500 Days of Corona

“Insanity is inanity with an ‘s’. These posts will have plenty of both.”

Corona virus means normality hiatus and boredom stupendous! So I’ve taken it upon myself to do my bit for humanity by recording my daily (ish – I’m really terribly busy) musings from West Cork isolation. Expect a plethora of wit as evidenced above and an inundation of time-wasting nonsensicalities as illustrated below. Stay well. Stay educated. Stay off yer bleedin’ phones!! Unless you’re talking to me – please ignore real people for virtual me at all times thank you goodnight x

“I’m just chilling with my puzzles, buttered snacks – bread, cupcake, Mars Bar, croissant, butter – and new handstand-learning timetable. And. by handstand timetable, I of course mean loosely suggesting to my sister that now would be a good time to practice handstands and – hey, that wall looks like a perfect handstand wall! That wall is waiting to be handstood against. Let’s totally set aside time each day to handstand around/in/on that one by two metres patch of luminous green plasterboard.  “

Day 27: Never underestimate the magic of a mini brioche

I don’t know why I continue to willfully underestimate the power of a mini brioche roll to fix all manner of physical, emotional, or imagined ills. I mean, hangover = gone. Inexplicable grief caused by a global pandemic = vanquished in a bite. Randiness = butter will suffice. They are heaven shaped into pudgy faux-baguettes… Continue reading Day 27: Never underestimate the magic of a mini brioche

Day 23: I should be ordering fifteen euro eggs and nursing a mimosa right now

I am hungover. Two freely-poured aperol spritzes, 1.5 cans of Guinness (the remaining 0.5 woke me up with its RINGING judgement from the lofty heights of my bedside locker this morning) and I am a pale and anxious mess. I went to bed fully-clothed, having been Facetiming a friend in Australia and, when my battery… Continue reading Day 23: I should be ordering fifteen euro eggs and nursing a mimosa right now

Day 20: Things I’ve cried at in the past 24 hours

Oh, hi there. Nothing to see here, just a woman now sort-of in her late twenties but still very much under the impression her age, looks, and penchant for terrible hair cuts paused at 22, crying into a supermarket trolley, improvised buddha bowl, chocolate pavlova. Whatever happens to be close-to-hand and weirdly inappropriate. Thankfully, salt… Continue reading Day 20: Things I’ve cried at in the past 24 hours

Day 19: Ok, I’m turning this into a food blog now (because there’s not enough of those)

Ok, it is 21:09. I have 21 minutes to write the absolute bejaysus (do we think this is a plausible spelling) out of this entry before I positively PLUMMET back into Modern Love and the chocolate pavlova awaiting assembly downstairs. (Note to the long-time readers: I know you’re thinking that I’m breaking my strict, vehemently-principled… Continue reading Day 19: Ok, I’m turning this into a food blog now (because there’s not enough of those)

Day 18: She sleeps alone.

Pros of lockdown: No longer having that feeling, as you fall asleep celibate and alone, that every other twenty-something is out there having passionate sex with all and sundry. Cons of lockdown: Falling asleep, celibate and alone. Pros of lockdown: Sisters being legally prevented from seeing their boyfriends and love interests, making them seem every… Continue reading Day 18: She sleeps alone.

Day 17: Why is my sister hitting a sliotar with a surfboard?

Today has been a funny day. Funny as in strange (not sure if you’ve come across this word in emails much recently – it’s usually found sandwiched in between the words ‘these’ and ‘times’ which are themselves preceded by “I hope this finds you well and safe.” For example, I was glass of wine in… Continue reading Day 17: Why is my sister hitting a sliotar with a surfboard?

Day 15: It’s been SEVEN hours and FIFTEEN days

Since you took my pints away. Ah-ah-ah-ahhhhhhhha. Can’t go out any night so sleep all day. Since you trapped me in 2k. (wistful side-eye) Since lockdown can’t barely do a thing I waaaaaahnt. I can’t see any ma boos. (looks down tearfully) Wah-ah-ah-ahaaaaaaa Can’t even eat my brunch in an overpriced restauraaawwwwnt (defiantly raises head,… Continue reading Day 15: It’s been SEVEN hours and FIFTEEN days

Day 12: My level of fear does not correlate to the amount of alcohol I drank

Here’s the deal. My sister and I have nominated Friday as fag* night or, more alliteratively, Fag Friday because imagination and any soupçon of political correctedness and/or fear of ridicule went out the window with coronavirus. By doing this just once last week, we’ve now created a whole tradition that feels as old and inherent… Continue reading Day 12: My level of fear does not correlate to the amount of alcohol I drank

Day 10: What’s it all about, eh?

11:59 am: Today I am firmly assailed by the light, whimsical wondering of what this thing of life and living is all about. I’ve popped out of a work document I’m editing entitled “Climate Innovation” where I’ve just written a sentence that uses terms like “capital markets”, “social impact investment”, digital technologies for massive development… Continue reading Day 10: What’s it all about, eh?

Day 9: Putting on mascara now constitutes a task on my to-do list

I always imagined that if I was cast away on a desert island, I would relish being away from the misogynistic undertones of mascara. Coveting a voluminous fan of long eyelashes – while a functional and beneficial accessory on a windswept and sandy isle – I know is a latent hangover from patriarchy of the… Continue reading Day 9: Putting on mascara now constitutes a task on my to-do list

Day 6: Thursdays are for solo candlelit dinners and flirtations with classical music

Allow me to set the scene. I don’t believe I’ve done that before. What a terrible narrator I am. It is 20:51, I sit alone at my desk in the activewear I’ve been wearing since what feels like 2003 but is really just whatever day I arrived home, hungover – god, remember hangovers?! – to… Continue reading Day 6: Thursdays are for solo candlelit dinners and flirtations with classical music

Day Four/Five: The cesspool of social media has me drowning

I find myself looking forward to random people’s morning stories. Hah, call my sleep-deprived but that reads as morning glory to me and I am at the stage of housebound, recycled-air inhalation insanity which makes that veeeeeeeeeery funny. Anyway. Pretending I’m not a nine-year-old boy who’s just had his first erection – I follow one… Continue reading Day Four/Five: The cesspool of social media has me drowning