So close to living out my flatpack fantasies...

It wouldn't be long before that little brown pencil and giant yellow bag of hope was in our hands. We'd even faithfully follow those annoying arrows around the floor at an appropriate social distance.

Hand sanitiser would be deployed for the Daim bars, and the credit card was almost melting at the prospect of being let out.

Alas, it all came to nothing.

An embarrassing faux pas in the Government's carefully crafted message about the first easing of restrictions meant the inclusion of 'homeware' stores in the list of retailers given permission to re-open this week was lost in translation.

They meant to say 'hardware', and the message landed like the proverbial flat pack on the Ikea-bound hopefuls.

The blue and yellow behemoth has to keep its doors shut for a few more weeks, while the rest of us abandoned our plans to re-imagine the space between the four walls we're all thoroughly sick of by now.

Maybe they'll stock hammers and nails to give them the excuse…

Dutch coupling up with their 'cuddle buddies'

Every country is easing lockdown differently. In the UK, it almost seems to be 'business as usual', the French are grumbling about their continued restrictions and the Italians are finally enjoying a bit of freedom with their gelato and grappa. Over here, we're just grateful for what we can get at this stage.

The Dutch received a more liberal message from their prime minister. Along with the libraries, hairdressers and nail bars re-opening, Mark Rutte advised single people to care for their physical needs.

They should get a 'cuddle buddy' or even a 'sex buddy', as long as they were Covid-free, said the diktat.

While it wasn't mandatory, the purpose seemed to be that by limiting your high jinks to just the one partner, you'd be avoiding spreading the virus too far beyond the bedroom.

Before people got too excited, however, a clarification was swiftly issued instructing, where possible, "sex with yourself or with others at a distance" was preferable to avoid contagion.

Simon Harris is missing a trick in his daily briefings.

The scent of normality proves very welcome

It was the spray of perfume that did it. I'm such a sad case that the heady scent of 'Opium', my favourite, made me almost weep with missed pleasure.

Like most women, I haven't bothered with either make-up, dressy clothes or office shoes in months.

And as for the hair, well let's just say the dog groomer will probably get my business before Peter Mark.

But an invitation to do a webinar for a couple of hundred people I would never see made me resolve to pretend all was normal. Or whatever passes for normal these days.

If they were going to be able to see me 'perform', albeit from my home office via a newly installed web cam, then it behoved me to stick on some work clothes, a bit of lippy and attempt to look, eh, professional; a state I haven't appeared in for some time.

It felt good, if more than a little fake. But as I was settling in, watching the anonymous audience log on in the void, I suddenly dashed into the bedroom for a final flourish - a spray of my favourite scent. Why? Absolutely no idea. But damn, it felt good.