The Prime Minister was moved into intensive care last night. They’re trying to downplay the seriousness of his condition. They’re emphasising that he hasn’t been intubated.
Today some artist friends of ours, who we bought lots of art from at a show a few weeks ago, dropped off a parcel on our doorstep. It was a nice package of beautiful objects and warm wishes presented in the chaotic and pleasing way artistic people are seemingly able to carelessly toss together.
It also contained some Easter chocolate, which brought home that we’ll be under these conditions for another of those calendar marks. It’s our housemate Malika’s birthday on Saturday and we’ll do our best to make it something without going anywhere. It basically amounts to cooking, baking, drinking, and eating more than usual. All of it has the feel of celebrations a few decades ago (or at least how imagine them), without the pressure of booking some fancy place and thinking about guest lists and cocktail prices. You get a home-cooked feast of your choice, some presents, and that’s it.
The government sent everyone a letter about the importance of isolation. It’s on 10 Downing Street letterhead and signed the Prime Minister. I saw in the news somewhere that the UK’s infection rate is showing signs of slowing.