WFH: DAY 19. 8.00 am: A communion. 8.30 am: Personal Tutee and postgraduate student well-being round-up. Who’d not got back to me? A third and final email beseeching a response. 11.15 am: The courier called to collect. He rang the bell, and moved away. I placed parcel on the doorstep, and moved away. He advanced, picked it up, and moved away. Our exchange felt like an elegant courtly dance. The morning’s ‘to do’ list didn’t proceed fast enough. Too many other, more pressing needs were dropping into the inbox for me to remain focused. (‘Remain adaptable, John!’, he reminded me.
The trees in the garden had broken into blossom:
After lunch, I continued working my way through the list. My other enthusiasms would have to be placed on the hold meanwhile. There was postgraduate course work to review. At tea break, I monitored my monitors. Would they prove too heavy for the camera tripods on which they were mounted?:
4.30 pm: Out through the front door into the fresh air. If I’m not careful, I tend to quarantine myself not just to one house, but to one room in the house, and to one chair in that room. I circumambulated the Vicarage Field in a direction opposite to that of a Muslim husband and wife, who steamed ahead at a pace. We all nodded in acknowledgement of one another and the absurdity of our situation.
Back into the studio (at last) to test the new PA system, before it was disassembled. Afterwards, a little sourcing for resourcing.