There are multifarious ways of getting through this here pandemic.
Chocolate – obviously.
Box-sets – predictably.
And fleeting obsessions.
These obsessions have sometimes crossed over with the box-set theme (Fleabag last year, Call my Agent cette année, par exemple, currently Rose Matafeo’s Starstruck), or taken the form of replacement therapy, such as streaming National Theatre plays (ongoing, but definitely had a ‘moment’ a couple of months ago where I was on several per week) because I can’t currently indulge my theatrical habit in person.
Worryingly, though, these obsessions veer into the peculiar sometimes: particular foodstuff fads (currently Holland & Barrett banana chips – almost certainly 99% sugar); repetitive walking of the same route all week; and sudden periods of compulsive reading.
But I am suddenly concerned that I have deliberately worn white knickers for seven days in a row ( a clean pair each day, not the same pair for the whole week – how very dare you?!) rather than the usual random selection made each day at a time when I am barely able to see, let alone make informed choices. A conscious, if not quite logical, decision to exhaust my monochromatic stock, before allowing myself to indulge in a mauve, or a pattern.
All seven white undies are now freshly laundered and hanging neatly on the drying rack, which has given me immense satisfaction today.
I think it is high time those theatres and restaurants reopened – I need another focus!