36. Looking Out

30/11/08

We've learned something. I don't know how it changes things; if it changes things.

This was the second time we'd entered the church. This time it did feel spiritual, perhaps because we knew we were at turning point, perhaps because of the steadfast smell of oak and stone, or the way shafts of light reached in through the windows and lit up scenes of disciples and apostles looking upwards for salvation. I whispered prayers in my head, while B. clattered the ladder, sending motes of dust to dance in the light.

The hatch was reluctant to let us through, but B. forced it, disturbing jackdaws into flight out over the churchyard. We climbed up into the belfry. It seemed that the birds had claimed the bells as soon as they'd been positioned, surrounding them with their own detritus, in spite of the power and majesty.

Above us, another ceiling and another hatch. B. hauled the ladders up after us and started work on the rusted bolts that secured our way. And then we were through.

We looked out over trees, roofs and fields, the cold air and brightness making us blink and draw breath. The tower wasn't high enough to show us everything - nearby buildings hid their neighbours, but we still enjoyed that feeling of being all-seeing, and for then (for now), we were lords of all we surveyed. That is, all that was within the wall.

From our vantage point we could see most of the wall, wrapping itself around our enclosure like a serpent. At points where the wall ran close to houses, we could just make out its top. And beyond it?

The wall itself obscured the area directly behind. An area which we could now see had been made into a no man's land between our wall and a second, which ran parallel to it. Away from the walls, things looked much as they always had. There was no traffic on the road which had once brought cars, lorries, buses and their noise through our village. On the hillside to the South, where I had often cycled, enjoying the quiet wood-edged lane, we could make out unnatural colours, a crane? Maybe construction traffic? They must be widening the road - making a bypass, steering travellers away from us.

So the world goes on. But how do we rejoin it?

35. Take a Deep Breath and...

30/11/08

A beautiful crisp, clear Sunday. The field we look onto is white with frost. It's silent.

It seems the right day to look out onto the world.

To count to three and open our eyes.

34. Clip Boarding

27/11/08

I think it's been a month now. We'll be in December soon. Outside the nation will be going Christmas mad too early - shopping, decorations. I suppose I'm glad to be out of that part. Just as long as we're out in time for Christmas Day itself, I'll be happy.

We've been busy this week. No more having fun. I haven't been writing because, well, there's not much to write about. But I need to keep in the habit.

Of course we've been looking after the animals. They're doing really well. I'm a bit worried they might need more fresh stuff than I'm able to give them by hauling up weeds. I haven't got the confidence to take them out to grass yet. Shouldn't be much longer before I can put them back in more capable hands though, thank goodness.

B. agreed, reluctantly, that we should leave the houses alone for a while and focus on gardens, sheds and garages. We're working our way through one road at a time. I can't even begin to estimate how long it will take. We still haven't even finished the main street yet, never mind all the closes, crescents, avenues and courts! Still, the longer it takes, the less people we'll have offended by the time we get out.
I'm drawing up a register - house by house, street by street. While B. starts the search of the garage (if there is one) I record what's in the garden; Rhubarb patches, fruit bushes, apple trees, I've even found an asparagus bed. Of course most of them won't be useful to us till the summer, so it's something of a pointless exercise, but I feel better knowing I'm preparing for the worst. Every so often I come across a plot with a few late vegetables hanging on - we've been having winter stews most nights since we started, fortified with a tin of beans from the Spar. It's great to have fresh vegetables again.

We decided that we'd keep this search up till B. comes across something we can transmit with. Also high on the list to look out for are fuels. When the power goes off, we need to be ready, so we're listing coal, wood, batteries and hoping to find generators or solar panels. So far, no luck. We have found ladders though - one to every 3 garages. We can go up the church tower now. We could have gone up on Saturday. We just need to pick the right time.

33. Cold Water

22/11/08

I woke up with a start this morning, out of one of those dreams it takes you a while to shake, anxiety tugging at you. My mind full of guilt, regret - for what we had and had not done yesterday and fear for what may follow.

Yesterday we plundered another house. One protected by high walls, electric gates and security cameras. One we'd never, in normal life, have been able to enter. As with the houses B. had already visited, the gates were open and the door unlocked. That made me feel better about it - perhaps there had been an agreement to leave the houses open in case someone was left behind, in case someone needed to help themselves. I still whispered as we went in, looked around nervously for signs of life, hanging back behind B.

It was a gorgeous house, built for entertaining, a huge staircase sweeping into the entrance hall. Beautiful antique furniture. It had the feel of a place that had 'been in the family for years'. I walked around, awestruck. For now this place was part of our estate.

A shout from B. - I followed the call and found him racking up a pool table. I scooted back to the kitchen and came back with kettle chips and beer. In other words, we spent the day mucking about with someone else's stuff. And yes, it was fun and it's important to keep your spirits up. But we're just kidding ourselves here. We are in a total mess and we need to get out of it. We haven't done any of the things we said we would, we haven't even checked on the animals. How can we be so reckless? Do we actually want to keep living like this? Do we seriously think it's going to stay this easy? That the food won't run out? That we won't get ill? That the world is going to let us keep on taking without giving? That we aren't sometime very soon going to find ourselves without heat or power or water? And then what do we do? And if we think we're going to get rescued any moment, what are we doing trampling over other people's privacy?

No. Either we think we're getting out of here, in which case we use only what we need to make that happen. Or we accept that maybe we're not in which case...

I've got to talk to B.

And now the radio comes on. And it doesn't give me its usual comfort.

Why do they have to mess around with perfectly good programs?

32. Voyeurism

21/11/08

I headed for home when I began to feel the sun sink. The walk is colder and longer after dark. I dragged my feet to avoid more argument and hurried to put things right.

B. was already in the kitchen cooking away and listening to some crazy jazz thing.
Another change in mood.
He was in his element - two houses explored and then revealed to me in gleeful detail. One spell-binding in the tacky nicknacks, stack of unwashed washing and cringeworthy items hidden under beds and in drawers. The other a tantalising store of treasures, from the delicatessent delights being prepared for tea, to the pile of records ready to provide the evening's entertainment.
His eyes shone and he laughed as he described his tours of the houses, room by room, cupboard, by cupboard, box, bag, tin. The moment he found the 'mint jazz' - original Sun-Ra vinyl, Miles Davies, John Coltrane, Cecil Taylor. The rather unfortunate underwear, he'd kindly left draped where he found it.
Against my better judgement I got drawn in, wishing I'd been there on this first exploration into the secret lives of local folk we only knew as faces.

The need to leave was forgotten as a world of infiltration opened its doors and beckoned us in.

