forward to, but this isn’t like being put on a ventilator, is it? It’s a very minor inconvenience, that’s all.
Back to the Man Cave it is, then.
