COVID
After six months, one failed attempt at a family visit, a successful visit from a friend and the brothers finally making it to Spain, it was set to be two weekends of drinking, eating and exploring.
Until Covid-19 trundled on in and put a spanner in the works.
So, what was going to be a recount of two weekends that I was planning on not really remembering very well after too many drinks and too much tapas, has now turned into this...
Until Covid-19 trundled on in and put a spanner in the works.
So, what was going to be a recount of two weekends that I was planning on not really remembering very well after too many drinks and too much tapas, has now turned into this...
Life in Quarantine
It's been four days since carefree life in Spain ground to a halt.
The streets are deserted, loo roll is practically non-existent, I'm already running out of things to watch on Netflix and I've started to debate alternative meats for when the chicken inevitably runs out completely. My Spanish is still so bad that I think my safest bet will be to start slicing into my thigh. At least I know what it is and can guarantee it isn't bat or something.
On night one, full of Mexican food, we got drunk and decided it was vital for our survival to plot each other's heights on the living room wall - it seems all modern forms of entertainment have eluded us in these trialling times.
The streets are deserted, loo roll is practically non-existent, I'm already running out of things to watch on Netflix and I've started to debate alternative meats for when the chicken inevitably runs out completely. My Spanish is still so bad that I think my safest bet will be to start slicing into my thigh. At least I know what it is and can guarantee it isn't bat or something.
On night one, full of Mexican food, we got drunk and decided it was vital for our survival to plot each other's heights on the living room wall - it seems all modern forms of entertainment have eluded us in these trialling times.
Sadly not my biggest struggle during lock down. Once Bill and Theo left (I was two pizzas down and my snack supply was looking a bit sorry for itself, but Theo had left me with an impressive looking breakfast he'd seen online and a homemade curry) I was left alone to fend for myself. So, obviously I decided to heat up the breakfast Theo had left behind - it was only 11 o'clock after all.
...
I heated up the curry.
I had an accidental curry breakfast... with bread, not rice.
Covid 1, Kitty 0.
Day 5:
Another day in quarantine. Loo roll has turned to kitchen towel that just looks uncomfortable on the holder. Pasta is slowly but surely turning from a dish I thought I could eat until I burst, to a carbohydrate that almost brings a tear to my eye when I realise I need to find something new to jazz it up a bit.
To make the situation worse, the weather is lovely at the moment. It's like nature is twisting a metaphorical knife into the situation just as a massive screw you to humanity.
On the bright side (and even that side is pretty bleak), I am officially an online English teacher while the pandemic is still in full swing. I've turned from someone who wasn't 100% sure how to safely eject a memory stick from her laptop to giving, somewhat, professional classes through a programme that I didn't know existed three days ago.
I'm not quite a member of the Geek Squad yet, but I think I'm pretty damn close.
Day 6:
Realised I sent my Spanish debit card to England with the boys... Quarantine isn't going brilliantly.
Day 7:
I escaped the flat for a much needed trip to the supermercado to buy the essentials - minus loo roll, I've given up hope on that one. My realisation from the day before completely left my head as I defiantly walked the long way to the shop before coughing and drawing the unwanted attention of two police officers and swiftly changing direction before they could stop me and ask where I was going.
*A little side not: I've got the worst cold I've ever had in the twenty years I've been on this planet. It's not Covid (I don't think), but I haven't got the energy or linguistic ability to explain to the feds that it's just the sniffles, so I'd rather just avoid them at all costs.
Once inside the shop, I donned the cheap plastic gloves that are now provided at the door, struggled to get them over my rings as the security man (oddly enough he's not new, he's just started taking his job a lot more seriously) struggled to kick out a homeless man who... Well, I don't know what he was doing, but the security guard wasn't happy. Oh well, gave me time to sort myself out while he was in the way arguing .
One of the many difficulties of living on your own is remembering what you actually need to buy from the shop. I needed the essentials: bread, milk, onions, chorizo (a Spanish necessity) and I was planning on having as little in my bag as was possible. So, of course, I got to the till with ice cream, Pringles, nuts, chocolate, nachos and plenty more to keep me going.
As the cashier who constantly looks as though he has been waiting for the Covid apocalypse since I arrived scanned my items, I pulled out my purse and reached for the red Santander card that sits in the front pocket.
It was at this moment I remembered it's taken a little holiday to visit the family.
What to do? As the pile of food grew and I - for some reason - carried on packing my bag despite not having any way to pay for it (maybe I was going to run) I watched the price of my items rise significantly. So much for spending the bare minimum.
Then, the millennial within dragged it's eyes away from whatever she was doing inside my brain and - I swear I could feel her eyes roll and felt the sarcasm in her words - said "Mobile banking."
Yes! Thank, God for my inner sarcastic millennial self. The small issue, however, is that my shop was slowly reaching the £30 mobile banking limit. I had to decide, do I get rid of the the pop corn or the bread - oddly these were the two items I didn't feel were overly vital to my survival .