31. Loneliness

20/11/08

I'm in the barn, on my own. Since we found out it was just the two of us here, we've done everything together, worked together.

But today B. was determined to start looking through the houses and I just couldn't bring myself to do it, even though I know we have to, can't just keep waiting for something to happen. He was annoyed with me. Says I should wake up, realise things have changed, that I can't worry about the feelings of people who left us for dead sealed up in our house. Says they won't be back.

But what if they decide the area's clear, open it up again? We'll be looters, trespassers and no one will feel comfortable with us again.

B. laughs. Typical of me to think of niceties when our lives are at stake. I shout that we're alive and we've got food and we'll be out soon. He shouts back: I'm a fool; he's going to get us out. And slams the door.

And then I cry. And I feel so lonely - all the people that I miss crash around me. How are they? What are they doing? And I feel the ache they must feel, thinking that I'm dead. And I cry because they don't have to feel that and I can't tell them. I imagine flowers up against the wall, final messages that didn't need to be written. It's all so stupid and I'm powerless.

But B. will get us out. He's not going to sit here like me. He's going to find something to help us. He's going to find a way out.

So I pull myself round and do my part. Start the 10 minute walk to the farm.
I'm greeted by goats jumping up at the side of the pen, they make me feel less lonely although I know it's only food they want from me. They indulge me in my need to pat their warm necks. The chickens are already scratching around in their coop - a miracle recovery. We're going to have to find them somewhere bigger to live. They're beginning to look more like adult birds, I'm wondering how many will be hens. I'd love to get fresh eggs.

I always go to the cattle last. They're my favourites. I still worry every time that we'll have lost one, but they keep getting stronger. Now they stand I know we've two heifers and a young bull. Goodness knows what will happen when he grows up. But by then, he'll be back with people who know what they're doing.

30. Facing Facts, Hiding Truths

20/11/08

We hit another low yesterday, but we had to fight it. Facing facts, if we don't make them know we're here, then the inside of this wall is all we've got and the world is closed to us - no rivers, no mountains, no sea, no cities; no families, no friends, no neighbours. I won't go on, I can already feel the panic rising, the tightness in my chest.
No, we have to stay positive, to act. If we collapse, so do our chances of leaving.

So we pulled ourselves up, made each other focus, took it in turns to be strong. We planned. Each time a new consequence, problem, obstacle hit one of us, knocking us to despair, the other stayed calm, had a solution, helped the other back to standing.

We agreed. They must have had to clear an area around the wall. Must have to keep people away. To stop the infection they think is still here. So no one's there to hear us banging or notice the bell or pick up our notes. We need to think bigger. Start to search. Look for some kind of transmitter. Make the fire and sign we talked about. Get up high, find out what's on the other side, find out if we can get over.

We need to think about what we eat and what we're going to eat. No more snacking on what we fancy. Balanced meals. And we need to look for fresher foods. There must be vegetable gardens, fruit trees. We need to think ahead, be realisitic. We could be here another month and we need to stay healthy.

There's one more. But it's too enormous, too scary and it doesn't make sense. We're hiding it from ourselves. Keeping the focus on staying healthy and getting out. Hoping that getting out comes first.

29. Perspective

19/11/08

This morning B. was awake first.
In fact he never slept.
He woke me up to talk to me.
Tried to break it gently - but you know when something bad is coming.

"You know it's been a week since we sent those first notes? I don't think anyone's going to come. Not because of the notes, or the banging or the bell. They'd have come by now. We've heard no helicopters, not one. We've got to face it. To get out, we've got to do more. And we can't just live one day at a time. We have to plan."

It came out in a rush. I know there was more in his head. What we should do. The enormity of being abandoned, completely.

But first I have to let this sink in.
No, admit what I've known all along.
Change my perspective again.

28. Drop by Drop

18/11/08

B. and I have cared for sick animals before. A nestling robin brought in by one of the cats was given a warm nest in a bowl and took small worms from our fingers. It's 'peeping' woke us in the morning awoke us and filled us with parental warmth. A hedgehog picked up from where it sat dazed by the road ate dog food and the next day delighted us by trotting round the spare room.
By the end of their second days in our care they were dead.

So what hope for us of bringing 3 cows and 6 chickens back from the brink? Very little. Each time we've returned, we've approached with trepidation. Each time we're surprised to see 9 pairs of eyes still looking back.

The goats seem built for anything. That first day they gulped down the water we gave them and pushed each other out of the way to reach the food we threw in. We saw to them first. Easier than tending to the dying.

The chickens came next. We used pieces of straws as pipettes to drop, drop, drop water onto the side of each beak. The birds just blinked and let the water spill onto their feathers. But we continued. 3 drops for each. Guess work. Step by step, feel your way. We topped up the feeder with the grain and left them.

The cows. What do you do to save a starving cow? We went for water again, this time in the bottles left for the lambs. They were only small, perhaps they had been bottle fed too. As we stepped into the pen, they stirred, alarmed at the intrusion and heaved onto their knees. We froze. So did they. We made sounds, like seasoned farmers - sounds that come without you thinking. They stayed still. We took a step forward, then slowly inched toward them. At last we were close enough to touch. A tentative pat on the neck. Still they stayed. Too ill to move? Unsure?
We each took one. One hand gently on the neck, then slowly the bottle, all of the time making these strange sounds that we seemed to think would calm them. At first, nothing. But as the first drops left the bottle and touched their tongues, they sprang to life and sucked. The magic of water, instant effect, like a drop on an ink blot. The bottles were so small and the cows suddenly so strong, they were emptied in seconds. While I tended to the third, smallest calf, B. went to fill buckets.

Back to the chickens, 3 more drops. This time, from one a shake of the head, from another a swallow.

Next to keep them warm and clean. We found wheelbarrows and spades. Hauled out the bodies and the excrement. We dug a hole together. It was hard work, but important. Part of a mission.

The farm was well stocked - food for a full farm, so plenty for the remnants. We filled stalls with fresh hay, filled troughs with feed and water. We found a stock of UHT milk in the cafe - the cows drank it down. The chickens accepted some drops.

We slept on the hay bales that night under tablecloths. It was cold and scratchy. But it didn't seem right to leave.

27. The Burden of Responsibility

17/11/08

It's been a few days since I wrote. Our routine has changed. We've kept up the phone and radio checks, the perimeter walk and the church bell. The rest of the time we've been up at the farm.

When we walked in that first day, it was absolute horror that we felt. Revulsion. The barn was set up to appeal to children - cartoon character animals and their names around the wall, speech bubbles. Everything cute and colourful. Hay bales were set out amphitheatre style so the children could watch the lambs being fed and hold the smaller animals.
At one side were a group of hutches and cages and a large aviary, filling the other end, pens. Each had a little info card 'Tilly and Ludo, Dexter twins, born January 08'.

