It wasn’t the best time to travel to the capital — Covid cases had been rising inexorably and there were rumours that the city would be placed under full lockdown again. There was a very real chance we’d end up getting stranded in the city.
The Covid test was a little expensive, but the process was fairly straightforward, exploding cylinders notwithstanding. A medic in full PPE came to our doorstep to collect the swab sample and the report was sent by email roughly 24 hours later.
We were unwilling, at first, to entertain the possibility that it could be Covid. Seasonal flu perhaps. Or even malaria or dengue, both of which are rampant at this time of the year. But surely not Covid!
Yesterday I reached the end of my tether. While D was preparing for a virtual meeting around lunchtime, the opening bars of a reggae fusion song began to throb through the languid air, followed by the familiar chorus: “You’re my angel, you’re my darling angel.”