If you’re following me on Instagram then you’ll know that I am completely and utterly obsessed with Lucy and Yak dungarees. If I’m not prancing around in a fluffy petticoat and a novelty print, I am almost certainly wearing these corduroy dreamboats. I have seven pairs in different colours, but my go-to favourites are the Originals.

Lucy and Yak aren’t just the purveyors of the best comfort clothing since the onesie, but they also have some pretty awesome ethical values. They believe in offering fair wages to workers, they send your dungarees in hand-sewn fabric drawstring bags (no unnecessary plastic – yes!) and have an awesome story – read more about it on their website.

I love buying clothing knowing that the company cares about its workers, and also cares about their customers. Every time I’ve contacted customer service, they’ve been extraordinarily helpful and always friendly.

I have a number of dungarees from them, but the ones that I always wear are my black and green ‘Originals’. The black ones are from their ‘tall’ range, which works much better for me in terms of sizing – I’m 5’8” but I have a long torso, so the Tall range makes it just a smudge more comfortable for me! I order the length in 32” too, so I get a good roll up on the bottom. It’s a shame they don’t have a huge variety of colours in this range, so crossed fingers they expand their offering for us long-torsoed lasses!

There are a number of ways I style my dungarees. I either wear flats, or I wear boots in more wintery weather, although this does make me feel as though I’m a bit more punk than pin-up. I have the issue that my t-shirts roll up, so they need to be long enough that I can tuck them into my knickers so they stay in place all day – or a cropped length, so I don’t need to (but I need to be brave enough to expose my muffin tops at the sides!).

I’m wearing Mediums in both the Midnight Black and Kale Green dungarees, which comfortably fit my 41” hips. I’m at the top end of the medium though and I’ve found some of the lighter fabrics have a lot more stretch in them which I don’t like the look of, so I size up to a large so they are looser and don’t, ahem, hug my wobbly bits. I much prefer the thicker fabrics though! I have the Red Salsa , Caramel and Ash Pink from the Originals range in size Large as they seem to be much stretchier and going for my standard Medium makes me feel more self conscious.

Lucy and Yak also do a number of other styles. The ‘Luna’ is a much lighter cotton Twill, but I didn’t find these a great fit for me – probably down to my long torso. They do some really cool prints under their Limited Edition section – I have a couple of pairs of fantastic rainbow striped dungarees which I can’t wait to wear in summer! I sized up with these, and although they’re a bit big in the, um, lady parts region, they’re comfortable – and let’s be honest, isn’t that the dream?

One word of warning to any of my fellow hourglass friends: some of their styles have pockets at the front, which are fantastic, but many have side pockets. These add a bit of bulk to the sides, and if you’re self-conscious about those hips, the pockets might not quite work for you. I’ve returned a few pairs because I just found the pockets added an unflattering lump to my already generous hips.

If you haven’t read Part One, you can read it here: https://www.quirkandfolly.com/2020/04/lockdown-diaries-1/

A couple of months ago, I wrote a little update on where we’d got to with…The Covid Situation, and a few things I’d been up to. It has been four months (where has the time gone?!) so I thought I’d do another post and share some of the things I’ve been doing to while away the lonely days. There is quite a lot of dog-related content here, so…sorry, not sorry.

Where are we now?

I should start by summarising where we are now: the rules have been relaxed, so we can now go out and enjoy exercise and dog walking and shopping as normal – just with mandatory masks in public places and a largely unpoliced social distancing of 2m. The beginning of July saw major shops reopen, and mid-July my social media was bursting with pictures of fresh haircuts and shopping bags. Pubs have now reopened. People are in many ways acting as if the threat is over – but there are still thousands of people contracting COVID-19 every day. People are still dying.

Back in May, when lockdown was in full swing and the country took things seriously, it was reported that Dominic Cummings – PM Boris Johnson’s non-elected personal aide – took a trip to Durham in his car, when all unnecessary journeys were illegal. He also took a trip to Barnard Castle on his wife’s birthday, supposedly to ‘test his eyesight’ before his return back to London. The internet exploded with memes, TripAdvisor saw some cracking reviews added, and the country began to fall apart. Trust in the government in their handling of the crisis fell apart as soon as this news broke. Lockdown fell to pieces. Inexplicably, Cummings kept his job.

It took until about July for masks to become commonplace. Now, most people are wearing them on public transport, and about half in shops. Yes, they are compulsory still. No, it isn’t being enforced. Yes, some people don’t believe in wearing masks, or even believe that they could die from contracting coronavirus. I personally have a collection of four masks, meaning I have clean ones for two journeys there and back. I wonder whether masks will be here to stay, or just a temporary 2020s phenomenon. I imagine textbooks in 200 years time will call out ‘mask fashion’, just like we do now with the famous beaked costumes worn at the time of the plague.

The reason I don’t really venture outside and haven’t embraced normality is mainly fear. And comfort. I am enjoying my own space, and my anxiety is enjoying not being around crowds or making small talk. My fear is driven by the tests done on survivors of COVID-19 – evidence of brain diseases, ongoing lung and heart problems. It’s terrifying that this disease is so unknown, and increasingly causing the strangest and most worrying of symptoms. It’s weird just how fine I feel at home, but on edge I am the second I leave my flat.

Either way, it’s still an unfolding situation. We have mass unemployment – a swathe of redundancies across the country from companies that can’t afford to hold onto people anymore. My company is doing the same; we’ve exhausted voluntary redundancy and now we’re looking at compulsory redundancies. It’s a scary time, and this is something that is impacting everyone whether directly or indirectly.

I’ll be interested to see where we are in six months or so. For now, here’s a round-up of what I’ve been up to in the past few months.

It was my birthday.

Having a birthday during a time like this was really quite something. I’m not exactly saying I’d recommend it – but as a bit of an introverted soul, it was wonderful to sit outside in the shade with a cup of coffee and enjoy some peace and quiet. I was thoroughly spoiled – from an appropriate distance – by the very best people in the world, and a huge thank you to everyone who sent me presents and cards which made it feel a lot less lonely. A big shout out to the knitted dragon kit that I will be using to create myself a new best pal to keep me company until I feel safe enough to gather will fellow humans again. And whoever paid the weather fairies to deliver 23 degree sunshine on my birthday is the real hero – I can’t remember a birthday where it wasn’t raining.

It ended up turning into a bit of a birthday week, and there were zero complaints from me. On the Tuesday after my birthday, a delicious red velvet cake arrived at my doorstep, a gift from some truly lovely friends, and on the Wednesday a pair of brooches arrived from Oh So Flamingo – custom designs of my two boys, a present from the amazing Lottie. I could cry with how spoiled I’ve been, thank you to every person who thought of me, sent me a little message, sent the beautiful weather. I’m very lucky to have the friends I have.

The boys struggled a bit.

I had a terrifying moment back in May where the dogs full-on launched themselves at another dog in the building. The other dog was absolutely fine – no teeth involved – but it was a bit scary for everyone there. My boys are a bit fearful-reactive, and thanks to the lockdown conditions they have become a little more fearful-aggressive, meaning that they bark at literally everything. Air, a car with a loud exhaust, someone laughing outside the window. People they can tolerate, once warmed up, but other dogs are a real cause for concern for them.

My normal training techniques didn’t come in handy either, because to be effective I needed to train them separately – but thanks to the law back in May, I was limited to taking them out on a walk just once a day, so I couldn’t take them out independently in order to try and help them adjust. They could tell the situation was a bit strange, and there wasn’t a lot I could do to help.

Even now that things are relaxed and I can take them out more, we still avoid other people. And I’m working from home – the last time I worked in the office was the middle of March. It’s going to be a huge shock to both lads when I’m not at home 24/7 and I just know that the separation anxiety is going to be at a whole new level. And let’s be honest – some of that separation anxiety comes from me too, because I’m so used to having a little warm lump in my lap or at my feet that I don’t know how the heck I’m going to cope when I’m apart from them for longer than an hour.

At least now I can undo some of the lockdown damage and resume normal training. Bear has sprung back quite quickly but Iggy is still pretty fearful, very clingy, and has suddenly become really bad on the lead. I let him off a bit because he’s old, but really I do need to be a bit firmer with him. But…he’s very cute. How can I be firm with such a cute little face?

The weather has been a m a z i n g.

I’m going to talk about the weather some more. April was uncharacteristically warm, May and June were averagely warm, and I absolutely loved it. I feel happier, my mood is lifting, it’s light until about half 8 in the evenings, and I feel like I have my days back. The dreary dark winter days feel long gone now.Thanks to my recent balcony renovation, and some new furniture, I’ve been able to enjoy being outside a little more.

Saying that, the weather the past two weeks has been absolutely bonkers, and it was a sweaty 37 degrees celsius last week – it hasn’t been a high of less than 31 in well over a week now. It’s so hot that I have been pulling down the blinds, closing all the doors and windows, and have my fan on full all day.