We heard a movement as we walked in, but couldn't immediately see where it had come from. It smelled bad in there, the usual farmyard smell mixed with something much worse. The cages had bodies in them. The bodies of some of the rodents told of an uglier scene past, as animals trapped with no food turned on each other. The rabbits had died a gentler death, laid out as thirst or hunger took away their energy. In the aviary, small birds were littered the floor, the incubator was horrible - tiny chicks dry and eyeless. But that wasn't the end.

The first of the pens was covered with mesh. Inside, 6 young bantams blinked up at us. Scraggy, motionless, but still alive.
Then then the source of the noise, the goats - a nubian, a pygmy and an angora made themselves known to us, coming straight to the side. Their eyes perhaps duller than they should be, but they were on their feet and expecting food. The next pen was still and the main source of the smell - a litter of piglets, perhaps taken to early from their sow. The same with the lambs - kept penned in and motherless so that children could love them.
We could see that the next enclosure would have held cattle, but as we approached we couldn't see or hear anything to suggest they were there. It wasn't till we looked over that we saw there were 3. Lying listless, mouths open showing teeth. Flies sitting on the stickiness around their eyes. But their bodies still rose and fell with breath.

And so we gained responsibility and with it purpose, meaning. No more marking time. Now we were working against it. When they bring us out, it will be with those animals who had been trapped to starve and we will tell their story.

26. Two by Two

14/11/08

The World changes so quickly when it's only 3 square miles.

It changed when we entered the last barn.

We had thought we were truly alone - the fields were empty, the cattle stalls, the pig sties, the stables, the reptile house, the dovecotes, coops and aviaries, the pet shop. All the animals spirited away. Just like the horses.

The farmyard smells remained. Lingering to remind us of how much Life had been there and how much Life had left us.
The hay filled pens with the ghost of an impression where an animal had lain. The incubators, lights still on but empty of chicks or eggs.
How could they whisk them all away like that - I mean physically. How is it possible to empty a whole village of life while two people sit in the centre listening and waiting?

Thinking about that, talking about it made us reel, need to sit and take breath. The feeling of being forgotten, discounted, excluded - waves of the sickness I used to feel when I'd walk over to a group of friends at school; one would look up, make frosty eye contact and then turn back to the giggling huddle.

But we shrugged those feelings away. We'd excluded ourselves, we'd missed the information, but we could make them hear us, allow us back into the race. So we continued our search. Through the cafe. On through the play area - trampolines and bouncy slides and rope bridges - not today, the mood was wrong, but another day. Into the petting barn.

And there we found it again. Life.
Life and death.
Like walking into the Ark, but finding Noah had left, with the strong and wild, leaving the weak and the pathetic to fester. The end of their line.

25. Operation Stone's Throw

13/11/08

No one came today and we didn't hear any helicopters. The phones don't work. They didn't mention us on the radio. How can you evacuate and seal off an entire village and not make headline news? I guess it all happened when the elections were in full flow and the story got buried - perhaps we missed the one mention. We'll keep listening; part of the communications plan we started today.

• Check the phones every morning and every night.
• Keep the radio on whenever we're in.
• Create big signs on the ground for air traffic to spot.
• Find a CB or transmitter.
• Build a fire.
• Ring the church bell everyday.
  
• Perimeter Patrol and 'Operation Stone's Throw'.

The first 2 are fine - we did those!

Big signs? We couldn't agree where or how and to be honest, I don't think we were in the mood today. Hopefully tomorrow we'll feel driven enough to get out there in the rain and set something up.

Transmitters - I'm not ready to go into people's houses. It feels wrong. B. says that's stupid - but I think he'll hold on a couple of days. It would be really embarrassing to admit to going through everyone's stuff after just 2 days of awaiting rescue.

Fire - If we don't do the signs tomorrow, we'll build a fire. Probably.

Church Bell - We did that and it was wicked!! The church was open. I'd like to say it was 'strangely comforting' but it wasn't. It was really cold and the human touches - the hymn books, the sunday school display, the 'flower' rota - really brought our desertion home. They say that the Church is the people, not the building, and now I know it's true. Anyway, we went straight to the bell tower (we didn't climb up - there's a hatch, but we're going to need a ladder to get up there) and we both picked a rope. It takes some power to get the bells moving, but once you do, wow, the sound is phenomenal. Cacophonal actually - and that's what we wanted.

Perimeter Patrol - We've agreed that we'll do this everyday, no matter what. We walk the full length of the wall - from the time it takes us to do it, I think it must be about 6 miles. As we walk, we run a stick along it (like a child enjoying the noise along railings). The surface of the wall is like the side of one of those... I think they're called containers... that carry cargo on trains and the backs of lorries. Ridged. And when you run a heavy stick over it it sets a deep, resonant clanging. We take 4 notes on rocks with us - one for each of the points where the wall crosses a road. We decided that was where check points were most likely to be set up and where people were most likely to chance upon the wall. East, where we first encountered the wall as it crosses the main road. North and South, both really quiet back roads. And West - the other end of the main road and the furthest out of the village, as the wall reaches out to include the 'Family Farm', "Where Daisy and her friends are waiting to meet you!"

I've just thought. We checked the houses, but we never checked the farm. Just skirted round it with the wall. Are the animals still there trapped in the barns?
That's the routine out tomorrow morning - we have to go and check. If they are there and they are alive, they'll be barely alive. How long has it been? 2 weeks since it all started? How long since everyone left? How long can animals survive in a barn?

I'm feeling quite wound up about this. I have to go talk to B.

24. Chocolate Milk

13/11/08

Life goes on, even when you're presumed dead.
You still have to eat.

After the hollering and the shouting and the walking and the throwing and after 24 hours of forgetting about being alive. We found ourselves thirsty and hungry.

And that was really nice. It brought us back round. And you know, when you've been left for dead and your village has been cut off from the world. There's certain things you can do, that no one's going to mind. And you might as well because everything else is rubbish. So go ahead and do it.

Walk to the Spar, walk right in and take what you want. Like in 28 days, but without the zombies.

And you know? The door wasn't locked. The shelves were full and the fridges were on.

We grabbed what we fancied and then rode the trolley back to the house, skidding and crashing and laughing; for cheese, sun-dried tomato & celery sandwiches (hooray for the preservatives in white sliced bread!), oven chips, chocolate milk, Heinz treacle pudding and Ambrosia custard. All rounded off with a mug of tea - whoever invented UHT is a genius.

