I have had a visitor.
Fortunately I did not need to worry about whether or not she had a bubble, or whether we ought to sit in the garden, or whether it was polite to ask her to have an all-over scrub and disinfect at the door, followed by putting on a hazardous materials protective suit, opening all of the windows and only talking to one another by telephone as we sat on opposite sides of the room.
I am a literate and responsible citizen and of course I would follow all of these wise and important protocols every time I had a visitor, which equally of course I would not dream of doing. The danger is far too great, and my duty to society far too pressing.
In any case the rules are there for our own protection, as we all know.
They are working so well and creating such a healthy population that somebody went bonkers in Windermere yesterday, and nobody was in the least surprised. Stories differ about what actually happened, but we all know that the police turned up armed to the teeth and waving riot shields. They spent the day desperately trying to isolate Droomer Drive and stopping everybody who lived there from going home. It sounds as though one of the hotel staff, driven mental from being trapped in a one-bedroom living space, with no money, no friends in the area, and no job in sight, started charging about waving a sword and threatening to extract revenge on the world.
We all sighed and sympathised. There have been two suicides in Windermere lately, nobody is surprised by outpourings of despair any more.
Fortunately I don’t know of anybody who has died of the bat flu.
Anyway, I did not need to worry about catching bat flu from my visitor, because it was Pepper.
She came to visit us whilst the human members of the Pepper family were out, because it is much nicer to be with a small pack of dogs than alone with the radio.
They all came dashing in together, and Roger Poopy and his father, who are no slouches, instantly bagged the big cushion in front of the fire, leaving Pepper to sit on the floor.
Pepper was not at all keen on this idea.
She lowered her hindquarters tentatively to the floor, and then shot up as quickly as if she had just sat in a puddle of coca-cola in clean white trousers.
She is not accustomed to sitting on a floory sort of floor.
It is not exactly a cold floor. It is cork, and perfectly acceptable. I sit on it myself sometimes, when we have got visitors and the chairs are all full.
Pepper thought that she would prefer the new sofa, but changed her mind at my yell of outrage.
She wandered about disconsolately, investigating things and looking forlorn.
I felt sorry for her after a few minutes, and also I kept tripping over her, so I hauled Roger Poopy off the cushion and told her to sit down.
She had become suspicious of the dog-nurturing arrangements in our house by then, and wouldn’t. She sniffed the cushion a bit, and looked worried. After a while Roger Poopy shoved past her and plonked himself down again, with a sigh and an air of finality.
I left her to it then, and she stood anxiously next to the cushion, looking worried.
After a while I opened the cupboard under the stairs, and she rushed in to find out what I was keeping in it. A plastic face visor fell on her head, and she squeaked in terror and charged for the door, claws scrabbling on the unacceptable cork floor.
I tried to reassure her, but her dignity had been hurt by my amusement, and she did not recover until one of her owners appeared to retrieve her.
She settled down beautifully then, because of being allowed to curl up on her owner’s coat which shielded her from the alarming floor.
Obviously her owner did not need the coat because of her full body hazardous materials suit, face mask, breathing apparatus, disinfectant spray and rubber gloves.
She did not stay for a cup of tea either.
Have a picture of the sunrise.
