Delay for Drama

Surprise! I'm still in London.

Why is a long story involving my own hyper-cautious nature and unique personal neuroses. Basically, I began feeling a little peculiar on Friday, and I worried I was coming down with something. It seemed unlikely to be Covid, given that I had Covid only two months ago and should still have some natural immunity -- and I didn't have the hallmark symptoms of Covid (cough or fever). But I also know that I work in an environment where Covid is making the rounds and the last thing I want to do is get on a plane and be a vector of illness.

(To be fair, Covid is making the rounds all over the country, not just where I work. The Office of National Statistics says one in 13 people in the UK had Covid the week ending April 2 -- about 4.9 million infections!) 

So on Saturday morning I called British Airways and postponed the flight a day. I'd already taken a negative antigen test, but I figured I could go get a pre-flight PCR test for an extra measure of security. So that's what I did -- I went down to a shopping center near Victoria Station and got tested, and that test came back negative last night.

That still leaves me in a bit of a conundrum, though. I apparently don't have Covid, but I feel like I might have something, even though my symptoms are mainly just fatigue and a mild headache around my eyes. So do I get on the plane? I'm still waffling.

Fortunately, British Airways is very flexible about these things because of course they don't want sick people traveling either. In the midst of Covid they'll make changes for illness without any additional fees or penalties. I could postpone the whole trip until June.

Or I could just go, because I also know that I'm a drama queen when it comes to illness and I am entirely likely to be making up this whole situation. My "symptoms" are very subjective.

On a positive note, staying home yesterday allowed me to sit out in the garden and see the first butterfly of the season -- a peacock on our forget-me-nots. I blogged a very similar photo almost exactly two years ago.

I also took Olga to the cemetery, and although I felt like I was walking through wet cement on the way home, we had a good outing. I was waylaid by a very chatty woman who regaled me with the story of how she acquired her pug -- apparently her brother saw it standing unattended outside a "gypsy camp" under the Westway and took it to a vet, where its microchip identified its owner as someone in Canada. Her theory is that the Canadian moved to England and brought the dog, and a "gypsy" stole it. So she is now adopting it. It sounded to me like her brother was actually the dog thief in this story, but I resisted the urge to tell her that.

People are so funny. Why would this woman I have never seen before feel the need to tell me, a total stranger, such a tale?

(Top photo: The dancer atop the Victoria Palace theater, where I saw "Hamilton" several years ago, near Victoria Station.)