Yes, Wednesday was a good day.
We'd sent our messages, help would come soon and in the meantime Farnsworth was ours, all ours!!!

23. Shouting

12/11/08

We woke this morning as if we hadn't woken. Nothing felt real.

But even in a dream, you move, you act, so we did.

First we talked:
What had happened?
Everyone else had had their instructions. They'd found the radio station, they'd had TV. They knew when to leave and they'd left us behind.
Why a wall?
The infection is still here. In the soil or the animals or the buildings. No one can enter.
But the people who left?
Were treated. Or it doesn't work that way, doesn't pass from human to human.
We're going to die?
It seems that way.
Why did they leave us?
We didn't come.
But our families?
They thought we were dead.
Are we?
Not yet.

We have to get out.
We have to tell them.
We have to make them hear.

Then we acted:
We wrote 100 notes on A4 paper with thick red markers.

"We are alive. We are trapped. We are well. Please send help at once. R. and B. 12/11/08"

We sealed each note in plastic and headed for the wall.

We shouted and screamed and hit the wall and kicked the wall and through rocks at the wall. I chose a stone, wrapped a note around it, secured it with tape and handed it to B.. B. hurled the stone high into the air up, up and over. We stood still, silently counting 1, 2,..., 60.

Then on 200 yards? 500 yards? and repeat. Count, listen, move on, repeat.

Till all our notes were over.

Just a matter of time.

22. Mute

12/11/08

I've been in shock, we've been in shock.

But I need to get down what happened when we went out.

I didn't want to, B. knew that. But we had to and I knew that.

We went out of the front - peeled the tape away, unlocked the door and stepped right out.
What were we expecting? Something. But it was still, silent, no change except for the leaves we stepped onto.

So we walked - first next door. No sign, no one there, no car. The next house - the same. And on.

I've never felt panic like that. All of my muscles constricted, impossible to move to breathe. Complete confusion, dizziness, sickness. Without speaking we just sat, in the leaves, on the road.

If the cold hadn't begun to creep around us, I don't think we'd have moved.
But the desire to keep living was there somewhere and it took us back home, where we stayed, holding each other, not speaking, for hours.

Finally B. broke the silence. "They're dead then."
"Everyone?"
"We need to know."

So we steeled ourselves. Wrapped up warm against the shock to come and left our shelter again. Every house on the main street we stopped at. Every one the same. Curtains open, doors closed, no sound, no life. We didn't speak, the silence ruled and it wasn't ours to break.

Then, finally, a change. Something new, unexpected. A barrier, visible, awaiting us further down the road, just where the houses stopped.

We ran, hurtled. This will be the checkpoint. This is where we get our information. This is where life begins again.

The closer we got the greater the fear, the fear that we could trust our eyes. What we saw was a wall, tall, white, metal, which stretched out both left and right. And we could hear it, an insistent crackle like a pylon. At the top circles of steel spikes. It had been designed to keep people out. Or in.

Still no words. We just started walking, following this snake, looking for the break, the entrance, the exit. Underfoot was earth, where obstacles had been cleared. We walked through gardens, fields, yards unhindered. The smooth white always beside us. And saw no one. Heard no one. Until, hours later we knew we had travelled the full perimeter and that our wall had no break, no entrance, no exit. And then we went home and lay, not knowing what to say or do or think. Letting the silence keep its reign.

21.The End of Things

11/11/08

Why did I call my diary 'The End of Things'?
Did I know?

It really is the end of things.

For us.

For me and B.

We went out.

There's no one there.

And we are stranded.

20. Nothing

11/11/08

It's 11:45

There's still no phone signal.
No internet.
No local radio.
No mention on Radio 4.
Noone outside.

In 15 minutes B. is going to peel away the tape and we will be committed.
To going out.
Without permission.

I
Don't
Want
To

But we agreed. I don't want to argue. And B. is right, we can't sit here forever.

13 minutes...

19. On Faith

11/11/08

When I was little I believed in God.

When I was a teenager, I was a Christian.

Now, if I weigh up the evidence, consider the arguments, it makes no sense.

But deep down inside in the core of me, I know that there is a god. Not necessarily as described on the tin. But there; and He cares and He listens.

So, when times are hard I find myself praying. Not kneeling, not with hands together and eyes closed. But thinking to Someone.

That's what I'm doing now, that's what I've been doing all night.
I can't stand another day of this.
And I don't want to have to step through that door without being told it's OK.

They will tell us. It's definitely 10 days now.
If there was a problem, they'd tell us.

18. Please Let Them Come

11/11/08

Please let them come,
Please let them come,
Please,
Let them come.

17. Anticipation, Frustration, Despondency

10/11/08

We got up really early this morning. In fact we were both wide awake before the alarm went off.
You can't imagine how excited we were - more excited than I'd expected. We were babbling away about seeing our families again, what we were going to eat, feeling the wind, what we'd say to the press...

It was great, better than setting off on holiday, with the car packed and the music on, heading for the sea or the mountains. It was better than waking up on Christmas morning knowing there's a load of presents waiting for you and that your loved ones were going to be so pleased with what you'd chosen for them.

The idea that we were going to do all the things we'd taken for granted and enjoying them so much more. The idea of telling everyone all about it. The idea of being free.

I took quite a long time getting ready - getting the hair straight, the make-up perfect, but keeping an ear on the radio. Meanwhile B. was systematically trying phones, testing the internet, checking out of the window, again and again in a loop.

We skipped breakfast - not to spoil whatever feast was coming shortly. I joined B. in the watch, but we heard nothing, had no signal and saw no change outside.

At about 10:00 we decided that we were going to give ourselves ulcers and tried to stop ourselves thinking about it by playing computer games - with the sound off of course. This was the 'watched pot' theory.

At 12:00pm we ate crackers with honey, then got changed and worked out for a bit. This was the 'sod's law' theory.

At 2:00pm we started discussing what time we could reasonably expect to hear. We decided that perhaps they'd delay till after working hours so loved ones could be there.

At 5:00pm we concluded that they must want to wait till after the rush hour to avoid traffic congestion.

At 8:00pm we agreed they were waiting till really late for minimum publicity.

At 11:00 I started crying, B. said he was going outside to find someone. I cried more. He shouted. I got hysterical. We both cried.

And now... we've come to an agreement. Perhaps the first or last day didn't count. Perhaps tomorrow is the day we go out.

They have till 12:00 pm tomorrow and then we go out.

16. Nothing to Report

09/11/08

It's 10:00pm and we still haven't heard anything. We still can't find a local radio station, the TVs still incomprehensible, the landline's dead and the mobiles have no signal.