I can’t wait until it’s cooled a little again to take my laptop or a book outside and have a cup of coffee to the sound of birdsong. It looks like thunderstorms and rain are forecast for the next couple of weeks, so I might be waiting until September. But it’ll be worth it, I’m sure.

Working from home.

Although I’ve been a remote worker for three years now, something seems to have shifted in the past few months. Maybe because everyone else is doing it too, I feel less anxious and worried about missing out on things, and I’ve definitely noticed fewer passive aggressive comments from people about being in the office in person. I really hope that there is a wider shift and people now recognise that home working is a real possibility with a lot of benefits.

As I’m feeling less anxious, I feel more able to get up, get the boys walked, make a coffee, unload the dishwasher. (Yes, I know these are very normal things, but my depression and anxiety can make it really hard for me to find the energy to do all of these. Sometimes just getting out of bed is the best I can do.) At the moment, my day feels strangely structured in a way it hasn’t before. I’m beginning to wonder if it isn’t about work itself, and whether it’s to do with the shift in social events and invites out – I can get into a routine with myself without worrying about it being thrown off. I also wonder if there’s a part of this internal comparison of me and others, which is limited because everyone else has had to slow down and they are unable to do the things that I’d subconsciously compare myself to. Something to ponder a bit, I reckon.

It also feels like I no longer have to worry about declining to go to things. My mental health can make me inconsistent, and I’m much better at spontaneity than planned things; I work myself up into a tizz about what I’m going to wear, or whether things fit me, or the big pimple on my chin and whether people will notice. Not so much to worry about when it’s all online. Zoom calls and lighting can hide a multitude of sins, and that ability to turn off video? Heck yes.

I finally hit 30k!

It finally arrived, the day I’ve been waiting for. The day I hit 30k. I have a small fascination with round numbers, and it was a huge celebration for my numbers obsession when my unread emails on my iPhone finally hit 30,000. If you’re an inbox zero kinda person, you might want to move on at this point. If you’re an unread email kinda person, then we should have a chat. It all started when spam emails just didn’t want to delete on my iPhone, and since then, it’s just multiplied. I reckon about 80% of those emails are spam, or unread newsletters. I go by the theory that if someone REALLY wants to get in touch…they’ll just call.

Email bombardment.

Talking of emails, I had a cracker of one the other day. Someone emailed me one of those marketing emails – and at the end accidentally signed off with MY name instead of theirs. I enjoyed replying to that one. Is it just me or have spammy emails just increased tenfold? I’m getting so many of these personalised emails pushing services or products that are unrelated to what I do. And the worst thing? They all sign off like a Jane Austen novel – “I hope you and your family are well”. I wonder how many actually do wonder if my family are well? Maybe I should start replying with a breakdown on the various illnesses and diseases my family are experiencing at the moment and see what they say.

It feels like someone needs to make email bingo. Just fill it with phrases like “during this difficult time”, “hope you are coping okay”, “in these uncertain times”, “we wanted to update you with our plans regarding [enter unimportant project or business] in light of COVID-19” “just to let you know that we are still open for business” “take care in these strange times” and when you get a full house you drink a shot. Although make it a shot of water, because if your inbox is anything like mine, you’ll be taking shots by the minute.

Weird dreams.

My dreams are getting quite vivid at the moment – and from reading around, it looks like I’m not the only one. Why are we all dreaming so much at the moment? I had a dream the other day about a quiet village called East Thamesmead that I had entirely created in my head – tree-lined streets, a little brook, large hedges lining the roads, even a little ‘Welcome to East Thamesmead’ sign. When I woke up, I checked on Google Maps – and it doesn’t exist. It sounds real though, right?

I had another dream where I was on a bus and was dropped off in the middle of a town, but I needed a lift from someone and my phone was on 1% battery AND kept autocorrecting their name to a completely different word. And I had another dream where someone I know turned into Ed Sheeran. I’m not even going to begin trying to analyse that one.

Trying out alternative delivery services.

Before the UK officially went into lockdown, I had booked a Tesco delivery slot as I normally do, a few weeks in advance. So my first supermarket delivery during lockdown was that one – 31 March. Then, until about mid-June, I wasn’t able to book one single delivery slot to my flat in east London from any of the major supermarkets.

At this point it was Peak Lockdown; we were only allowed to leave our homes once a day and I was using that as an opportunity to walk my dogs. Concerned about my health and the rapid spread of the virus in Tower Hamlets, I didn’t really want to go to the shops in person. This was before masks were mandatory – and commonplace.

Not to worry though, because between you and me, I found a few places within the M25 that deliver groceries so I could still get my essentials in! I’ve tried a few alternatives to the supermarkets so far, all of which are excellent.

So for fellow Londoners, listen up.

Lolas. Yes, the cupcake place. And yes, they deliver all the basics – veggies, fruit, milk, eggs, cheese. If you need fresh produce then I heartily recommend them for speedy service and excellent food! They’ve done such a great job of surviving by pivoting their business to support those who can’t get their supplies in when they need.

Another is Wolf and Lamb. More expensive, but they normally supply high end restaurants so their food is great quality. I bought a £20 box of veg and it’s so large and generously packed I think it’s going to last me for a few weeks!

One service I use regularly is AllPlants, a frozen vegan delivery service, which are perfect for quick healthy lunches.There are also quick delivery supermarket options popping up, which promise delivery within 2 hours.

Waitrose have their Rapid service, which offers delivery via couriers Stuart in under 2 hours from order to doorstep – for the princely sum of £5. At the moment, this is a great alternative to Tesco who seem to have put their prices up. The other quick delivery option is the Co-op; they are widening their offering, but their Quickshop service delivers in under 2 hours, via courier Bringg, and best of all – free delivery. The caveat with these two is that they offer a very limited range of produce. I couldn’t get a lot of gluten free goodies, but I’ve used both services and you can definitely buy your basic fruit/veg/dairy/meat no problem. I’d be more wary of disappointment if, like me, you are coeliac and vegetarian.

So let’s just do a summary for you:

• Lola’s cupcakes (grocery) – delivery from £5.99
• Wolf & Lamb (home delivery)  – free delivery (over £35)
• AllPlants – subscription service, free delivery
• Waitrose Rapid Delivery – £5
• Co-op Quickshop – free (over £15)

All services are linked, so check them out and see what you think! There are also other services like Abel and Cole and Farmshop, but I haven’t tried these during lockdown.

My dogs celebrated their birthdays.

In July, Bear turned 4 years old and Iggy turned 8. I bought them hats, bow ties and bandanas, as any doting dog parent would. Before I had the boys in my life, I never understood the people that described themselves as parents to animals – but now I realise that to really bond with your pet, you need to spend time with them. You need to train them, care for them, notice them when they want attention, feed them the right amounts, play with them. Read their body language. Teach them things. Love them. It’s very much a two-way process, and as pack leader you are pretty much acting like a parent to them. You’re damn right if they get told off at dog school I am writing a long letter of complaint to the head teacher.

In other dog news, it’ll be a whole year this month that I’ve had my little bundles of waggy joy. I know that lockdown would have been very different without their company, and I love them very much for their silly personalities. It doesn’t feel quite right that they’ve been here for a year; they feel like they’ve been here forever. Yes, they get a bit anxious and bark at other dogs, yes, they sometimes pee themselves with excitement, yes, they run up a lot of expensive vet bills – but they are my boys and I can’t tell you how much I love them.

Back to school.

September is going to be a busy one for me. I can’t quite believe I’m saying this…but I’m going back to University! I am so nervous. It’s been so long since I was in that kind of environment – what if I’ve forgotten how to write essays? I’ll be studying for a PGDip/MSc in Integrative Counselling and Coaching, working towards BACP accreditation. I’m hoping to branch out my coaching practice and support people therapeutically, maybe with a view to doing this more formally part-time. I’m so excited to get stuck in.

If September wasn’t busy enough, I’m also going to begin my training with crisis charity Shout. Shout are an amazing organisation that offer free 24/7 texting to support people in a crisis. It means I’ll be part of a team of trained volunteers in the UK helping people who are going through a tough time. It’s a few weeks of intense training, but I know it’s going to make a difference to people and it’s a much better use of my time than Netflix or scrolling mindlessly on TikTok (yes, you read that right – hit me up for dog vids) or Instagram.

Genuinely, save this number to your phone RIGHT NOW and share it with everyone who might need it: if you are ever in need of help and just want to talk to someone, text 85258 for free.

That’s all for now folks.

Here’s a few articles I’ve written recently, if you want some follow-up reading. I did a piece on unconscious bias in the workplace, and me experiences of living with body dysmorphia. Appreciate you taking the time to read all about my life, and I am sending you lots of socially-distanced hugs.

Why women get complained about more than men. (Or: the story of how I was reported to my manager. Twice.)

