Donald Trump, our orange president, did a briefing this morning. LA is on almost a complete lockdown now. No shops, bars, bloody anything remain open. It’s a ghost town. The weird thing is, I have become totally used to this and can’t remember a time when I walked freely down a street, sneezing willy-nilly, instead of bathing in anti-bac every time the postman delivers a package. This is our new normal, for however long it lasts. Listening to Trump on the radio has never been pleasant, but now it’s even worse, as every time he is telling us that more of America is closing down. People are losing their jobs by the second. It’s the most devastating thing to hear. All we can hope is that we are wrong and, in a week or two, everything will be OK. Let’s hold onto that thought for as long as we can. Because, as mad as the world is, and things keep getting worse, things could also be mad enough that they just get better and all of this madness will end.

I hope you’re all OK.

Did I tell you that Chris panic-bought 200 worms? Well, give a two-year-old 200 worms and you have around twenty minutes of being able to think about something else. This activity was not relaxing. I rescued at least 40 worms from decapitation (got them all, no worms were harmed) and spent a very long time scraping soil off my carpet. Valentine named all the worms ‘Mr Worm’, and then was entirely over it by snack time. The worms are now in a large pot with moist soil, and I apparently have 200 more pets than I did yesterday. Great.

I ate crisps for lunch. With a side of cheese. I did not exercise.

I am making Jamie Oliver’s chicken and mushroom pie for dinner. I am also digging out all of my trousers that have elastic waistbands because I wore jeans today and they hurt me.

I’m committed now to hunkering down. I’ve got lots of food. I can cook and deliver to anyone I know who gets stuck, and we could survive for a month. The reality of being in LA at the moment is that the last things open are the food shops. It’s likely they will soon be closed too. Which is WILD.

Art (the five-year-old) misses his friends and has so much energy he can’t burn off. I feel bad, but there isn’t much we can do about it. I’m just trying to do as many activities as possible, and not lose my shit when he loses his.

Valentine, on the other hand, thinks it’s awesome. We are potty-training him now – we thought we might as well – so the house is covered in his piss, as well as the cat’s. By the time this is over it will probably be covered in mine too, to be honest.