It does say on the postcard that They'd '...be in touch nearer the time'. How much nearer can you get? And if it was safe to drive through with the loudspeaker and safe to deliver parcels, why isn't it safe enough to give us a bit of information? Argh it's maddening. Even B.'s getting wound up about it - boy are they going to get a tirade of complaints tomorrow!!!!

Oh well, we're drinking wine - the best bottle B. could find in the rack (I don't know how he remembers!!) and we found a jar of olives and some cheese straws. We made a bean chilli with a tin of tomatoes, a tin of beans and some dried chillies. Would have been nice to add some vegetables, grate some cheese on top and wrap it up in a tortilla with some sour cream. But it was still nice. We made it a candle lit dinner and even had coffee and (slightly crispy) After Eights. I had a genius idea to make the coffee nicer - add Bailey's. Why didn't I think of that before?

Our outfits are picked out, the alarm is set for 5:00 am, and I am really looking forward to tomorrow.

You know what though? I'm really glad this happened. It's been a really different experience and in many ways it's been fun. I'm also going to really appreciate so many things that I've been taking for granted. It's been a lesson.

15. Irrational Explanation

09/11/08

That really shook us up for a bit. We were near to going outside to look for hidden corners. But somehow we both accepted that at this late stage, going out would be pretty stupid and we know that field well. The horses don't disappear from view.

So we started digging for another rational explanation:

1. The owners got worried about them and broke quarantine to bring them somewhere nearer to them or more sheltered. Highly plausible - people with horses can be quite obsessive about them and likely to take extreme measures. But why didn't we hear them and where could they take them within the village?
2. The horses became desperate and managed to break through or jump over the fence. Reasonably plausible - the body can do extraordinary things when placed in a life or death situation, so maybe that's true for horses. However, last time we saw them they looked as though they'd got no motivation or energy left.
3. Local dogs have been shut out of their houses and have become a hungry pack capable of completely consuming 3 horses. Not plausible, and anyway we'd hear them howling!
   
4. 'They' saw the horses plight and rescued them. Not very plausible; I can't imagine 'Them' saving horses unless to avoid an outcry later on. And anyway, we'd have heard them.
5. 'They' saw the horses plight, killed them and removed the bodies. Slightly more plausible, except the shots and the helicopter/lorries would have alerted us!

We're going with option 1 as the least irrational explanation. I do hope that the people are OK. I also hope that they haven't caused an extension in the quarantine period.

Fortunately, we didn't let the disappearing horses throw us for long and we got back to the daily programme. We also watered all the plants, cut off the dead bits and wiped the leaves. 4 of my orchids have got new flower shoots coming. Life goes on!

We've kept the curtains open. Still no change out there. We're going to start trying the phones and searching for local radio again now. I expect I'll write again later tonight when things start getting exciting!

14. Horses

08/11/08

Of course B. agreed to open the curtains.
At first it was great, watching the rain flooding down. It's one of those days when it rains properly and you'd be soaked the moment you stepped out of the door. We've always loved that kind of rain.
We were talking about my plan for the next few days, it was great, so exciting.


Then we noticed.


No horses.

13.The Plan for When We Get Out

8/11/08

Plan For Sunday 9/11/08

In addition to the prescribed tasks for the day:

1. Put the radio on early, ( try for local stations again), make sure we can always hear it, also make sure we can hear any announcements made outside.
   
2. Plan the assemblies for my first days back. (This week will give me lots of good material!)
3. Agree with B. what we're going to say and do when we get out: to the Press and to 'Them' (i.e. how to handle similar situations better in the future).
   
4. Choose outfits for Monday.
5. Make a feast with what we've got left and drink a really nice wine.
   
6. Set the alarm for early Monday morning.
   

Plan For Monday 10/11/08

1. Get up really early, have a shower, wash hair.
2. Try phoning home. Keep trying till it works. Arrange meal out with them tonight, ask them to get us some fresh stuff in (in case we're kept busy all day)
   
3. Keep the radio on, (hopefully local) no music - one of us to be able to listen at a times.
   
4. Put on outfit chosen on Sunday night. Make myself look nice.
5. Check B. also looks nice!!!
6. As soon as we hear, go out and do whatever has to be done. Let's hope it doesn't take all day and that they give us tea with real milk immediately!
   
7. Put the bin bags out
   
8. Ring deputy, find out what's been going on at school, let her know when I'll be back.
9. Go out for a meal somewhere where you get lots of fresh, well cooked vegetables and nice cheese!

Plan For Tuesday 11/9/08

1. Have a real nice cooked breakfast.
2. Spend the day out walking.
3. Go shopping on the way home.
4. Cook a posh tea.
   

12. A Normal Weekend

8/11/08

It's Saturday today, and it's raining outside. So I'm going to treat it as a normal weekend. Then Monday, we come out. I'm assuming that there'll be medical checks and some sort of administration, I guess they will have told the press by then (still no mention on the radio) so Monday will be odd. Then Tuesday, maybe back to work, or maybe they'll feel we need some time with family and friends. I'm guessing Wednesday then. Life returns to normal on Wednesday.

I'm so glad I managed to get my head back yesterday. I've just read back the entries from Tues, Wed and Thurs. I sound like a fruitcake. All that stuff about crushing leaves and sterile supermarkets. This from someone who gets a local delivery of organic vegetables each week and who generally considers leaves an attractive mulch till the spring fires her up for gardening again.

My new plan for making the most of each day is going really well (bear in mind there's only been yesterday and right now so far!) I got loads done yesterday - which makes me feel really good. And B. and I spent yesterday evening (when we'd usually watch a DVD) singing Bob Dylan songs - which we really enjoyed. I'm not sure if the neighbours would have felt the same. I doubt they'd have heard us because we never hear them.

We've only heard one helicopter since Thursday. I assume that the quarantine period for whatever the illness is was only a week, but they rounded it up to 10 days to be absolutely certain. The helicopters were probably checking everyone was sticking to the quarantine rules and now they're just going to fly over once a day to check no one's put out an SOS.
When he wakes up,I'm going to suggest to B. that we open the curtains again, I'm missing the view.

The house is super clean and tidy now - shame about the bin bags.

I'm really looking forward to getting out, but I've decided to make a plan so I make the most of it. Worthy of a new page I think...

11. Snap Out of it Rosey

7/11/08
I'm beginning to think I'd better change the title of this diary - me a survivor? It would appear that I lose the plot after only a week in which the only hardships are having to make do with tinned/frozen/dried food and not leaving the house. If we were to step out of the house to discover that the world had come to an end, well I don't have high hopes for the future of mankind.

