I read a piece recently by Jenny Lawson - AKA The Bloggess - in which she said that when she was anxious she read more voraciously but that when she was in the midst of deep depression she didn’t read at all. Reading for me, like for Lawson, like for many other people, is an escape and a distraction when most needed.

Over the weekend, walking through Kensington Gardens, I overheard the two elderly ladies behind me having a conversation about what to expect as we come out of lockdown.

Oh man. Deary deary me. Yeah this is a bit of a mess isn’t it. I doubt I have any deeper thoughts on this situation than all the professionals (and non-pros) writing and shouting about this so I won’t go on about it too much. I

I haven’t written one of these entries for a while. Probably because I’m as confused as everyone else as to what’s going on!

A couple of years ago I was talking to a colleague and friend about anxiety on the BBC Ouch Podcast. We both have and were working on a project about OCD and how we often felt wracked with worry even when nothing was happening.

I’m kind of ashamed to admit that some of this has felt like a holiday to me. Hear me out. I have taken it seriously from the start, currently self-isolating after my husband fell ill, reaching out to neighbours and following the government’s daily briefings closely.