What it’s like living with body dysmorphia.

Humans are notoriously good at spotting patterns. We see the face of Jesus in our morning toast, or a yawning face from the doors and windows of the house across the street. In the twilight, our brains make sense of the blurry shape of a dressing gown on the back of the door and suddenly it becomes an old man, staring at you as you sleep. I should specify that humans are extremely mind-bogglingly good at spotting faces that aren’t there. But that wasn’t my point. My point is – patterns. Sometimes we see patterns that aren’t there at all. But sometimes we spot patterns that we are afraid might be real.

There are a number of different psychological biases. Bear with me. Without getting too technical, one of them is confirmation bias; we take great care listening to information that fits the story we already know. Basically, we spot a pattern and we want to prove it through any evidence possible. Sometimes confirmation bias leads us to deliberately misconstrue what someone is telling us because we want so dearly to believe something we believe to be true. There’s also the availability heuristic – someone might say, “I’ve seen so many theories that the world is flat – so maybe it is?”. There’s also my favourite of the unconscious biases – the fundamental attribution error. Dan was late to the meeting again – you put this down to the fact that he is a disorganised person. A bad person. But when you’re late twice, well, isn’t that because there’s a very good reason for it?

People don’t want to feel bad, and definitely don’t want to associate with things or people they consider to be ‘bad’ or ‘wrong’. They also want to follow the crowd; nobody wants to be the only one who thinks something different. We call this conformity bias, or ‘groupthink’; the desire for harmony means we may collectively overlook the truth or avoid critical reasoning. This consequently forms an ‘outgroup’ – those who do not think the same. We press down hard on people who disagree, or we perceive as being on ’the other side’ so we can bring everyone to a single consensus.

As I said – we like patterns, us humans. Some humans falsely believe there is legitimacy if many people think something is right – we could call this another form of conformity bias. You may have heard this described as ‘herd mentality’ – where you assume something is true because you’ve heard it from a number of different people. It’s talked about in terms that sound scientific and beyond your comprehension, and because so many people are saying it or repeating the same thing you just can’t fathom it not being true. It becomes fact. Did you believe in the tooth fairy because your classmates did?

In both cases of groupthink and herd mentality there is an aspect of being part of a group, or matching your behaviours to people we either feel we belong with or aspire to be part of. Humans crave social contact and we don’t want to be rejected for being different, so we create our own bubbles with micro cultures and beliefs. We normalise opinions and make them part of our pack identity. We feel uncomfortable when people don’t conform to our expectations of what we believe is correct or right, or even moral.

So, people might change the truth to fit what they’d prefer to be true – whether they realise it, or not. It’s why there are climate change deniers and Trump supporters. It’s why they separate the world into things that are bad and things that are good. It’s why we create debates out of things that aren’t debates – this is what you may hear referred to as a false dichotomy; believing, incorrectly, that there are only two options, two sides. There is a deep-rooted need by many people to legitimise feelings as right, and ignore any evidence that doesn’t confirm what they want to know.

There’s also affinity bias. You already know this one. You meet someone – they, too, went to your school. They like anime and ridiculous socks, and laugh at the same things as you. You immediately like them. It’s a job interview, and before you ask any questions you know they’ve got the job; based entirely off their apparent similarity to you, they are a ‘good fit’. This is the reason that so much of the technology industry is white and male. Did you know there are more men called Jeff in Amazon’s senior management than women? Whether those two sentences are connected, only a lawyer can say.

The follow-on from this of course is where we feel that immediate affinity to someone and so we set the bar high; we expect them to behave as we might. This is called the ‘halo effect’. We exaggerate their accomplishments as if they were ours. And when they don’t behave in the way we wanted or expected, we feel deeply affronted, embarrassed – and we are angry. We simmer. Sometimes, we even manage them out of their job. Just because we made assumptions about what they’d be like, based entirely on their humour, mannerisms, and excellent taste in socks, and hired them into a job with expectations they could never meet.

Bias. It’s everywhere. It’s what makes us suspicious of what we don’t know, and drawn towards what we do. Black lives are put at risk because the police have an affinity to those they see as more like them. They see a black man break the law, and that’s the confirmation they need to prove that black men are criminals. It requires quite a lot of mental strength and energy to catch yourself on bias, and when you’re not taught to confront the bias that you have been systematically taught – well, that’s a breeding ground for ostracisation and bigotry.

Where was I going with this? Oh yes, patterns.

I’ve recently spotted a pattern. I have a number of peers doing the same job as me, but I am treated differently. It’s difficult to say what sets us apart other than I am a woman and they are not. I’d love this to not be the case, but sadly, I can’t see any other reason. I am not perfect – but neither are my peers. Somehow, my accomplishments are undervalued and mistakes overvalued when I am compared to my male equals.

I’ll explain a bit more. In the past two weeks, I have had two separate people complain directly to my manager about me – without first opening any kind of dialogue with me to resolve things. In one case, I firmly asserted that a colleague was correct and that we needed to move on from a point. A third party overheard and remarked how well I’d handled the situation. Despite receiving overwhelming positive feedback for how I dealt with the situation, someone fired off an angry email to my manager complaining that I was rude and refused to listen to them.

In the second, I declined to respond to an email request for a meeting – I’m loathe to put in meetings just for meetings’ sake. It’s something that a number of my (predominantly male) colleagues do. We just don’t have limitless time. If they want a meeting, they can put one in the diary. It isn’t unusual for things to fall through the diary when you’re busy. I didn’t reply to an email. And this was then escalated to my manager, via another manager. One missed email. The interesting part of this one is that my male colleagues miss emails all the time and it isn’t a big deal; someone sends a follow-up. They have excuses made for them; they’re probably busy. They are let off the hook – but I’m not.

I think the challenging part of this is that there is a legitimate complaint here – I did, in fact, decline to reply to something, and I wholly accept the criticism. What I don’t accept is that the attitude towards me is so lacking in respect that the response to me missing one email would be to escalate to my manager – when this simply wouldn’t happen to my male colleagues. In this situation, I am assumed to be bad; my mistakes exaggerated. My male colleagues never have to defend themselves in cases like this because, well, they’re just not seen as bad. Things have to be really, really bad for someone to report it to their manager. And at that point, I am being treated in the same way as someone who is severely underperforming – my missing one email is on par with a male colleague refusing to attend any meetings for a prolonged period of time.

In both cases, my gender absolutely plays a role. I was going to suggest that my gender might have an impact on behaviour, but that would be softening something that feels crystal clear. As women, society expects us to be submissive, to be friendly, and to bend over backwards to please everyone. My male colleagues aren’t rude; they are bold. My male colleagues aren’t ignoring people; they are busy. None of my male peers have had the same accusations made at them despite demonstrating similar behaviours. We might call this attribution bias; women have criticism levied against them that men don’t, based entirely on systemic sexism and unconscious assumptions that people have about women. And assumptions about women’s power, or lack of it. What makes my blood boil is how quickly people will escalate to my manager – no attempts to repair the relationship with me. Just immediately pressing the nuclear button on a professional relationship. Why? Because I said no to something? Because they want to indirectly use power by going to my white male manager – to what, put me in my place? Because they feel my male peers have more power than I do?

In the second scenario, and I won’t go into too much detail but, there was an element of fundamental attribution – the problem is me, not the situation. Instead of not replying because I’m busy, it’s because I’m bad. I miss an email? I’m bad. And if I’m bad, the only route is to complain to someone more senior – instead of the much less extreme “Hey are you okay? I haven’t heard from you in a while!”. I have shared this experience with two male colleagues of mine and needless to say, they were both surprised and horrified that this kind of thing happens, and even shared examples where they’d missed multiple emails with not even a hint of an escalation to their manager. I felt one emotion quite keenly from them: guilt.

Punching down on women seems to be a pattern here. Do as I say, or I will undermine you. Let me be clear – do my male colleagues get complained about? Of course. But do they get complained about, bitched about, as much as me and my female colleagues? Do they have assumptions made about their competence or effectiveness based on hearsay or their gender? Do they come with assumed levels of technical knowledge or competence that might “outweigh” their perceived rudeness or aloofness? No. Have I been asked before if someone can “talk to a man” about a technical problem that I can actually solve for them? Yes. My male colleagues have never endured the subconscious rage and shame that comes from being seen as difficult or bad, just for being exactly the same but a different gender.

So I guess I’m saying – next time you’re faced with a situation where you aren’t getting what you need from a colleague, please don’t just escalate it to their manager. Why? Because you might be playing into the hands of systemic oppression. How about, instead of pressing the nuclear button, assume the best of someone and have a quiet word with them. Repair the friendship. Don’t look for confirmation they’re the bad one. Don’t be like a climate change denier.

