I have taken to sitting in the garden, extended child’s pose, or a version thereof, and reading books or looking through my phone. I move between the shade and the sunshine as the weather has been temperamental lately.

My family seems to think that we are on some sort of family holiday and that we should spend “quality time” together. I sound like a brat for thinking this is annoying, but we are merely quarantining together out of convenience. I am lucky to have a family that wants to be together, and a mum who is sweet and laid back, but I’d also love the time and space to vegetate alone, make veggie pastas and listen to music loudly, and walk around the house clad in face mask and bath robe without feeling self-conscious or subject to questioning.

I am spoilt. But I’m trying not to “apologize for how I feel” and just feel. I think this will be good for my “writing”.

For some reason I love the idea of writing. I know that nothing I write is new or original, but I don’t want that to stop me. I want to be as plain as possible on paper and I think that might peter out into my face to face interactions. Honesty is something I’ve struggled with, if I’m honest. Being polite has cost me integrity.

In 30 minutes I will put my first sourdough loaf into the oven and by this afternoon I will be Nicola, maker of sourdough.