COME on, Shereen! I listen to your advice and this is what I get? I’d better explain. After two weeks of containment I believe my flat is defying the laws of physics and shrinking to the size of Barbie’s bedroom. The pain of confinement has my mood going up and down like the FTSE. (Mostly down).

If I had a basketball I’d be naming it Wilson, in a homage to Tom Hanks' film Cast Away.

At the weekend, Radio Scotland’s Shereen Nanjiani noted my melancholia and despaired of my daily routine: watch Sky News all day long with subtitles – while listening to the likes of Emma Barnett on news radio – and writing.

Shereen reckoned I could be going fruit loop. (Not her actual words.) Now I’m dumping Emma Barnett for Ken Bruce for musical relief. And what am I listening to? – the Mamas and Papas playing It’s Getting Better.

I’m almost yelling at Cass Elliot – despite the fact she had little idea the Covid-19 deaths in the UK would one day hit 6,000 – and rising.

But when you live on your own the first person to walk out the sanity door is perspective. And it angers me when philosopher Alain De Botton, in a recent interview declares: “Community is better than coupledom.”

Yeah? What about when the single/isolated start talking to themselves, Alain?

De Botton adds: “Friendship is more interesting.”

Well, yes, it does have its place. But friends connect sporadically. Being part of a couple, assuming it’s a couple who like each other, is a continuous to and fro of ideas and support.

Ah, forget the philosopher. I’m now Googling the Mental Health Foundation for comfort for their advice on corona-induced misery. “Try to avoid speculation and look up reputable sources on the outbreak,” says the website.

I’m now laughing out loud like the demented Papillion, when he sees the bug cross his cell, swats it and eats it. Reputable? I had hopes for Professor Jason Leitch until he said defiantly, and unequivocally, two weeks ago: “We have absolutely adequate levels of testing in Scotland.” And after the Dr Catherine Calderwood debacle I found myself saying telling myself: “You’re on your own here, mate.” To which I then replied: “Too right you are.”

But now that I’m taking a moment from Sky I’m learning. I realise that I may be a grump, but I’m a grump that needs people around. I want to be informed, to soak up their comments, moods. I want to see their shoulders lift, to hear the exhalation of hearty laughter.

I’ve learned I miss the contact of (some of) those I worked with: the sardonic secretary who would greet me with: “You’ve been wearing that shirt since Spandau Ballet were still living with their mothers.”

I’ve learned I worry about my appearance – even though no one sees me. I’ve come to realise my hair will soon be Monkee-length and I will look like Davy Jones’ granddad.

This thought increases the melancholia. And I’m now reading about Shakespeare’s fixation with melancholy and madness. He attributed much to loneliness, and said writers and intellectuals were especially prone. Why don’t I take comfort?

I surf the net for relief. I’ve been wondering what all the fuss is about Joe Wicks. What? Is that it? Surely we all know how to get up out of a chair and sit down again?

I’m now walking to the shops. The streets seem empty except for couples holding hands. In my disturbed head they’re being boastful, not just as happy together as a turtle. What they’re saying is “We’ve just had sex. Great sex. So much so the neighbours took to battering on the ceiling.”

I’m now back in Barbie’s bedroom with my ear to the phone. It’s a call to my mother’s care workers' organisation. What? I’m being told there are no face masks available because care workers are not an NHS priority.

I’m listening to tales of anguish about those carers who are playing Russian roulette with their own lives up to 30 times a day. “Many are suffering panic attacks,” says the boss. “Their mental health is worrying.”

Jeez. Now these people really do have a cause to despair. I’m thinking that my world has become so small because I’ve been spending too much time in the huge space between my ears.

You were right, Shereen. I’m now on YouTube. Giving the Mamas and Papas another run at it. It’s sounds great. It’s what we all have to believe.

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