We decided at the start of the year to book a couple of nights away in West Wales. We both have a fondness for the country, and we really needed something to look forward to. Going on a “holiday” in January was never really something I ever thought would be a good idea, but we went for it. We decided we really did need more things to do this year, further away from our usual haunts. And since Covid is all but over according to everyone else, why should we miss out?

It’s costing us a little, but I have been surprised at some of the quality of the accommodation on Airbnb relative to the price. Some weekends, booking barely functional places like a Travelodge can be over £100 a night, and much worse towards the popular coasts. We have seen less prices with more stuff.

We spotted one near Cardigan, with decent mod cons, own roof, privacy, looking very cosy, and so we took the plunge. A mere £110 for two nights in late January.

The journey there was hell. It took over five hours, and was, with hindsight, a mistake to book so far away. We left the office, me feeling ill through anxiety of work and caffeine headaches for some reason, with me chained to the telephone, praying it didn’t ring, moving through horrifying M4/M5 traffic around Bristol. The weather, equally horrific, didn’t bode well.

We crawled in to the cabin at around 9pm, with our cheap kettle meals in the bag. We ate and went to bed. It was dark so we didn’t really know what we’d got to, but we liked the cabin.

The next morning it was a lovely scene. The area was beautiful. Rolling, and some not so rolling, hills. Green and pleasant. Quiet and tranquil. It was peace. The wind against the cabin all night actually sounded quite nice. It made it feel even more like a place of safety. It was everything we both needed.

On the Saturday we chose to go for as long a walk as we could possibly do while investigating as far and wide as we could. We took in a walk around Cardigan to Gwbert and around a loop back to Cardigan, where we explored a little, then had lunch and went to Mwnt for the sunset. The walk was nearly 8 or 9 miles, and very hilly, but good exercise. We certainly worked off all the stodge we ate.

Sadly then it was off the following day. It really wasn’t worth the enormous travel (or the cost of fuel these days) for the time spent, but it made some nice memories. Sunday we visited some more places locally before heading back after lunch, in time for our famous nachos for tea.

It was a nice experience, and we are going to repeat it when we book our next trip soon. We need to have things to do as we are, as a couple, running out of stuff to keep each other engaged in our relationship. We are bored of talking about work, and worrying about work, or worrying about moving house, or even finding any possibility of moving house, then worrying about the fact that we shouldn’t spend money because we should be saving it to our retirement, then realising we don’t earn enough anyway to even save for a good retirement. It’s all just disastrous. J is stubborn and refuses to engage in the issues. Probably because he knows if I had my way, I would almost certainly not want to do anything like this.

Though it’s not true. Since 2005 I have wasted much of my life being afraid of spending anything. It hasn’t brought me anything. I have more money than then, but I still don’t want to spend it. It always seems to me the more I have, the less I want to do something fun with it. That’s not good.

So I am now more willing to do these things. It’s only took the pangs of mortality, plus the acceptance of J’s fatalism, to make me want to do it.

On Tuesday night, before I went to bed, I had a strange feeling at the back of my throat. It was something I remember having before. It sometimes happens, then you wake up next day and it’s gone. You go to bed worried it’s the start of a cold, and then nothing.

On Wednesday morning, however, it hadn’t gone. It was there, lingering, and feeling like it could get worse. I did a lateral flow covid test once I got to the office, which was negative. Deciding that I must be ok, and whatever it is will either turn into a cold or be nothing within 24 hours, I stopped thinking about it. I went about my day. Carefully, of course, because I always do. I always wear masks around customers. I keep the door open for airflow when meeting with them. I always wear a mask, even if they don’t care for me in return.

But it didn’t get any better. On Wednesday night I had a terrible sleep, waking up at one point completely roasting hot. I felt distinctly unwell and a painful headache was underway. I managed to make it the morning with a bit more sleep, but decided I would do a covid test again to see if things had developed. The test said no…

Thursday was difficult, however. The headache powered on throughout the day, though it was bearable to some extent. It was now accompanied by a sore throat that felt like it was swollen. But no cough or sniffing, no loss of taste. So I felt like it must just be a cold with sore throat only, which I’ve had before. But I felt uncomfortable and not at my best, so thankfully it wasn’t particularly busy, and I kept on going by doing enough stuff to keep me engaged, but J had to pick up the slack. We went shopping in the supermarket, and apart from the headache and this growing increasing pain in the back of my throat I didn’t worry about it.