Let's just call that a phase. I let myself slip, but I'm back. I'd be a total fool to waste these days of peace, just me and B. with no pressures from anyone or anything.
Would you like to know what I've been doing for the last 3 days? Playing solitaire, freecell and animal crossing. Not reading, drawing, philosophising, catching up on work. Not even playing something I could pretend did me good, like wii or braintraining. B.'s been much better. He's done loads of music - his best if you ask me. It's like his own diary of the week, urgent, claustrophobic, isolated, sinister...

I've been wondering why I play those games. It's almost a nihilistic thing - I know I should be doing something useful, but I'm in this negative, almost defiant mood, so I don't. But those games do have a point to them, so they satisfy that small part of me that wants to be constructive.

If I hadn't made up my mind to make the most of what's left of our adventure, I'd be really cross with myself. Instead I'm going to fill all of the days I've got left:

1. Write an entry
   
2. Get some exercise every day, at least 30 mins cardio (wii fit/skipping/step/running round the house) , 30 mins weights and 30 mins yoga.
3. Finish one of my big school tasks every day (that will make next week so much easier!)
4. Play my flute.
5. Play music with B.

Wish I'd thought about that when we started.

10. It's Been a Week

It's been a week since we got the postcard. So that means we've got to get through today and 2 more days. Or did the 10 days start on the Friday? No, we're free on Monday I'm sure. Know what I most want to do? Get rid of those leaves. I imagine them lying there, burying the road. Giving nature a toe hold on our route to anywhere, everywhere, everyone else.

When this is over I'm going to run through those leaves, kick them, stamp on them. Then me and B. are going to drive right through them, crushing them and squashing them and grinding them and we're going to keep going till we're out on the dry, clean grey tarmac.

The helicopters are getting worse. We hear them all of the time. What are they doing? Checking there are no fresh cases? How would they know? The houses are sealed. We're all hidden, hiding.

We've stopped cooking and started heating up. The fresh vegetables are gone and so is the cheese. We eat because we need to, not to enjoy it. You know where that grey tarmac leads? Straight to a bright, white, sterile supermarket with the freshest most perfect produce. We'll fill our trolley with vegetables that have no blemishes and cheese carried over the channel at great expense and I'll relish my disregard for nature.

Roll on Monday - it's going to be a long weekend.

9. Heroes

America have elected a hero.

Britain are celebrating the man who tried to bomb democracy.

B. and I are listening.

B. and I are voiceless.

8. Harsh Reality

I felt so positive yesterday. But today I feel trapped and oppressed in equal measure by what lies outside.

Outside the leaves continue to fall and sit, dark and damp, measuring the stillness of the road. Wild life flourishes without the continuous disturbance of human sounds and interference - the birds' song in celebration of our passing, sitting boldly on fence posts. The rabbits seem to double in number at each glance. I should be pleased, rescued by the life they bring to the scene. But they sit in contrast with the horses. They stand in a huddle in one corner of the field, shivering in the mist. In just 5 days they seem to have lost their gloss, their poise and their strength. I can't bear to watch their demise, trapped in a field without the human upon whom they've been bred to depend.

That was the reason that finally made B. agree to closing the curtains. It wasn't my first reason. Last night I lay awake with the room bright with the street lamp that lit the empty road. I heard owls and a helicopter, then as I watched the digital numbers change through the minutes and hours I remembered the church bell and listened for its familiar chime. It never came. Then more owls and another helicopter. The sounds clashed, a sense of isolation contrasted against the feeling of being watched, monitored, scrutinised.

I wanted to shut the curtains there and then. To keep them out and to show I was doing as I was told. My paranoia did not sway B. The horses did.

The election's today. We'll sleep through the queues of Americans sensing the chance for a change. In the morning we'll find out whether they chose to save us.

7. Curtains

4/11/08

This morning we closed the curtains again.

6. Anthrax and Presidents

3/10/08

5 days to go after today - halfway at lunchtime!

For about 30 seconds this morning I thought we'd made it onto Radio 4. How strange that hearing about someone's death from a horrendous disease made me stop in excitement. (More evidence of the selfish core of my personality. This minor inconvenience masquerading in my mind as a crisis, a test of human spirit, has brought that core right to the surface.)
The story was about a man, a drum maker, who died suddenly of Anthrax. It fitted our quarantine so perfectly. But the man was in Scotland. He had caught the disease by inhaling directly from the skins he imported to make his drums. They went on to say that the spores would not travel through the air and could not be transmitted from person to person. Sealing off an entire village would be a little unreasonable for Anthrax then.
You've got to ask though - why didn't our story make it through? ...Maybe to stop people flocking to see the 21st Century Eyam and carrying the infection away with them across Britain? Yes, that sounds plausible, but then they wouldn't put it on local radio either would they?

It's good to listen to the radio. Helps to keep things in perspective. There's a world out there and it's moving apace. Tomorrow is the American Presidential Election. Finally - they really eek it out over there! B. was following it avidly on the net but has gone a bit cold now he can only listen to the updates. A visual learner to my auditory? Tomorrow we'll sit quietly round the radio awaiting the good people of the US's decision. Then we'll discuss it together, just the two of us, both with the same opinion. The course of the world's history will be reset while we sit waiting to rejoin it.

Yesterday I moped. Lack of purpose, frustration, nothing to write about. Pathetic, but strangely familiar. A rewind to the adolescent years I suppose. That anthrax story really picked me up.

Also yesterday we ran out of milk and bread. Yesterday that was a disaster; today I made scones. I think I'd even have made bread if I'd had some yeast.
Milk's a problem, but only for 5 days. Cereals I can do without. I've cracked into that coffee whitener though. Imagine - I could have made hundreds for that on Ebay, but my desire for white tea was too strong.

Today we opened the curtains. Not gingerly. And everything out there is fine. The autumn leaves are covering the road (I never realised how the traffic kept them cleared) and the field opposite is teeming with rabbits. Other than that, no change. Just bright autumn sunshine coaxing us out.

5. Ain't Gonna Make It As A Whistler

2/11/08

Can't believe I've missed a day at this already! All this stuff about never before having had anything to write about, 10 days with nothing to do and I still go a whole day without writing. I'm going to stick myself in a loop of retrospect.

Can I excuse myself with having got caught up with exciting developments which I can now recount to my avid readers? Nope. Can I say that I've been in such despair and torment that I could not bear to pick up my notepad and scribble? Not that, either.

