Boris has the virus, as has the Secretary of State for Health, and the Chief Medical Officer*. They’ve built a hospital with 4000 beds inside a big conference centre in London. They’ve built another at the NEC in Birmingham. The one in London has been dubbed the NHS Nightingale. I don’t know if the Birmingham one has a name. A hangar at Birmingham Airport is being repurposed a temporary morgue.

The city’s bored and socially isolated population crushed Deliveroo last night. Today we might go on a bike ride — I need to buy one first unless we want to ride into the city. It could be fun to see it quiet. When I went out to get some wine at about 9pm on a Friday night, the sight of a dead quiet Brixton made me feel a bit sick. The kitten might be named Possum.

*Note (16th May): It later transpired that the Head of the Civil Service also had the virus at the same time, and kept it to himself so as to not give the impression that the country didn’t have any leadership that was of sound body.