When I got home I happened to see the test I’d left on my desk. It had the tiniest of faint lines, which must have developed after I’d left it. I was actually Covid positive. Oops. It must have taken a while to develop, normally you know the score on these tests very quickly… 1 min at most… but this faint line wasn’t obvious this morning. It is now, sort of, when you squint and look at it from an angle. Lesson learned…

I panicked a bit and hid the test. I had already started being very careful around J the minute I felt unwell for sure on the Wednesday, as we always try not to give each other colds, but living in the same house and sharing the same bed it’s bound to happen, right?

I made a call not to tell J and see how I felt as the days go by. I didn’t want him to worry, and I thought it was inevitable he was going to get it anyway just through proximity. In any case, it wasn’t feeling like it was a killer blow, no worse than a standard cold. I thought I wouldn’t pass it on to anyone anyway. I spend no time with them, and I would make my excuses if invited. He’d also been booster jabbed, and assuming I had caught it from one of my brothers at home (can’t see what else it could have been?) he will have had longer to develop his immunity. Mine was only a week after the jab. A few more days could be crucial in helping him beat it?

Dangerous. On Friday I’d had another terrible sleep, but the headache was now gone. The sore throat had worsened but it was worse first thing, clearing through the day, as long as I kept drinking water. I felt perfectly ok to work (not that I ever have much choice) and so the day sailed by. Still no real sign of proper snot, or coughing, though the snots started to show a little at last as the day wore on. A further test in the office was clearly positive very quickly. I worried this would be the day J would catch it. We’ll see…

Saturday morning I woke up several times feeling like I’d swallowed razor blades. I had terrible sleep, blocked nose, but I often get that, so it’s hard to know if it’s related by this point. But it must be. I sound bad, but really I can go about life. Of course, I don’t as my life is dull, and we’d planned a weekend home anyway. If we hadn’t, I would have changed it. J still unaffected. I don’t bother doing a test now. What’s the point? Either way, by the end of the day I wonder whether that’s the best covid can throw at me. My immune system is clearly winning. Perhaps that’s the benefit of vaccines? Who would ever know for sure.

Sunday. I wake up to a sore throat, but nothing like Saturday. Snots are now at a steady pace, and I’m hocking up crap here and there. But still not quite what I would have expected. Essentially I feel better by the end of the day, though I have had to blow/wipe my nose and cough much more than normal, it didn’t feel too exhausting. Nothing like flu, in that respect, which is what I was expecting as and when I finally got this damn thing.

Monday… I am not sure yet but I have noticed a deterioration in my sense of taste and smell overnight. I didn’t know if I was imagining it yesterday, but things didn’t taste quite as strong. It was there, just muted. But the sore throat has essentially gone, and so as far as I can tell I now have no other symptoms. I was always worried about losing my sense of taste, as I like sweet food, but just have to hope it doesn’t linger.

J still doesn’t seem to be affected. I think we’re now heading into the window of when he might start showing symptoms, so we’re not out of the woods yet. Give it this week, we’ll see. Annoyingly, that’s what happened to my parents too… my mum had it, and my dad avoided it the entire time. Except at the very end, about 9 days in, when mum thought she was fine, dad started with the symptoms. That suggests they had done pretty well in keeping clear, which is a bit easier in their house as it’s a little bigger, there are spare bedrooms, etc.

Later that Monday I decided to do another test in front of J and show it was positive. After all, it was over now for me and it hasn’t been a rough ride at all. And worse, I can now essentially prove it came from my brother back home, as my symptoms and timing match my other brother. Plus, he’s saying he’s not feeling great, so better he knows right…

Tuesday morning J has a sore throat. Here we go again. Throughout the day he gets worse and worse but appears to have got to a more severe snot phase very quickly, with a cough. I’m just annoyed that he got it, I know it was going to happen but it’s cruel that it took so long to appear. I must have infected him Friday or Saturday if they say the incubation is a few days. And those were the days I was being the most careful!

Wednesday morning, he is worse, snots and cough. He tends to get colds on his chest so I have always been worried he’d end up with Covid and a chest infection. Too early to tell. I try to tell him to cough gently, but who knows whether that actually makes any difference. I know he hates blowing his nose, and I always wonder if that just leaves gunk up there that causes problems.

Thursday morning – no better it seems, and still negative lateral flow tests. Are they really any good if either a) they don’t detect relatively mild cases, or b) they are too difficult to use accurately to get a good result? Throughout the day J has a headache so is in bad mood, but the coughs and snots aren’t really happening. I worry he’s getting it stuck in there and it will fester.