I have no excuse. I just have to face the fact that I'm not going make it as a writer. What a surprise!!! Except I can't just give it up. When you look at the situation B. and I are in, it's pretty unique. Aside, I suppose, from the fact that everyone else in Farnsworth (population 2540) is in the same situation. Maybe everyone is keeping a diary - now that would make an interesting book - the perspectives of different personality types, mothers with babies, the business execs, OK, hold on, I'm not going any further. I know it's selfish, but if I start thinking about everyone else, I'll start worrying about them and feeling guilty for being just fine thank you and then I'll be wanting to check up on everyone. But we're sealed in. If I go out looking and there really is a deadly virus , nobody will welcome me in and if they did what use am I? I should have thought of them all by now though. Staggers me how selfish I can be, having my little adventure in my lovely house with my full cupboards, and I never even thought. I'm sure 'They' would know if anyone had a young baby, or was heavily pregnant, or needed medical treatment. They'd deliver appropriate boxes, or take them to a quarantined hospital or something. But what if someone has an accident, or is all alone, or the heating breaks - how are they going to tell anyone?

Right, decision made - I won't go out looking, but if I hear anyone outside I will let them in and help in any way I can.

I have to keep writing because this doesn't happen. It's not something people usually go through, so an account of how it feels and how we react will be useful - if to noone else, to me and B.

It's still really quiet - it's amazing the difference road traffic makes to what you think is silence. When the radio and music are off there is the sound of the wind, of birds - so many more birds than normal - the occasional heavy exhalation of a horse in the field over the road. And the aircraft. I don't remember hearing so many of those before. I guess they tended to get filtered out by the noise of traffic.

I tried for local television again, but the reception's appalling - I'm sure they made it worse on purpose to make everyone go digital.

Radio 4 are apparently oblivious to our plight which makes it feel as though it isn't really happening. Perhaps it's so trivial next to presidential elections and rebellious uprisings that we just don't make it through. On a world scale, trivial is an understatement. Hard to see it like that when your world view is your house! But the loss of the people of Farnsworth for 10 days is not going to impact on global stability, economic sustainablity or social change, although 2540 people may appreciate their freedom just that little bit more!

We tidied the house. It's never been so clean. I took the bath panel of and vacuumed years of skin and hair from underneath. B. got the stain off the carpet on the stairs - I don't know how. It took us all day. It's great, we feel purged! Except for 5, yes 5 bin bags sitting in the spare room. Oh for access to the dustbin.

Well that's it, sorry if it's been a bit mundane.

4. It's OK, I'm OK

31/10/08 continued.

Sorry about that. I'm fine, really. But it's a stressful, unique situation, not really knowing what's going on, no way of asking. And cats do matter. I'm not a cat person, I don't call them my babies or anything like that. But they have their own personalities and you get used to them being around.

Anyway, less on that subject. I need to get up to date, I'm finding it hard still writing in retrospect, which is silly, because as long as I'm accounting events it's always going to be in retrospect... I just don't want to get too far ahead of the time. So we're on yesterday - we'd found out about the 10 day quarantine and we'd just opened the parcel and taped up our house.

The only instruction left on the card was to listen to local radio. Hmmm. Being stuck in the house is one thing, but with local radio on all the time? No offence to local radio, they provide a great service, but they don't play the music me and B. want to listen to. And the worst of them interrupt the music we don't want to listen to with incredibly annoying adverts all the time. I'm really not sure we could make it through 10 days listening to that. The only time we don't have music on in the house is first thing in the morning and when B. is out - that's when I get to enjoy Radio 4. So we left that one for a while and started working through the record collection.
Niggles at you though, the lack of information. Thinking everyone else might know something you don't. Eventually we caved. We figured get it tuned in now then dip in every so often. Could we find any? No - I can think of at least 5 local radio stations, admittedly I don't know what frequency they're on, but you'd think amongst the beeps and whistles as the red bar moved up and down we'd find one of them. Classic FM? Fine. All the main BBCs? Right here. But no local stations. I wondered if we could get local TV news. We hadn't used the television as a television for ages now. The reception was always bad, but they're doing the digital switch over sometime soon. We had a try, first flicking between numbers on the remote, then manually tuning through. Sometimes you could just make out a shape amongst the grey and white jagged lines, but that's the best we could get.
So Radio 4 is on in the bedroom, records are playing downstairs and if something we need to know happens we're sure 'They', the neighbours or Radio 4 will let us know!

Well that's me up to date, I think. You'll have to bear with me if the next 8 days turn into the wandering musings of a cabin-fevered nutcase.

3. As Promised, The Parcel

31/10/08

Personally, I would have liked the opportunity to discuss whether or not we should get the parcel before ultimately deciding to bring it in. But B. had already brought it in, so I had to make do with a short discussion about whether or not to open it. I'm sure I don't have to point out that things at this point are not exactly running as normal, we're beginning to get into a bit of a conspiracy situation here, at least events are seeming a shade on the fictional side anyway. If were we in one of those films that B. so loves, the box would contain gas which will render us unconscious, a bomb, a deadly virus. However, clearly this is not fiction, just quarantine and there's a nice big, heavy box just waiting for us to open it up, so we do. It's dark brown cardboard, done up neatly with parcel tape, no labels, no 'this way up', no fastenings requiring tools, a nice easy open. And we don't pass out or get blown up and as yet we're not sniffing or itching, so I guess we're in the clear. Did smell funny though, kind of chemically... perhaps there'll be a delayed reaction!

And inside, it's precision packed, everything wrapped in brown paper with white typed labels, like it's left over from WWII:

• A sturdy roll of sturdy tape. No, of course we didn't seal everything first, we had a good dig through the box!
• Tea bags.
• Coffee.
• 'Coffee whitener'?
• Sugar.
  
• 2 Ryvita shaped packets labelled 'dry bread'. Yum.
  
• 'Powdered egg'??
• 'Instant mash'.My favourite.
  
• Rice.
• Pasta.
• Box of matches, presumably to go with the
• Box of neat white candles. Uh oh, does this means they're expecting to cut the power? They can't be, or how would we cook the delights they sent? Just back up I suppose.
• Loads of tins. I don't think I can be doing with listing them all now, suffice to say they'd thought about our nutritional balance - tinned fruit, carrots, spinach (!) for the veg bit; baked beans, soups (chicken, oxtail), luncheon meat for the protein.

They've thought of everything. Apart from that some people are vegetarian and most people don't like luncheon meat. How desperate are they expecting us to get? I'm going to keep it all and auction it when my diary gets published. We've got tonnes in the cupboards and the freezer. Oh and at the bottom we found some plasters, and blister packs of aspirin, some 'antibiotics' and some vitamin C tablets. How long does it take to get scurvy?. I forgot the chocolate! Of course there was chocolate, they always put that in ration packs, don't they? Don't know if it's dark or milk - it just says 'chocolate' on the wrapper, and there's no way I'm opening it. That's going in my collection.

