Tuesday 5th May:
I am working at home when there is a crash from the kitchen and a shout of “Oh S**t” from my wife. Chantal is very refined when stressed. She had opened a stairgate, used to keep wet dogs in the kitchen, and ended up wearing the stairgate while lying on the floor and clutching her ankle. I rescue her from the floor, but am firmly told that I am insufficiently delicate to apply first aid, and so I abandon work to finish the job that she was about to start – walking the dogs. On my return we conclude that, since Chantal can move her foot, a sprain, not break, is probable, and I resume work, leaving Chantal on the sofa with a raised foot.
This afternoon I drive into Leicester for an appointment to donate platelets. Roads are quiet, although not deserted, and it takes just 20 minutes to drive in, 10 minutes less than usual. In the city centre streets are almost deserted, just a few isolated people, and a sprinkling of Deliveroo cyclists. Almost all shops are closed. The atmosphere is more like an Sunday morning than the middle of a Tuesday afternoon.
I make my way to the Donor Centre. Signs direct donors to a door usually used by staff, an area now used for triaging for any risk of potential Covd-19. However, I am waved in through the normal door where the receptionist confirms that I 
have been triaged by phone. Today is exclusively for platelet, not blood, donors, and there are only two of us. As usual I have to complete a lengthy health-related tick-box form, and pens are available on the desk. This time there are two containers, one for new and one for used pens, the latter presumably disposed of. As expected the carers wear masks, although I still recognise them, and we chat just as we always do. One tells me that her daughter has just moved house, after a lengthy delay. A “man and a van” was hired, but the “man” stayed in his cab, leaving the couple and some friends to unload, all carefully weaving around each other to maintain social distancing. Mum, my donor carer, called briefly to drop off some food, which was consumed on the front lawn. The Police arrived – the event had been reported by a neighbour as a party in breach of social isolation guidelines. This is not a socially healthy aspect of a locked-down community.
On the way back to the car I walk through the covered market, where just 10, of over 250, stalls, are open, all selling fruit and vegetables. No non-food stalls are open. Maybe more stalls open at weekends. I buy some fresh vegetables for Andree, and the stall holder tells me that trade has been steady during lock-down, with fewer stalls on any day, just enough to stop the City Council choosing to close the market.
On the way home I visit our vet for medication for Tia, paying by phone from the car park, and collecting the medication from a basket outside the entrance door.
Technically we live in Oaktree House, but sadly the tree had to go.
We now have a thriving Oakstump at the front of the house.