The first time I’d heard of body dysmorphia was in a particularly difficult session with my therapist. It was 2013, maybe 2014, and I was staring out of the window. The view wasn’t particularly interesting – it faced a brick wall about 6ft away from the window ledge, which made me wonder why they’d bothered putting in a window in the first place – but it was that, or awkwardly staring my therapist in the eye. First rule of therapy; do not stare at your therapist. It is unnerving for them, but it’s very off-putting when you’re trying to explain intricate details about your life and look for signs of validation or response from the other person. They are trained experts and I can tell you, they would be very VERY good at poker.

I’d frittered away about two months of therapy dealing with my own challenges around therapy; trying to avoid topics, leading my therapist on a merry goose-chase around unrelated – but equally traumatic – things that would buy time, and avoid me having to talk about the truly painful things that I kept buried. Weirdly enough, this attitude didn’t really help me get past the root causes of my depressive state, and did nothing but let me talk about the things I was already comfortable talking about.

I was crying. Finally, we’d hit on something that I was struggling to verbalise, something that I was mentally butting up against. What was I finding so hard to talk about? Well – I literally couldn’t stand the sight of myself. And not in the sense that I had low self-esteem – in the sense that I was physically repulsed by the very sight of myself.

I don’t remember exactly what I said then, but it could have been something like this.

My sworn enemy are those lifts with mirrors in. I do one of two things. I begin to breathe fast and close my eyes and stare very hard at the panel of buttons until the door releases me again, or I stand there are examine my reflection to inspect my moon face for every fault. Not angular enough. Small eyes. Tiny mouth. Terrible teeth. Big chin. A round circle of chub with miniature features pressed into it. And it doesn’t stop there. I fantasise about removing parts of my body. I pinch the skin, I hold my hand against my face and imagine if I didn’t have cheeks. I hide my chin with my hand as I leave the lift, as if hiding it from the world outside in case anyone else could see it in the way that I do.

I can’t walk through past any reflective surface without obsessively checking myself. Something deep inside reminds me constantly that I am disgusting. I suck my cheeks in so tightly there are sores on the inside of my mouth. Someone walks past and I angle my head in a direction that I believe will be more flattering. A neighbour says hello, and I cover my neck and mouth with my hand as we make small talk. I don’t know what I’m saying; I’m completely preoccupied with an internal panic. I am controlling how I’m standing, conscious of every single small movement of my body. I feel awkward, gangling, and uncomfortable. They leave, and I relax again, but my hand remains in front of my face, attending to a loose piece of hair or an imagined itch on my cheek.

I cover the mirrors at home, or avoid them. All angles are horrific – I look ugly and somehow wrong, like Frankenstein’s monster. A night out with friends could be ruined by one unflattering light and a full-length mirror. I can find myself in tears, or leaving the venue to calm the escalating feelings of anxiety.

I truly hate my body more than anything else in the world. And if it were just me affected by it, then it would almost be okay. It would be something I could hide away and quietly handle on my own; remove mirrors. Pinch and pull the skin until it hurts, cover it up. The problem is that it doesn’t just impact me; there is a knock-on effect on my intimate relationships. Here is a sad truth – I have never let anyone see me naked with the lights on. I can’t even look at myself naked with the lights on. I just can’t do it. The last time that someone in low light pulled back a sheet and revealed a part of my naked stomach, I had a full-blown anxiety attack. The second that I become aware of my body, my sexual appetite just evaporates.

I have had coping mechanisms over the years. Avoid close contact. Keep things casual. Avoid taking your clothes off at all costs. Turn off the lights. Keep the sheet pinned around your hips. Take control and guide those strange hands that want to hold you in all those soft places you hate but they love.

Partners have tried helping me with it, with differing outcomes. One partner tried giving me a deadline – they would see my naked body by a certain date. It was delivered like an ultimatum; they would get all of me if they stayed with me. There’s a small chance that there may have been some good intent there, but however it was meant to be interpreted – it had the opposite effect. I became anxious, avoidant, worrying about that date coming round. It was cemented in my mind. One day, that date did come round – and I wasn’t able to do it. I couldn’t reveal my naked body to them. Instead I had a nervous breakdown and they were so bitter and upset they decided on top of that to gaslight me about my friends and family. All in all, I’d say that was a guide on what to absolutely not do when someone hates their body.

Other partners have been understanding, taking time with me, allowing us to advantage of moments of confidence but knowing that it wouldn’t last. Drink lowers my inhibitions and helps me feel less anxious – at the time, at least. Making the room pitch black, blocking out all the light and having sex in complete darkness, that’s helped too. Helped me hide myself.

“Have you heard of body dysmorphic disorder?”

My therapist asked this as I was staring very intensely at the brick wall through the window. I hadn’t. She explained a little bit about it, how it sounded as though this fixation, this obsession, this fear, was all part of something called BDD. She printed off some information for me to take away, but I shoved it into my bag without reading any, and about 5 minutes’ walk from my therapist’s office I found a bench in a small public park, and I cried silently for about an hour. Whether it was the relief at unloading how I felt, or whether it was how scared I felt talking about it, or whether it was the sense that there was a name, a label for it, I really don’t know.

A complication for me is that my relationship with food is messed up. I’ve experienced binge eating disorder and anorexia, and I feel constantly caught between the two. The latter is a response to my hatred of my body, and allows my obsession of it to take over. The first is my response to stress, and when I’m depressed my relationship with food goes out of the window. I gorge on calories and self-hatred, eating myself into a body I can hate even more than I did before. The body I feel I deserve. I can never find a balance. My body is constantly changing, fluctuating, and I feel I have to reinvent myself along with it just to survive the new body I find myself in. And whichever body it is, it is never good enough. Controlling my eating, overeating, neither of those help me come to terms with the fact that I find flaws within my face that literally nobody else sees. That control is just a distraction from a core sense that there are parts of my body that feel…wrong.

I wish there was an ending for this story. I wish I could tell you that I’ve found a miracle cure, a strategy, something that has fixed it. The reality is that some days I can put on my foundation and some mascara and think – yes, you look okay today. Other days, I avoid the bathroom mirror, and if I catch site of myself, I pinch my face until I cry because of how much I hate my chin. I practise smiling but I fixate on the gap in my teeth, the fact that they are too small. I can spend hours picking fault with my body until I am filled with such self-hatred that I break down in the dark and cry, for hours.

Other days, I pull on clothes that fit me perfectly a couple of days ago but my delicate body swells with the hormones rushing around it, or maybe last nights’ dinner, and the clothes that were comfortable and safe only hours ago are now never to be worn again. They are discarded in the ever-increasing mountain of clothing that I’m too scared to put back on just in case it no longer fits in a way that makes me feel like I can successfully cover those hated sections of my body. My wardrobe is full to the brim, a clothes rail with colourful fashion piled high, drawers crammed with items that I am too afraid to wear. I am reduced to the same 5 items which I wear until they are ragged. 99% of my clothing lies dormant, waiting for that day where I am brave enough to try them on again. For 98% of those clothes, that day will never come. They will be donated to charity with a single wear.

I wish so wholeheartedly I wasn’t like this. I wish I could wake up tomorrow with an imperfect body that I could actually love. If you wake up in the morning unafraid of your clothing, if you don’t avoid brushing your teeth in case you catch sight of yourself, and if you can make love to your person without even thinking about your body, then take a moment to appreciate just how much I wish I could be just as brave as you.

Further reading

If you want to find out a bit more about BDD (body dysmorphia, or Body Dysmorphic Disorder), there is a great page all about it on Mind’s website: https://www.mind.org.uk/information-support/types-of-mental-health-problems/body-dysmorphic-disorder-bdd/about-bdd/

If you want to read a bit more about my mental health journey, here is a post all about my coping mechanisms: https://www.quirkandfolly.com/2019/01/i-used-to-have-a-woman-in-my-wardrobe-and-other-ways-to-cope-with-chronic-depression/

If you feel like you might have BDD, then don’t leave it and let things spiral – talk to your GP. There are also plenty of trained professionals out there if you’d like to talk privately – have a look for one here: https://www.bacp.co.uk/search/Therapists

Alternatively if you need support right now, stop what you’re doing and call 116 123 for free 24/7 help from the Samaritans.

I’ll be honest. I really had no intention of writing about COVID-19, the terrifying disease that has engulfed the entire world. There is a lot out there; literally every time I open my inbox or look at social media, there it is: some more information I didn’t ask for, the latest stats, people spreading truths about hand-washing, and lies about 5G.

Seriously. In the 1400s, there were conspiracy theories that [link]wells had been poisoned by Jewish people – and here we are 600 years later believing that the installation of 5G is to blame for a viral pathogen. It just goes to show that the human race really hasn’t come far, has it?

Instead I’ve been trying hard to limit my exposure as I don’t know how good all this fear-mongering and death is on my anxiety levels. I’m already cleaning the communal door handles of the building three times a day and I’m running out of Dettol.

