DINNER TIME AT THE END OF THE WORLD

These are strange days, of course.

We ate our dinner in front of the TV the other night. I could count on one hand the number of times I’ve done that in my life.

The next night the big hand was still on the five when we sat down to dinner. Sunset is about 5.15pm in Sydney now so technically it was night time. But.

Either the clocks have stopped or I’ve entered the twilight zone of lockdown.

On Friday I opened a magnum of red wine with dinner. To her great credit Robinson laughed her head off when she saw it.

‘It’ll last all weekend,’ I declared breezily.

It didn’t. I think I finished the remnants from an eggcup as breakfast the next morning.

The Olympics are adding to the toll, but also helping. Thank you athletes. Thank you Japan. Seriously. I love you all.

I stay up late eating my 100 grams of unsalted peanuts and crying at every performance. We’re locked out of gym still so I’m living vicariously. Most athletes suddenly seem too thin to me. It can’t be healthy.

I’m looking forward to the sumo wrestling as a sport where I can now say (from a couch) ‘I could do that!’

It’s great to have a new kitchen and we love cooking there. We often start prepping mid-afternoon because it’s fun and legal. That’s partly why we eat while our French neighbours are just emerging out the back from la sieste.

The air fryer has redeemed itself with perfect chicken thigh recipes. Get one. Eat too much.

Nina still climbs all over the television and for every gold medal final has to be locked out of the only room with a door she can’t open.

Several local places that we visit have been listed as COVID contact sites. The Tramsheds. Chambers bottle shop. Bakeries and cafes. So far we’ve dodged the awful raffle.

This is how the world ends. Not with a bang, but a whimper.

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