The pitiful drone of the cashier's voice snapped me back to reality. I know he's saying numbers, I just need some time to figure out what numbers.
He sighed and, with great physical and emotional pain, turned his monitor so that I could see the price of my haul. 29.94 euros. I smiled so widely that he could probably see my wisdom teeth coming through. I could even afford a carrier bag.
Day 8:
I've become the next Heston Blumenthal. A shock, I'm sure, if you know me or have read any of my previous posts where I've emphatically slated my culinary skills, but today I channelled my inner Heston and made something that nearly resembled a roast dinner!
Why Heston you ask? Why not Nigella or another female chef? (I only know the one, so my options are limited). The answer? Three words: honey. Dijon. Mash. If that doesn't channel the creativity of my inner Heston, I don't know what will!
...
I heated up the curry.
I had an accidental curry breakfast... with bread, not rice.
Covid 1, Kitty 0.
Day 5:
Another day in quarantine. Loo roll has turned to kitchen towel that just looks uncomfortable on the holder. Pasta is slowly but surely turning from a dish I thought I could eat until I burst, to a carbohydrate that almost brings a tear to my eye when I realise I need to find something new to jazz it up a bit.
To make the situation worse, the weather is lovely at the moment. It's like nature is twisting a metaphorical knife into the situation just as a massive screw you to humanity.
On the bright side (and even that side is pretty bleak), I am officially an online English teacher while the pandemic is still in full swing. I've turned from someone who wasn't 100% sure how to safely eject a memory stick from her laptop to giving, somewhat, professional classes through a programme that I didn't know existed three days ago.
I'm not quite a member of the Geek Squad yet, but I think I'm pretty damn close.
Day 6:
Realised I sent my Spanish debit card to England with the boys... Quarantine isn't going brilliantly.
Day 7:
I escaped the flat for a much needed trip to the supermercado to buy the essentials - minus loo roll, I've given up hope on that one. My realisation from the day before completely left my head as I defiantly walked the long way to the shop before coughing and drawing the unwanted attention of two police officers and swiftly changing direction before they could stop me and ask where I was going.
*A little side not: I've got the worst cold I've ever had in the twenty years I've been on this planet. It's not Covid (I don't think), but I haven't got the energy or linguistic ability to explain to the feds that it's just the sniffles, so I'd rather just avoid them at all costs.
Once inside the shop, I donned the cheap plastic gloves that are now provided at the door, struggled to get them over my rings as the security man (oddly enough he's not new, he's just started taking his job a lot more seriously) struggled to kick out a homeless man who... Well, I don't know what he was doing, but the security guard wasn't happy. Oh well, gave me time to sort myself out while he was in the way arguing .
One of the many difficulties of living on your own is remembering what you actually need to buy from the shop. I needed the essentials: bread, milk, onions, chorizo (a Spanish necessity) and I was planning on having as little in my bag as was possible. So, of course, I got to the till with ice cream, Pringles, nuts, chocolate, nachos and plenty more to keep me going.
As the cashier who constantly looks as though he has been waiting for the Covid apocalypse since I arrived scanned my items, I pulled out my purse and reached for the red Santander card that sits in the front pocket.
It was at this moment I remembered it's taken a little holiday to visit the family.
What to do? As the pile of food grew and I - for some reason - carried on packing my bag despite not having any way to pay for it (maybe I was going to run) I watched the price of my items rise significantly. So much for spending the bare minimum.
Then, the millennial within dragged it's eyes away from whatever she was doing inside my brain and - I swear I could feel her eyes roll and felt the sarcasm in her words - said "Mobile banking."
Yes! Thank, God for my inner sarcastic millennial self. The small issue, however, is that my shop was slowly reaching the £30 mobile banking limit. I had to decide, do I get rid of the the pop corn or the bread - oddly these were the two items I didn't feel were overly vital to my survival .
The pitiful drone of the cashier's voice snapped me back to reality. I know he's saying numbers, I just need some time to figure out what numbers.
He sighed and, with great physical and emotional pain, turned his monitor so that I could see the price of my haul. 29.94 euros. I smiled so widely that he could probably see my wisdom teeth coming through. I could even afford a carrier bag.
Day 8:
I've become the next Heston Blumenthal. A shock, I'm sure, if you know me or have read any of my previous posts where I've emphatically slated my culinary skills, but today I channelled my inner Heston and made something that nearly resembled a roast dinner!
Why Heston you ask? Why not Nigella or another female chef? (I only know the one, so my options are limited). The answer? Three words: honey. Dijon. Mash. If that doesn't channel the creativity of my inner Heston, I don't know what will!
...
Well, that is pretty much all there is to include from week one of quarantine. Maybe by next week I'll have gone mad or will have a balcony buddy to start some sort of Romeo-and-Juliet-forbidden-love-affair with. Who knows, I'll keep you posted.
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