I feel like it’s quite difficult to avoid the bombardment of information, and beyond that, people want to reach out and fill the void of human touch with human noise, reassurance, and validation. Humans are social and we hate being lonely. But the number of times I’ve been asked if I’m okay – am I okay to reply and say, “You know what, I am sick of talking about coronavirus, and I’m sick of the people joking about it”? Or do I accept it as a genuine attempt to reach out across the void and connect? Obviously I do the latter. But I can’t help but feel that every interaction at the moment has a strange heartbeat to it; a shared feeling and sense that everything is not really okay.

One COVID-19 thing that did pop up in a private group was someone pointing out that we are, right now, living through a history that will be talked about and discussed. If we are lucky enough to be here in 50 or 60 years, this will be on the syllabus at schools and we’ll be asked: what was it like? What happened? And I realise that by avoiding making any mention of it I’m actually doing future me a disservice; documenting what this has been like forms part of the fabric of history. So I’m going to do my part for the future and share what it’s been like for me.

Honestly, I doubt the lounging about on the sofa or eating biscuits is going to quite go into the official history texts, but I’d like to be able to at least go back and remember what it was like.

A little recap on the past few weeks

You can skip this section if you are, like me, sick of information and statistics and just want to get to the bit about watching TV and eating biscuits. There might be cute dog pictures later, if that’s any enticement to stay. The next section header I have made a beautiful colour to help you find it.

It is April 10th today, 2020. It feels like March both lasted forever and was gone in the blink of an eye. London, and the UK, was officially put in lockdown on the 23rd March, meaning that you can leave your property for only the following things:

• Once a day to exercise
• For essential shopping – e.g. groceries
• [For key workers only] to go to work and back again

The government has asked those with severe illnesses to self-isolate, some for a period of months. Yes, months. It sounds insane writing this, and it is.

The virus first arrived right at the end of January, when the situation was at a peak in Wuhan, China. Although COVID-19 featured in the news, people were still going about their business here. Brunch dates. Shopping centres. Dinners to celebrate. Dinners to commiserate. It was above freezing, but not warm enough for picnics. People were wrapped in layers, cursing the dark evenings and the grey, miserable weather. We were all agonising about this dark patch between Christmas and Easter and hoping for nicer weather. The tube was a nightmare, packed like sardines because nobody wanted to walk anywhere. It was dark, cold, and about 50% of the commuting population seemed to have colds. Sneezes were glared at.

The UK risk level changed from Low to Moderate on the 30th January, the day before a COVID-19 case was confirmed. Someone infected abroad had brought the virus into the UK. At this point the government slowly began to stir, discussions mounting about a plan to tackle any outbreak, and to agree approaches to contain it. It’s February, and we’re still experiencing the cold nights, the rain, the many layers. People swarm towards the cafes, restaurants, bars and shopping centres where they amble around, illuminated by the neon lights and the strip lighting. They find a cosy corner in a busy cocktail lounge and share a pitcher. They queue for 45 minutes to have a vegan burger at the new local pop-up. It’s still business as usual, the shops peddling heart chocolates to the lovers, and hot chocolates to the cold and worn-out families.

At the end of February, there is a little more news popping up. People are slightly less certain, slightly more anxious. The government advertises washing hands, but there isn’t a sense of worry or concern yet. Somewhere, someone is agonising over the seating plan for their April wedding, and somewhere else, a family book a well-needed break to the Maldives. The virus isn’t a cause for concern. Unless of course you are in London, packed tightly with other commuters, glaring suspiciously at anyone else. You see asian people being targeted and you make a conscious effort to sit next to them. The virus is still very much seen as an issue for the Chinese and there is a vague concern about spreading it here – and the xenophobes are out in force. You hear horror stories from your friends in London, their relatives or coworkers being attacked or harassed for being racially profiled as asian.

The 28th February is the first day that the virus is transmitted to another person on UK soil. And so it begins. By March, there are already cases in England, Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland. It’s here.

The UK government argue amongst themselves over how they’ll tackle the virus, and they unveil plans to contain it. It’s declared an ‘incident’ and the virus is globally declared a pandemic – meaning that it has spread across the globe.

Early March begins with a little trepidation. Of course, the bars and pubs are still jammed, the restaurants full, the hotels open. People are taking long weekends in the Peak District. They’re travelling to nature reserves at the weekend, and they might be reading the Sunday papers where page 3 has an update on the coronavirus. Coronavirus is now in common parlance, everyone is aware of it. They are just silently hoping that it will disappear, like H1N1 (Swine Flu), or SARS, or MERS. There is a sense that it’s important, but to someone else. It’s mentioned in passing over dinner, maybe.

As we know now, things changed quickly. The beginning of March was still business as usual, and the idea of leaving home wearing a mask was preposterous. By the middle of March, people begin questioning whether they can work more remotely. Within just a week, they’ve gone from thinking it’s someone else’s problem to worrying that it might impact them. Flights to and from countries are banned, and the people labelled crazy are beginning to stockpile for the armageddon.

The government seem disorganised and unsure. There are rumours that an advisor to the Prime Minister has welcomed the idea of herd immunity, reportedly saying “well, so what if a few pensioners die?”. There is this sense that they are unprepared, and journalists’ criticisms towards the government seem to suggest that with their strategies, they are willing to take risks with people’s lives. This criticism comes from the observation that the government’s approach seems so vastly different to the countries trying to contain the spread of the virus: Italy, France and increasingly, Spain.

The 12th March is a normal Thursday for most people. Perhaps they don’t go out after work, they head straight home. Maybe they avoid getting too close to other people on the train. The restaurants are slightly quieter, there is less of a queue for the coffee shops. But the people are still out, they are determined to not let any threat of a virus interfere with their everyday lives. The people wearing masks and gloves are still considered part of the tin-foil hat parade; an abnormal behaviour. The 12th March was fairly normal. Until the UK government changed the risk level from moderate to high. Businesses begin to hold crisis meetings. A nervousness taps into society, a sense that things might not be okay, and that we might now be genuinely at risk from something.

The outbreak in Italy is getting worse. It is the beginning of thousands of people dying. Their health system is at breaking point. In France and Italy, there are curfews in place, and people are isolated at home, forbidden from leaving. Social media is filled with Italians singing and dancing at their windows, a happy break from quite a bleak reality. Death, and isolation.

I’m asked whether I think the tube in London will be closed and I scoff at the question. Of course not, I say. I hope.

The government go hard on social distancing measures – no closer than 6ft to another person. Do not go out for anything that isn’t essential. Don’t touch your face. Avoid pubs and clubs. Avoid gatherings. Anyone with health conditions are advised to self-isolate.

It’s just a flu, say some people. If it’s serious, things would be closed. And they’re not. The pubs and restaurants are filled with people, the shops are still offering egg cups designed to look like chicken feet, and offering 2-for-1 on a set of Easter cupcake cases that are absolutely unnecessary. Because the government hasn’t formally closed these places, the argument is that they should remain open. They can’t afford to close; their insurance doesn’t cover it unless it’s a government shut down. And the economy. We need to boost the economy, not let a little pesky virus that the Italians can’t handle bother us.

On the 16th March I head into the office. On my way, I pick up a coffee from the little coffee cart by the station. The person behind me in the queue stands about a metre behind me, close, but not too close. I chat to the cart owner, and it feels almost completely normal. He hands me my coffee and I notice that he has no gloves on, even though it’s a slightly nippy 7 degrees. He wishes me a good day, smiling. See you soon.

It’s slightly less busy in the office, but not by much. I stop to chat to the security guards, we exchange a joke. I have three meetings, back-to-back. Then I hit rush hour on my way home. I am surrounded by people, and it’s at this point that the news begins to sink in. I am so tightly bound in by stressed commuters and my head is spinning with the worry that the virus is spreading, and it’s exactly these closed-in conditions that cause it to spread further. I feel at risk, in danger. The carriage is silent, and although rammed with people, everyone can hear the man further along coughing. A dry cough. By now, we all know that one sign of the virus is a dry cough. Eyes dart to the end of the carriage with each hacking cough. I am grateful to be further along but my mind begins to whirl. If he’s coughing, can those droplets come as far as me? Am I safe?

Just as I’m thinking this, and an elderly woman sitting to my left turns her head slightly – and coughs. A dry cough. Right across me. She doesn’t even attempt to cover her mouth. I freeze. I don’t breathe.

I am so stressed by what happens, I am close to tears. I run home. I panic. I decide not to go back into the office. The tube now, to me, feels dangerous and untrustworthy.

It is later this week that the city becomes different. People in the office report that it’s emptied, and advice begins to trickle down that remote working should be considered. Nobody wants to make rash decisions but everyone is on tenterhooks; afraid, poised, ready.

