I don't go out much, I'm no stranger to internet shopping, I can handle lockdowns. I watch hordes of strangers traipse past my house to exercise on Wimbledon Common. I have a garden and I'm glad I don't need to join them. I am coping. Then the nightmares begin. My sleeping brain designs cities which trap me in their mazes. Rivers and canals have no bridges. Railway stations and theatres have no entrances. No leafy lanes to the rolling countryside. No people. No normal. No hope. No future. Then Wendy Bliss emails me about The Covid Chronicle.