Last Friday I went “out out”. Well, when I say “out out”, I mean what counts for going “out out” until 12 April. I went to the dump.
Before the pandemic hit, I’d been planning a very different 2020 to the one I ended up with. I was determined that I would enjoy the last year of my forties (and EU freedom of movement) in style. The idea was I would hand in my resignation in the middle of March and spend the next month clearing out my home, ahead of a big escape at Easter. I had a glorious itinerary mapped out. But then, Covid...
Join our new commenting forum
Join thought-provoking conversations, follow other Independent readers and see their replies