Kids are still hanging out in gangs. They head out on their bicycles, laughing. Small-time criminals pull up outside buildings in their black SUVs, facilitating small-time drug users. People are taking their children to school, taking them home, taking them to swimming lessons. That April wedding has a seating plan sorted, but the tasting menu is being arranged for next week. Social media is filled with articles on stockpiling, and just like that – reports come in that the toilet paper aisles in supermarkets are bare, and everyone is fighting to make it to Tesco in time to grab the last pack of Andrex. People are making jokes about it, they’re beginning to stockpile other things – beans, cereal, hand soap – and the tin-foil hat army is beginning to look less like a crazy bunch of loons, and more like the sensible ones. The ones taking precautions.

But the bars and the restaurants are still filled with people, albeit fewer, as if offering a haven that is protected somehow from the spread of the virus. The advice is to stay away, but people can’t. They have gym workouts to do. Birthdays to celebrate. Things haven’t shut down. As long as everyone washes their hands, then everything is fine. Memes flood the internet; it’s toilet paper, or washing your hands, or racist jokes. The humour is so light that it implies we aren’t taking it seriously. And for the most part, we aren’t.

One day later, and I am holding theatre tickets I have booked for tomorrow. There is a lot of mixed messages about the theatres; most seem to still be operating and a quick look online seems to suggest everything is still going ahead.

The UK death toll is at 71. There are snarky posts from friends on the £330bn the Chanceller, Rishi Sunak, has made available to businesses affected by the coronavirus pandemic. The comments vary between taunts on the Tory party offering a welfare state, to comments on freelancer businesses that are not offered any support. Some people use this to start conversations about Brexit, turning it to questions around how this money could be so readily made available so quickly. I begin to tune out social media. People are just constantly shouting into the void and it’s all so angry.

Two days later, on the 18th March, all the schools are ordered to close. It’s as this point that the reality begins to sink in. My theatre visit is cancelled, the theatre closing all performances from the 18th onwards. They send a blanket email and their Twitter feed is filled with confused, angry, and upset people. I’m relieved that I don’t have to take the tube. I pick up milk from my local shop and I feel nervous with how close everyone is to each other. The man behind me in the queue is paying for medicine, and he’s so close I can feel his breath on the back of my neck.

On 20th March, restaurants, clubs and gyms are all closed by the government. Many had closed within the past two days, but the response is an angry one. Some people had been enjoying low customer turnout at the gyms, and were able to do their exercises in the peace and quiet. They insisted that it was enough to wipe things down after use. Businesses angry because they were going to run out of money. No promises have been made on how they will be supported; there is uproar. The government subsidies are unclear, and people are almost immediately being laid off.

The order, that we are all expecting, finally comes from higher up within the business: we are to start working from home wherever possible. We are not to go to the office. We need to start rethinking how we are going to work. For some people, this is completely new and frightening. They don’t know how they are going to cope working around their families, or without seeing their colleagues every day. They don’t know where they are going to comfortably work. As a manager, I am suddenly fielding questions about the virus and about home working that I just don’t have an answer for.

The weekend is bright, but quite windy. I go for a short walk. Despite the gusts, there are plenty of people out. I wonder where they’re all going. Nobody is taking any notice of social distancing, and I end up walking down the centre of the road to avoid people. The number of people out surprises me. I want to do some DIY and I spend a few hours on my balcony, scraping off a layer of dirt 8 years old. I can see the DLR from my balcony, and the trains are still filled with people heading to Stratford. I can only imagine they are heading to Westfield to shop to replace the void of gym membership, restaurants and pubs.

There are still very few people wearing masks out. Some are donning gloves, the kind of medical grade gloves that they wear once and then throw on the ground. Litter has changed from empty McDonald’s wrappers to empty gloves. The rubbish bins are overflowing, bin bags piled at the side of the road, and the recycling bins are full. People are spending more time at home, and you can tell: they are purchasing hammocks, slack-lines, laptop computers, board games, musical instruments, mysterious packages from Amazon. I can see their intent lying in all the wonky cardboard jutting out of the recycling bins. I later walk past one of the estate team, packing the cardboard in as closely as possible in order to find more space and keep the area clean. As he works, he says hello, and comes within about 30cm of me. He is wearing gloves, but social distancing hasn’t quite landed with him. I swerve around him, smile, and head back to safety, within the building. I wipe the handles with Dettol on my way in, and as I’m doing so a neighbour walks past and says hello. They are so close that they brush my jacket with their arm.

I watch the announcement on the 23rd March live, which isn’t something I normally do. The Prime Minister seems uncomfortable with the message he is delivering, and within minutes I already spy parodies of his speech popping up. His fists tight and knuckles white, he tells the UK that they are on lockdown. They are allowed to leave their homes once a day, for exercise, to go to the shops, or to go to work. Gatherings are banned.

From this moment onwards, the country shifts. There is widespread panic-buying which shops are wholly unprepared for. Delivery slots online are all full, leaving the most vulnerable without options. Within the next few weeks, some companies offer slots to those self-isolating and in greater need, but this takes a while for them to organise. They are just responding to an incredible demand on them. The Morrissons website has a queue of 15,000 people waiting to use it to try to order their groceries. The shops begin to add limits to what people can buy.

The first day after a government lockdown, I see two families taking a leisurely bike ride through the park. The tube is still full. People are still going outside, as if being asked to stay inside suddenly reminded them how much they liked going out. Among the families and people out aimlessly walking is a constant stream of delivery drivers on mopeds. The streets are, in many ways, busier on a Tuesday afternoon than they were at the weekend. There are coats and in some cases sunglasses, smiles and waves, but not yet masks and gloves as standard.

It’s 9th April and just over two weeks since the lockdown. Today I took my dogs for a very short, brisk walk. One man, no mask or gloves, stayed entirely in my path and I drag the dogs to one side to leave the legal 6ft gap enforced by the government. If he notices, he certainly doesn’t care. I walk past 5 other people, on the hottest day of the year so far – 23 degrees, but cloudy and slightly breezy. They are all wearing a combination of medical-grade gloves or protective masks or both. They eye me with suspicion. The roads are empty at 5pm on a Thursday – when just two months ago there would be traffic at standstill, honking and rush hour frustration. In my time out, about twenty minutes total, I only see a single bus. There are no passengers and the bus driver is wearing a mask. Just two weeks ago this would have seemed like overkill. Today, we are fearful of each other, suspicious. The bins are overflowing and even if there were daily collections it wouldn’t be enough to shift the sheer amount of waste produced by a eating out of boredom, eating because there are no restaurants or cafes open, eating because the schools are closed. Eating.

I get home. I clean the door handles and lift buttons, just part of my daily routine. I wipe the dogs down, wash my hands for probably the twentieth time today, and settle down to check in with friends. Quite a few aren’t free. They have dates with their partners or friends over Zoom, the video conferencing software that has appeared out of nowhere during this crisis, or FaceTime. I spend a little time on social media, then I go back to my office and start writing about what the past few weeks have been like.

And that brings us to the end of our recap.

So let’s discuss what I’ve been up to.

Now you’re up-to-date with where we are, I’ll avoid talking too much about the reasons for our current lockdown and how fucking shitty it is, and just chat through how I’m feeling and what I’ve been up to.

I’m alright.

I’m doing okay. Sometimes, I’m doing more than okay. Sometimes I’m not doing so well. The most stressful thing is looking after [link]these two – being restricted to just one walk a day is a real change, for all of us. They are used to going outside four times a day, so they’ve been adjusting to a new routine and it’s been hard. Months of hard work is being undone in just a few weeks. I owe them many walks in the park when this is over.

If the cons are having two under-exercised and bored pups at home – who pee on the mat to remind me they exist, bark at absolutely every person when we’re actually outside, who can’t listen to instructions anymore, and steal cardboard from the recycling and chew it up, leaving me to find it in random places – then I’ll have to talk through the pros. I now have two affectionate little dudes and little Bear is getting increasingly more cuddly. We’re on about five daily demands for scritch-scrotches behind the ears and tummy tickles.

All this cute dog time is a big thumbs up from me, and I hope it stays when we’re all allowed outside again. Until then, I will enjoy all the extra cuddles.

Yes, like every single other person, some D.I.Y

I am so proud of myself on this one. I decided three or four weeks ago that I wanted to redo my balcony as it was looking…gross. I moved into my flat in 2012, and the handrail and wooden slats of my balcony hadn’t weathered very well. Just to demonstrate how bad the layer of green slime was, I’ll share some pretty grim photos, including some in progress images so you can see just how much of a difference it made!

I started using a toothbrush and some soapy water to just clean off all the grime. There was a lot of grime and I quickly realised that I needed a cloth to dab off all the black and green gunk. I also quickly realised that a toothbrush wasn’t going to cut it.