Friday – still the same, and nothing on the lateral flow tests. By this point we’re both starting to worry that it’s something else, and maybe it will spread to me. That would be one hell of a co-incidence, so it’s time to call in the big guns. J books himself in for a walk-in PCR test. We’ll know for sure over the weekend. Luckily we have nothing planned anyway, and we just have to see what happens. J now seems to have no obvious symptoms, but he’s still telling me he’s feeling very tired and worn out. Over the past few days I have answered all calls to the office and done all the front door too. I seem to recall I did pretty much the same when I was ill. I am trying to protect him, but he seems to have an awfully slow recovery from anything like this.

Saturday – the PCR test comes back… positive! In a way that’s really good, we’re both pleased to know it’s nothing different. But he’s still acting super tired and claims he needs to rest up for longer. That’s fine, but we’re both hoping he’s better for Monday. I can’t keep absorbing the stress of our customers.

Monday… basically starting to get back to normal. Coughs and snots continue, but mild enough to hide it and crack on. We have a life to lead and no one will let us rest. It’s all over bar the shouting by mid-week.

—

I am annoyed to have caught covid, as I am so careful, and it’s typical that, I think, and am almost sure, that the only time I could have got it in two years is just because neither of my brothers give a shit. They were reckless before, during and after Christmas and New Year, bringing it back into the shared house they are guests in but don’t act like that. They didn’t care for the occasion, or for sharing their house with others, and I suffered from it. Fortunately, that suffering hasn’t been much, life has carried on, and I just hope that my chance to gamble on having to continue life (you try doing anything else when running your own business, your whole income dependent on it, no sick pay, no holiday pay) hasn’t hurt anyone. It doesn’t appear so from what I know, and we are very careful with our customers, seeing them at distance, air flowing, masked and for very short times.

Do the vaccines work? They clearly don’t stop symptoms. Or at least they didn’t in me and J anyway. But hopefully they stop us getting more seriously ill.

Is this now something we have to put up with in our lives forever? Yes. And it didn’t have to be this way. Thanks to the awful politicians the world has.

I have the same thing every year and I’ve probably written about it before. The idea that Everything goes so quickly is hardly revolutionary, but what depresses me so much is getting back into routine and doing little things, and remembering that it only seems 5 minutes since I did them last time.

This morning I just made my usual packed lunch. This is my routine. I make it while J is in the shower and getting ready. I sit and wait. He takes much longer than I do for various reasons, so I get more time to sit around and contemplate my existence. It suits me as that’s the type of person I am.

The trouble is is I hardly need any encouragement. Spending time thinking about the whirlwind time warp of the last two weeks is not good. This time two weeks ago I was irrationally excited over the holiday to come. I was preparing for the last work day, safe in the knowledge that whatever life threw at me it didn’t matter. I would be in holiday mode soon, and safe from the constant attack of customers.

It’s all over now of course. The Christmas break that will forever be remembered with these various words: Covid in the house, getting to know new dog, no sister, bad brothers who should have moved out long ago, endless Emmerdale, serious sadness about getting older.

It’s this last one that caused a severe depressive wave over the last couple of days. Once New Year was over (and that was a terrible night) I spent the 2nd trying to enjoy my last day as if it was my last day on Earth. Much as I try to avoid being bipolar over these things, I swing from being so happy about getting out of my terribly dull life here and then massively depressed about going back to it. I try to tell myself that nothing lasts, and so don’t get over happy or over sad about anything. But it’s hard when my brain is so used to permanent boredom.

Leaving my mum and dad this time was on of the hardest times ever. The only time comparable was when they left me in my new home, aged 19, having helped me move across to my university home. I was distraught then, but this time was almost as bad. I was sad for the loss of the daily joy of just being with them, supporting them, helping around the house, sharing little rituals like dad coming down to make coffee in the morning. Watching another episode of the US Office, or Curb Your Enthusiasm. Making dinners.

But more than that. I was sad that they would be left with my useless brothers who do nothing. One of my brothers didn’t so much as wash a dish. The other got Covid and hid in the loft for a week. A great excuse. I was sad that they now have a new dog which is an ongoing project of training, and the dog was not of their choice. Foolishly perhaps they thought they could allow my brother this one thing and he’d be good this time. But he isn’t. He is bringing terribly anti social behaviour on the house with his girlfriend, hiding in the front living room for days, emerging only to get takeaways and have a shower. That’s not right. My parents are too old to take him on. They just want a quiet life. They aren’t getting it.

So that makes me sad. But I was crying real tears for some time when we left and I couldn’t even get the words out when I spoke to my mum as we were leaving. I messaged her afterwards to say thanks for making it such a lovely time and a great Christmas in spite of the challenges. Together as a family we made it.

I was extra sad because, with my sister not being there, it really was different. Without her the dynamic was wrong. I knew it would be. Instead it all revolved around what bad behaviour my siblings were up to. Together we would have been more support and had a camaraderie in irritation.

