“I take my walks at night.

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In the daytime, anxiety curls itself around my shoulders like a thick, oily snake. There are too many people outside, and they’re not taking it seriously enough. I’m not doing enough to stop them. I worry about my family; we’re vulnerable. People are dying. The sun is wildly hot and the outside voices are loud through the open window. I used to love flipping the top off a bottle of beer and listening to the murmuring of groups of friends, the rattle of keys, the singing sifting across the lime-green leaves in the cooking-smell afternoons.

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Now they’re all out there cycling, jogging, breathing heavily and they cannot see the people inside who are scared, who are in one room flats. I’m so sad that I live in a 50/50 country.

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At night the air is cool. The swelling spring evenings smell of fruit and almonds. My dog and I walk in the middle of the road, sometimes, and the only sound is her claws rattling on the tarmac. It’s easier then, in the stillness, to think happier thoughts. It’s easier to think of nothing at all.”