I know what you must be thinking. You’re thinking, well Caz, this is exactly what the powerhose was made for, why the heck are you using a toothbrush?! And that’s a great question. Let me explain. I’m on the fourth storey. There are also big gaps between those slats – and honestly, the last thing I wanted to do right now is kill my neighbours’ plants. Or flood their balconies with black slime.

I mean, I do concede after about four slats that a toothbrush isn’t going to be very fast. I get a rough bristle brush, one of those old school wooden ones, and I get to work. I wonder if this is what they mean in those pirate films where people are ‘swabbing the deck’. It is a proper workout and I need to take regular breaks but imagining that I am a pirate is slightly helpful.

Two days later, my balcony looks like it’s made of wood again, and no longer looks like a background image from Lord of the Rings. I give the whole balcony one more wipe down with soapy water. Then I use a Ronseal oil stain that I bought from Amazon with reviews like “Much darker than advertised” “More mahogany than teak” “Terrible colour” and I get to work doing two layers with a paintbrush. I need to let each layer dry in-between for 4 hours.

After 5 days, and what feels like 5 years, after I start this journey to a nicer balcony, it’s completely dry and I can confirm that the reviews are on to something. It’s a little darker than I thought it would be. But at least it looks nice and presentable for all those balcony parties for one I am going to have over summer.

I am tempted to buy an outdoor beanbag. The pros are obvious, but I do wonder if right now I should be holding back on purchases so the postal service isn’t pushed to breaking point.

My working from home attire

It is almost 100% Lucy & Yak dungarees. Now the temperature has rocketed up from 5 degrees to 23 degrees, I’ve swapped out my roll neck jumpers for some cami tops. And question: do you even need to change your underwear if nobody is going to see you for months? Asking for a friend…

If you haven’t heard of Lucy & Yak, then do you even follow me on Instagram?! At the moment my go-to dungaree has been their black and mid-wash denim ‘Atlas’ – generously sized, and the perfect amount of baggy to both hide my wobbly bits and allow enthusiastic air guitar-ing to Bohemian Rhapsody. I am also rocking a pair of red Originals for my dog walks – they’re faster to dry, so it doesn’t matter if I get a few mucky paw prints on them. I did however have to say goodbye to a favourite pair of ballet flats as Bear missed the wall and weed all over my shoe instead.

If I’m honest, my beauty routine at the moment is: did I brush my teeth this morning? I feel for anyone who bumps into me on a dog walk; hair in a greasy topknot and definitely yesterday’s bralet. Yes, comfy old bralet, because I have given up wearing bras until I need to dress properly again. Who cares if your boobs are at your knees when nobody you care about is going to see you?

My skin is not very well

I know you are absolutely not interested in my skincare routine but I’m going to talk about it anyway. I’ve been struggling with adult acne for a while now, and things seemed to be under control until about two weeks ago when my entire face broke out in those awful deep cysts that hurt like the devil and just gently ooze over the space of a few weeks. I’ve been cleansing twice, using a supposedly blemish-banishing toner that cost me a small mortgage, using a night serum specifically targeted at acne, and a gentle (but eye-waveringly expensive) moisturiser from Kiehls that I only pull out in skincare emergencies. My only guess as to why this combination hasn’t been an immediate hit is that I am also wearing the night serum during the day.

My skin is clearing up, gradually, but there isn’t much I can do about it really. I’ve experienced terrible hormonal acne ever since I had the coil, something I have for medical reasons. I guess this cysts will all come back in two weeks again. Can’t wait.

The small blessing I have is that, considering that this might be the worst breakout I’ve ever had in my entire life, this is at least during a time where literally nobody else can see me. The curse I suppose is that we have been advised to not touch our faces, and as anyone with acne will understand, THIS IS REALLY DIFFICULT.

I purchased something EXCELLENT.

Someone made the mistake of sending me a link to a Lego Ideas set. Ideas is where they find popular designs made by non-official Lego Master Builders (and yes – Lego Master Builders is a real thing, [link]click here to read an interview with one) that Lego love and make into real sets that you can buy!

At £55 it isn’t the cheapest gift I’ve ever bought myself, but it is my birthday in a few weeks and I am definitely going to be spending it alone, so I feel like I deserve this treat.

I really don’t think anyone is going to be surprised that I snapped this up immediately.

Basically, if it involves dinosaurs, then I’m in.

If you want to ogle at the set, and then the other awesome things Lego sells, then [link]head here. There’s also an Ideas version of the Friends ‘Central Perk’ set and a pirate shipwreck that I totally want to get my hands on. But let’s be honest – I think the immediate one on the ‘purchase ASAP’ list is that International Space Station set. The detail is just incredible.

Website update!

Some of you might have noticed that my website looks a little different. This has been something I’ve been quietly working on for a few months now, save for a huge dip between January and the end of February where everything was just terrible. I moved to a new host, who have the best customer service, and upgraded my design to a new one.

I had a little help along the way – my chief website manager, Bear, was there every step of the way, as was my trusty caffetiere.

I’ve also changed a few things to make it simpler to subscribe and unsubscribe, so please do subscribe if you haven’t already! I’ve been collating things to include in my next newsletter, which will be an email this time rather than a blog post.

For those of you who are reading this through subscriptions and not from my new site, here is a little sneak peak:

It’s live up on [link]https://www.quirkandfolly.com – please tell me what you think, I’d love to hear your thoughts! I’m also thinking about what kind of content to write next, so let me know what you might want to hear more of – the best way to chat to me is drop me a direct message on Instagram. I can pay for any feedback or ideas with picture of two adorable dogs.

Phew, you’ve reached the end.

That was one very long post wasn’t it? I promise it’ll be much shorter next time, when I bring you Lockdown Diaries Part 2. There’s a high chance it’ll include more dog discussion, probably a bit about coffee, and definitely an update on my Lego building skills!

If you made it this far, give yourself a high five (though wash your hands first ok) and leave a comment to tell me: would you rather have to read aloud every word you read, or sing everything you say out loud?

I am fed up of stuffy newsletters. Long-winded ones, boring ones. And fancy marketing ones. You know – the ones that cram everything in, plenty of self-promotion, hyped up and often trying to land a sale. I believe that newsletters should be fun to read, like little messages from your mates in your inbox. So, if you want a few interesting things to entertain you and some fun content, maybe you should sign up for the Quirk and Folly newsletter.

I can’t promise it’s going to be all that often, and maybe in the world of constant inbox cramming that would be a relief!

So, I offer you, on the basis of “oh yeah I need to send that newsletter out don’t I?” the following:

Things I have read recently, that I really enjoyed reading.

They’re a real mix of lifestyle, baking, work life, career, current events – whatever has piqued my interest recently and I want to share with you!

Things I’ve bought recently.

No ads, no affiliates, just an excuse to share all the weird and wonderful bits I’ve picked up recently, from books to gadgets to beauty products!

An interesting fact.

Because we all love being a clever-clogs at a tea party, or over a conference call.

What I’m loving on social media

I want to share some of those Instagram accounts that make me happy, make me laugh, or are doing something worthwhile. I can’t promise that there won’t be lots of dogs. If you like them too, maybe you’ll want to give them a follow!

Some musing on what’s happening at the moment

And I’m afraid I’ll probably include a few sentences that explain how I’ve been feeling. But I’ll keep it short, I promise.

A roundup of any blog posts I’ve published

Just in case you want to read anything I’ve shared, I’ll add a link to any posts I’ve written recently.

So maybe you’re interested in reading some cool stuff? You in? Great!

All you need to do is scroll down, and subscribe to the newsletter, and you’re done!

My twenties have been a rollercoaster experience. This past decade has been filled with so many delicious sky-slapping highs – but also massive, massive lows. For every new job or new friend there has been a friendship loss, a mental health dip or something that has taken a deep and personal toll on me.

Before I reached my twenties, I thought I had it all sorted. I was the one that didn’t quite fit in, judging those around me I deemed less worthy. I cringe saying that but honestly – I was awful. Just horrendously defensive, envious, and self-obsessed. I thought I deserved the whole world and treated myself like a victim. But, then and again, I WAS a victim. I am a survivor. There were so many times in my teens I was torn apart, abused and taken advantage of. I had a genuine reason not to trust and I had a reason to withdraw and protect myself. I was ballsy, but out of a need to fight, constantly. I barely made it through to twenty. But you know what? I made it.

I started my twenties naïve, and unprepared for a tough world. I didn’t realise how difficult life could be and I was blind to the inequalities out there – for me, but especially for others. I felt sorry for myself but I didn’t realise how much I had. I was fumbling my way through an unexamined life, fuelled by insecurity and entitlement. My twenties broke me, completely. But they also rebuilt me. I found people that could teach me how to be authentically me, how to be unafraid, and how to support and build those around me. I learned to trust. I spent time with therapists, exploring the parts of me that I had locked away and avoided. I opened myself up, and discovered that I most certainly do NOT have it all sorted. Not in the slightest. And spoiler alert: neither do you. And that is absolutely fine.

