I haven't left the house for three weeks, four weeks? It feels like forever. I have no idea what day or month it is anymore and that's fine. I would be quite happy to never go out again except for my Sunday vermouth. Or dinner. Maybe lunch? To see my family. Friends. Nature! The sea! The mountains! What am I on about? I love being out.The only people I see at the moment apart from my love are my neighbours hanging off their balconies every evening. Or the police randomly stopping cars and asking for their permission to be out and about. Then there are the cats across the road and the redstarts, siskins, starlings, blackbirds, Monarch butterflies and so on. H suggested I go and get the essentials. Of course this involved about an hour of me planning the whole disinfectant rigmarole outside and on my return. There are no joggers here so at least I don't have to worry about getting embroiled and contaminated in their slipstream. Being outside for the first time in ages felt weird and agorophobic. Not a soul. That awful dread I sometimes get in open spaces. A need to leg it back home. I felt like I was the last person on earth but then I would be with my congenital self importance in such a situation. Unexpectedly, from a side street came the Spanish Armed Forces. Well, OK, about six of them. I had a flurry of nerves, thinking they might ask me for a receipt or proof of address, but this soon gave way to a stirring of the spirits when you see soldiers and they don't want to kill you, just to give you a wink. And yes, they really are as good looking as the photos that are doing the rounds.