Dear diary, we're nearly there. Some had hoped it would be tomorrow, some had hoped it would be another two weeks. Instead it'll be next Tuesday when we wake to life at level 3.
It's been four weeks, but in some ways ithas felt like four months. It seems almost impossible that just last month I was at a concert with thousands of others, that we could freely travel across the country, or even just into town or to see family or friends.
Not that we'll be doing all those things any time soon. And level 4 has had its charms. Never before have I seen so many families out cycling the streets. Everyone, not just some, says hello and smiles when you're out walking in the neighbourhood. And there are so many more people out walking, a symptom perhaps of having to spend every other waking, and sleeping, hour at home.
Of course there's the shopping. We've been forced out of our bad habits of supplementing the weekly trip for groceries with several in-between shops to pick up bread, milk, snacks, drinks, the odd "ooh that looks nice I'll try one of those", alcohol, snacks, toilet paper, paracetamol, snacks. You know what I mean. Now it's strictly once a week for three households - three septuagenarians, two 40-plus, two teenagers, two cats and a dog ... you should see the size of my trolley load on a Sunday morning (early, before the queues to get in).
We adjusted to this life, and we'll adjust to changes as they come, we always have.
All going well, the next few days will be the last of lockdown life, and things will continue to improve.