I’m not perfect, I’m still learning how to be the best human I can and I’m learning and growing constantly. I’m still putting together the broken pieces, trying to make sense out of them and feel a sense of gratitude for each and every piece of me. I am learning to appreciate myself. I am trying hard to be satisfied in my imperfections, and own them.

Thank you twenties – you’ve been a real lesson. Thank you for teaching me so much. I’m ready for 30 and I can’t wait for another ten years of getting better, wiser, and most importantly, happier.

The side-effects nobody tells you about – nausea, issues sleeping, and weight gain

Sertraline, or known by its alternative brand name Lustral, is an anti-depressant classed as a SSRI – which means it increases the levels of serotonin (the happy hormone) by repressing your bodies’ ability to absorb it, meaning you’re happier for longer. I’ve been taking it since October when I was diagnosed with a ‘major depressive episode’ – the medical term for ‘wow she needs a bit of help’.

My GP started me on 25mg a day, and after a few weeks this was upped to 50mg a day, which I take with my breakfast first thing. It took about four weeks to kick in, but I can safely say that my mood is far better than last year where I was feeling on edge and ready to cry at any second. I now feel able to get up (well, on most days anyway) and take out the rubbish and do all those small household things that I was failing hopelessly to do in the depths of my depression.

Now, whilst for the most part I feel better in myself, there are some side effects which I was not aware of before being started on the tablet. The ones that have had an impact on me? Problems sleeping, strange issues with my eyesight, nausea, and weight gain. All of these have slightly offset the good that I think sertraline has done for me and I really wish I’d known about them and considered how those might also impact my health before starting on them.

This wasn’t my first rodeo.

I’ve taken anti-depressants before, a round in 2009 when illness and deadlines fell on top of me and I couldn’t cope. Another in 2011 when I was struggling with a toxic relationship, and feeling unsafe at work – a place where I was bullied by one partner and sexually assaulted by another. I don’t think these things were the underlying cause, but they certainly didn’t help.

I had a small amount of therapy both times, and it helped me realise that what I was feeling was okay, it was justified. In 2014, after being on the waiting list for 2 years, I was referred for a year of psycho-therapy, where I explored a range of problems rooted in my childhood. I’ve come to realise that I don’t trust easily, and I expect others to understand me without having to tell them what I need. I’m not good at setting boundaries or asking for what I need. I don’t understand how to be close to people. And I’ve spent the last few years tackling the things that came out of that, trying to grow myself into a better human but examine who I want to keep around me and make sure I want them to be around me.

The anti-depressants I was prescribed both of these times were not SSRIs, and they made me feel completely numb and switched off; it was like I was in a dream. I lost all the sparkle in my character and time flowed past without me really appreciating it. I drank a lot, and relied on the alcohol to let me come alive – but, as anyone with sense will tell you, alcohol isn’t the answer. I ended up in perilous situations, and my openness and dumbed-down senses left me open and vulnerable. I made friends who ended up to be the very opposite of friends – I was assaulted in my own home on numerous occasions by people I’d been foolish enough to trust. Now? I rarely drink. If I do, it’s around people I love. If you’ve seen me throw back a few drinks, then you should know it’s because I felt safe around you.

Last year, when I was prescribed anti-depressants, I was so nervous. I didn’t want to turn back into that zombie who felt nothing. But it turns out that over the past few years, GPs have increasingly been prescribing SSRIs, and for good reason – they don’t numb your senses like the older medicines do, and by increasing the level of serotonin available, you are left feeling happier. And it works!

However, as with any medicine, there are side-effects. I’ll talk through the ones that have had an impact on me.

Nausea.

Apparently this is normal to experience within the first 4-6 weeks, but holy heck I was not expecting it. It was just constantly feeling like I was going to throw up after every meal, and dry-heaving between meals. I had no idea what was wrong with me, and for a few days thought I had mild food poisoning – until I spoke to my GP who said it was perfectly normal to feel a bit sick, and to try taking my tablets with food. I take them with breakfast now, but I still feel a little bit sick occasionally. So much for 4-6 weeks.

Possible issues with eyesight.

Coincidentally, I started getting slightly blurry vision at the edges of my eyesight about the same time I started to take sertraline. My optician can’t find any evidence of retinal damage or glaucoma, and she’s stumped. The only thing we can see that has changed is taking these tablets – which, it turns out, have been linked to eye pressure problems. The main issue I have is rings of light in the periphery of my left eye, which isn’t a huge issue, but it does catch my eye at night and it’s more off-putting than anything else.

Sleep problems.

This one has a huge impact on me. One sign that I’m struggling with depression is that my sleep gets out of control; I develop insomnia over a number of days and crash on the fourth or fifth day and sleep for sometimes 14-16 hours. With the tablets though, my sleep is even more disturbed. Sertraline can cause insomnia, but it can also cause hypersomnia, sleeping too much or feeling really sleepy, and I feel like I have both. I take my tablet in the morning in the hope that it won’t prevent me from being able to get to sleep but I still find that I am regularly lying awake at 3am. It isn’t just not being able to sleep; I constantly feel fatigued and too lethargic to do anything. The past couple of weeks I’ve had to have a nap after work because I feel so exhausted. Perhaps it’s the lack of sleep at night, but taking naps has also meant that it’s harder to sleep at night. I am in a constant state of tiredness, and it has been about 6 months since I last woke up in the morning feeling refreshed and ready to tackle the day. Every single morning is a struggle, and I reckon I could easily sleep for 12-14 hours every single night – if I could get to sleep in the first place.

If the fatigue and lethargy wasn’t enough, I also get migraines – which I suspect are linked to lack of sleep. Brilliant. 

I’m trying all sorts of things. I’m limiting screen time, but that doesn’t seem to help too much. I’m trying to not eat too late so I’m not digesting in bed – which is okay for the most part, although I do have binge-eating disorder which means that sometimes I don’t manage it. I’ve found one thing that does help – a white noise machine, which helps drown out the sound of sirens or random clicks and noises that disturb me as I’m trying to get to sleep. I’m a light sleeper, so these things tend to startle me awake again as I doze off. If you’re struggling with sleep, I do recommend trying a white noise machine and see if it works for you too!

Weight gain.

Oh man, I had NO IDEA about this one. I’ve dug around for some research and one study suggested a third of people taking sertaline put on AT LEAST 10lbs whilst taking it. Isn’t that mad?

And for me? I’ve put on nearly 30lbs. THIRTY.

Yep. And that’s over just 6 months, and it isn’t because I’ve been totally overindulging. I mean, I have BED but I’ve had that for a while and my weight had pretty much plateaued. It started with me putting on my favourite dress – to find that it just didn’t sit right. My boobs just…didn’t seem to fit. And suddenly they were bursting out of my bras; it was like I’d put a cup size on overnight.

And then I noticed that my hips are more rounded, and my tighter clothes were straining to contain them. My tummy is bigger, more pronounced, more pouch-like. And my body dysmorphia went into overdrive – picking and pinching every piece of my to examine how the weight gain was affecting my body. Larger arms, a visible second chin poking through, bigger thighs. I could keep going, but I’m not going to, because I feel so torn about it.

“But you should feel comfortable with you at any size, don’t let your BDD trick you” says one part of my brain. “But look at these beautiful clothes you can’t fit into anymore, and look how uncomfortable you feel” says the other half. And both sides of my brain are right – I wish, I really do, that I could be comfortable with myself at any size, but the truth is that I can’t. I was just getting used to the idea of my body minus the extra 30lbs, but now? I can’t shake it the inner judgement. The sadness that I can’t wear a huge wardrobe of gorgeous dresses. The fact that I am running out of things that feel comfortable to throw on. I’m worried that people have noticed the weight gain as it has been so drastic, so fast.

I’d love to be able to write something about coming to terms with my body for how it is, and how I’m okay with these extra 30lbs, but I have to be honest – I am not okay with it. And of all the side-effects, this is the one that is messing with my mind and undoing some of the good that the tablets are doing. It stings inside every time Instagram reminds me of pictures from two years ago, wearing clothes that I haven’t a hope in hell of being able to fit into at the moment.

This isn’t a ‘woe is me’ post either – I’m just sharing where I’m at. Because ultimately, you might be reading this because you’re curious what might be going on for me, but also, you might be going through a bad patch yourself. Perhaps you’ve been prescribed Sertraline or Lustral and are interested to know what the side effects are like. If so, I would encourage you stick with the tablets as they really do help clear away that depressive fog – but be aware that there are some side effects that might impact you and your recovery.

Resources and other useful links.

Find out more about Sertraline: Sertraline (NHS)

Explore depression: Mind, the mental health charity

Struggling with your mental health? There is help out there! : Mind helplines

Read more about my mental health journey : I used to have a woman in my wardrobe (and other ways to cope with chronic depression)