This brought me to my final major worry though. This is it. Life is dealing us all its hand. I know so many others who have their own Christmases. they don’t sit around at their parents for 10 days like me and J do. They all have their own events and occasionally intermingle, but don’t take up residence.

We have never done that. We’ve always come home and stayed for a while. This year, however, is the beginning of the end. My sister not being there meant she has started forging her own vision of what Christmas is. And that changed mine immensely.

Instead I tried to continue clinging to what I have always known, in the past. I hope I’ll have many more Christmases with my parents, but how can I be sure? They are getting older and they are still able but – who knows – they could soon start getting infirm, and not able to do things. We’ve had years in recent times where dad has been sick with flu, and they were horrible.

But it’s even at the simplest of levels that everything comes together. I mentioned dad and his coffee… I love that and we all do too. When he gets up and puts the coffee on, then you know the day has started. I cry when I think that that eventually won’t happen, and no one will look out for me in that way. It’s a simple act, but it reflects so much more, the parental bond of looking out and trying to help their children in all situations. I won’t have that forever. It is time limited.

I hate too that my brothers who are there all the time don’t see it. They enjoy it without appreciating it. To them it’s just they fall out of bed at 2pm and there is a cup of coffee being kept warm for them. Or they are at work in the other room and dad appears with coffee and a pastry. They don’t join in or participate with any family rituals. They might as well not even be there. But if they were left out they’d be incredibly grumpy about it. It’s almost as if they think that it is their way of participating in our family.

So there it is. It all came out in a bawling of tears when we left, and then again when I got home as I sat and reflected on the 10 days I’d just had. It was just so overwhelming. Too many emotions, happy for the nice memories, sad for it being over so soon, and terrified about the life they have – over worked, under appreciated – and what is to come.

What more can be said about Covid? It’s boring and it’s anxiety inducing in equal measure. I didn’t expect I would still be thinking about it now. Will 2022 see the back of it? Either because everyone has it and it goes away, or some other magical better vaccine comes along? Who knows, but let’s hope so. We all need it.

The new year was rung in with serious depression. I just about managed to stay awake, a very tame affair with my parents, one brother and J, but once I went to bed I might as well have not bothered, as my other brother, who should have long grown out of being a pain in the arse, decided it would be great to spend all the night yapping, drinking, going up and down the stairs, and in and out the front door. From about 4am I had total rubbish sleep, and gave up about 6.30am. I had a terrible headache which has finally subsided. But really, not what I needed, when I was and still am feeling pretty crappy about getting older and the years just sailing by.

What can I hope for this year? Staying healthy would be good. Improving my relationship with J too. We’re also hoping we move house, somehow, but really we probably need to pray for a housing market crash that’s never going to happen. But we can keep looking for something just a little bit bigger.

I’d like to say I should set some positive goal. I would like to be fitter, and everyone says this shit, but I do need it, mainly because J needs it more than I do. And I don’t think I’d do it without him doing it. And he won’t do it without me. But what could it be? We don’t want to go to a gym, and I don’t like running as it hurts my knees. Swimming would be good, but you have to get up early to try and fit it into your day, and we don’t want to do that.

Every year I also hope something happens with my business that improves things somehow. Maybe some opportunity presents itself that I don’t expect. Or I snap and give up with the bloody thing altogether. Doubt it though. I have no ideas and no alternative plans.

I just have to try and resolve to have more fun. We have to try and be more spontaneous again, and try and have more adventures. More places to go to, more things to see. We did our trip to Cardiff and it was nice, and we could do more of them. I suggested we could do something like that once a month as surely we could afford it. But we’ll see.

J has got into photography, which I like but I find frustrating. I spend lots of time hanging around, waiting for lens changes. All a bit boring. I don’t have any interest in the technical bits, but he will talk to me about it anyway. But at least he has a hobby. I don’t have any any more. I used to enjoy music, maybe I could try and get back into it somehow. I often wonder if I had more space, I would get a drum kit. Maybe even a bass. I used to love such things. Playing drums might even kill two birds with one stone as exercise. That would be good. But these are just pipe dreams, living in rabbit hutch houses in the south. I would need to win the lottery, which I don’t do and don’t intend to start…

So is there anything to look forward to this year? Probably not. Just more and more fear about getting old, getting unwell, going bald (well advanced on the crown now), and seeing my family members getting unwell or worse too. It won’t last forever. Could this be one of the next bad years to make it three out of three?

If we can avoid that, it will be a good year. The first in a while. Could do with one.

Stop press. We are trying to book a four day weekend away early June with the whole family. Will be a pain but might be a nice way to come back together after a very disconnected Christmas. We’ll see.