Last Wednesday I suspended my monthly subscription to Sky Sports. I had been told by a friend that he was doing it, and that it hadn't been too hard, in the sense that you didn't need to have the skill-set of a tech wizard in a Bond movie to get it done.
No, you just ring them up, and you wait on the line for about 45 minutes, and eventually they answer and they do what you're asking them to do, in an agreeable manner.
Which is sort-of shocking in itself, even though it is clear to both parties that this is the more-or-less right thing to do - if I am paying for Sky Sports, and there are no sports on Sky, in all fairness it follows that we need to come to some other arrangement, or maybe even to no arrangement at all.
And yet it was still hard, in a deeper sense which will be understood by most decent people, certainly by most sporting people. Indeed, initially I was surprised to hear that my friend was suspending, because like me, he knows that Sky Sports is not just some regular utility, like gas or electricity.
I mean, you can live without gas or electricity, but can you live without Sky Sports News, which in our house, as regular readers will know, is called simply The News?
I guess we're about to find out whether one's existence is tenable without that constant stream of important information scrolling by on 'The News', without knowing that Frank Lampard's press conference will be starting in two hours, or that Aaron Wan-Bissaka will be having a late fitness test.
But there's a moral aspect to it too, which again would be understood by all right-thinking folk, who realise that a portion of that monthly subscription will eventually be going to a good cause - for me, the thought that my modest revenue stream may in some small way be reaching the mighty ocean that is the bank account of a Mo Salah or a Virgil van Dijk, is tremendously satisfying.
Like millions of other contributors to the TV stations which support the Premier League, I value the happiness of the players above my own, and now I am just hoping against hope that the suspension will not in any way inconvenience these great men.
But then we supporters will be having our own difficulties, relatively trivial though they may be. Never in modern history have we had to face the thought of life without most forms of meaningful sport - so we are being asked to move from a state of mind whereby we'd never not watch a football match, to one in which we must accept this terrible nothingness.
And since the majority of those most vulnerable in this situation would be men, not only will we find out whether life is worth living without sport - we will also find out how so many women for such a long time have managed to live their lives somehow, without sport.
Certainly it is a thought that has visited us over the years: this sense of amazement that any level of personal fulfilment is possible without a constant supply of competitive games of various kinds. But it is so unfathomable we would quickly retreat to our own concerns, like the one we used to have about the 2022 World Cup being held in Qatar in December.
Ah yes, we used to torment ourselves about that one. We used to think that moving the World Cup from its usual time in the summer was somehow in breach of the fundamental laws of the universe. And we were right too. And we would still be right if we were inhabiting a universe that was recognisable to us - which we are not, except for the race meetings.
Indeed, there might have been a certain upside to all this, in the fact that if there's no sport, there's no betting on sport. And in that case a few people might stay out of the trouble that was otherwise coming their way.
Not that there aren't other "opportunities" online, with all the virtual sports and the casino games and so forth, but you'd have to think that now there would at least be some respite for the troubled punter - some chance to review the situation, and maybe to find some other less dangerous way to pass the time.
But inevitably it has turned out that the gambling corporations, in this as in every other facet of our culture, can be freed from the constraints which bind all other living things.
Because when we talk about race meetings still going on, behind closed doors, what we mainly mean is that online gambling is still going on, behind closed doors. That the spirit of demented defiance we saw at the Cheltenham Festival is continuing in this everyday form.
But it is also weirdly reassuring, that the last few quid left to some of us will be disappearing on the 5.30 at Dundalk. It means there is one law of the sporting universe at least, that still stands.
You'll recall a few weeks ago in the Diary we were remembering the moment when it all started to go wrong for the UK - it was the incident during their 2010 election campaign, when the then prime minister Gordon Brown was overheard on a live mic describing a voter he had just met as a "bigoted woman".
We remembered that Brown went on to lose that election, and that by the end of the decade Britain would instead be led by the sort of man who would never be in any danger of being criticised for calling out bigotry - no, he would in fact cultivate it with the deepest cynicism.
Well, we were joined by a lot of people last week in lamentation for the lost leadership of Gordon Brown, when he spoke on BBC Radio 4 and reminded everyone what it might be like to have a serious person in charge - a man who steered Britain through the Great Crash, without causing an even Greater Crash. A man who, above all, is not Boris Johnson.
"We've had too much of populist nationalism… we're connected and depend on each other, whether we like it or not," Brown said, causing many Brits to get misty-eyed about all the wrong turns they've taken.
"If Boris Johnson is going to tell people to go home, he's got to tell them how they're going to be able to survive financially," he said.
It had apparently not occurred to the great minds within Number 10 to offer much granularity on this, until old GB made the case - soon the people around "Boris" were talking about paying 80pc of lost wages.
Leo Varadkar is no "Boris", but there were two things which might have turned his decently-delivered speech into a great speech.
First, he might have admitted that after the Great Crash it turned out that we were not all in this together after all - and that it would be different this time.
And then he might have said more explicitly that people out of work by government edict shouldn't worry about paying the bills.
While Leo was saying there will be "help and understanding" from those who can give it, Emmanuel Macron was declaring the suspension of the payment of taxes, rent, water, electricity, and gas bills.
Which is what Gordon Brown would have done, and increasingly there is no higher standard.
I wouldn't argue with any of John Banville's classic book recommendations on the Brendan O'Connor radio show - he was talking Nabokov, Tolstoy, Waugh, Wodehouse, and The Leopard by Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa. But I would add that the Young Adult fiction phenomenon has partially blinded us to the fact that the great classics of literature have always been Young Adult fiction.
At the age of 17 or 18 you will never be more open to the magic of these works.
So you're asking me to pick out one book from the whole history of books to get you through these empty hours? The one that usually comes into my head, before anything else, is In Cold Blood by Truman Capote.
I'm not saying it's the Greatest Book Of All Time or anything so vulgar, but it is ridiculously brilliant, and it blew my mind when I first read it at the age of, oh, 17 or 18.
Though now that I think of it, In Cold Blood is about the murder of four members of the Clutter family in Kansas at their farm - which is, shall we say, somewhat isolated...
Capote also wrote Breakfast At Tiffany's. Maybe start with that one.