A couple of months ago, in a pre-Covid world, I read an article in the Herald about how to get maximum holidays with the minimum of annual leave.
I felt ever so smug when my Easter leave was approved – 10 glorious days of holiday for just four days' annual leave. I was going to head up to the Hoki, catch up with friends for a big Easter Sunday dinner, read, tend the newly planted trees, do a spot of fishing – bliss.
Now, in the middle of our state of emergency, I'm not feeling quite so smug. My lockdown has only really begun.
For the past two weeks, I've had the privilege of going into work, so life has had some degree of normality. My alarm goes off and I shower and get dressed – to be fair, I'm lucky it's radio. Hilary Barry has set an alarmingly high standard with her formal Fridays and immaculate hair and makeup, while I look like a nun from one of the more austere religious orders but, nonetheless, I'm up and dressed in clothes, not pyjamas. I have the luxury of talking to people other than those in my bubble – both in the office and on the radio. I have a routine and structure to my day for which I'm grateful.
Now, however, I'm well and truly stuck in my bubble. And no, I won't break the rules and head north.