So opening the box was fun. We decided that as 'They' were taking the situation seriously enough to deliver a box of 'goodies', we'd better take it seriously enough to get taping.

You'll think I'm dreadful. (In fact, I don't think I want anyone to know this. No, this is my human angle, the first real anguish, so I need to put it in. No one's going to know who I am anyway) This was the first time I'd thought about our cats. When we talked about it we realised that we hadn't seen them since we last fed them, just before we heard the loudspeaker. In our defence, things were kind of weird and stressful, but you'd think we'd have missed them in the morning. So we search the house and shout and shake food pouches - nothing. Which left us with a dilemma, the one that had made us remember our pets in the first place - the cat flap. So now y0u find out just what kind of people we are - warm-hearted, taking our responsibilities as loving pet owners seriously or pragmatists with hearts of ice? That's right, you guessed it: pragmatists. Let's face it, they'd disappeared - they just don't do that. They are embarassingly good hunters and if they were alive and wanted to be home that's just where they'd be. At heart I don't think B. and I really believe we need to seal everything, but what's the point of sealing yourself into your house for 10 days if those tiny germs were just going to be welcomed through the cat flap. So we taped it up. If they come back, we'll hear them, trust me, so will most of the street and I have every intention of letting them in. I'm not hopeful though - they'd be back by now.

And that's the first time we really cried. I think we'd been enjoying the adventure up till then. We knew it was only 10 days, it made a change. But they were/are our cats and the anxiety came flooding out.

It's sort of creeping back in on me now I'm thinking about it now, so

2. Back in the Flow

a bit later 30/10/08

We've been playing Mancala. I don't think we've quite got the rules right because now we've learned the best strategy, whichever of us starts always wins, reducing the challenge factor. I'll see if I can invent some new rules later. Anyway, the lack of challenge put B. in the mood for making music and me back in the mood for writing.

I can't believe I stopped without writing what happened next. It was criticism by B. of my literary style that put me off, but what's important is that I make the most of these next few days to get it all down. I can change it or get someone else to edit it later. As I always tell the children, don't let spellings etc put you off getting your ideas down. Good job this all happened in half term - I wonder what they'll do next week? Presumably someone (I keep wanting to write 'They', but it really isn't that sinister!!) knows who's stuck here and will let the people who need to know know. Actually now I think about it, someone does deserve to be termed 'They' - being stuck in the house for 10 days with no real explanation is one thing, but no phones! And how did they stop us getting a mobile signal? Now I think about it, that's really sinister and I might start getting cross and/or upset. But that isn't going to help and anyway when this is published, they'll have some serious questions to answer, so I'll stop worrying and get back to my story.

We sat and had tea and biscuits and talked through the rational explanation. We decided that we didn't need to cover the back windows, then ummed and aahed over 'is it better to watch a DVD and forget about it or to listen out for something happening?' and didn't decide, then we argued a bit because B. was dying to look out of the window and I was getting in a flap about it. In the end he did look out of the window and saw nothing at all and so we agreed we'd watch the DVD to stop the tenterhooks. We did that, and everything felt normal, but of course the film finished and we stopped feeling normal and started on the "It's been hours and they haven't told us anything, shall we look outside, we should phone someone, who? The Police?" conversation.

I've no idea why we didn't think of calling anyone before then, but we didn't. Of course then we tried and got a boooo, no, more of a beeeee - that sound when you dial a non-existent number and then we tried the mobiles and they said 'no signal' so we wandered round the house holding them in the air and shaking them and things. Still no signal. No internet connection either. At this point I realise I haven't thought to ring my family and start feeling guilty and panicky and cross in waves. Fortunately B. is still being the rational one and says they'll be fine, they won't even know there's anything to worry about and we'll be able to tell them once we've received 'notification'.

OK, Phew, worries over. We decide they won't do the loudspeaker thing late at night and go to bed happy in the knowledge that everything would be back to normal in the morning and we'd know what had been going on.

So, we get up next morning.

I woke earlier than I wanted to as usual and had that thing when you slowly remember the events of the day before. I decided not to think about it - one of my philosophies is that, as a general rule, worrying about things achieves nothing at all - and enjoyed the luxury of lying under the warm duvet without having to get up and go anywhere. It was really quiet, I suppose it usually is at that time in the morning - but we generally get the occasional car coming through. The birds were singing, though. I'm sure birds don't sing when there's a major crisis on. You'd think if mine and B's theory had been right we'd have heard a scuffle or shouts or something along those lines. Perhaps it all happened when we were watching the film/sleeping and we just didn't notice.

I got us tea and brought it back to bed. I might be on holiday, but B. still has to work. From home though and not till 9:00 so we can just relax.

Then we heard a noise outside the front door. The postman? I looked out the window because in all the excitement I've forgotten about the need for not looking out of the window and am assuming it's all over, while B. went down to see what came through the letterbox. It wasn't the postman. Instead it was a guy in one of those all in one white hooded suit things like they wear in 24 and ET. There were lots of them, walking behind a van, taking boxes off it and going to each house. My heart rate is going crazy at that moment, I have prickly armpits, cold sweat - make sure you can feel the sudden change in me at this point. They see me looking and gesture frantically for me to close the curtain. I hear the front door opening, I freak out, I shout to B. and leap out of bed.

I'm sure that he's about to be shot, contaminated, heaved onto the van. All the scenes your brain saves from films to play back with your best friend in place of the victim in situations like these.
Thankfully, as you'll realise, this was an overreaction and none of the above occurred.

There was a note on a printed postcard on the mat by the door -

Dear Resident,

Thank you for your compliance, we would like to apologise for any inconvenience caused. For your own safety and that of your family, please continue to cooperate with us by doing the following:

1. Quickly collect the parcel left by your door.
2. Immediately close and lock the door.
3. Seal any doors, windows and other openings (letter boxes, key holes, cat flaps) with the thick tape enclosed in the parcel.
4. Keep your curtains closed.

Due to a possible infection we have isolated your town for the next 10 days. This is a precaution and there is no need for concern. Loved ones out of your town are fine. No other towns are affected. We recommend that you keep a local radio station on for further updates, but will contact you close to the end of the 10 day period.

And so we complied and cooperated. You will want to know about the parcel and I am keen to tell you, tomorrow.

1. I Always Wanted Something to Write About!

30/10/08

I'm writing this, now, because I've finally found myself with something to say and we haven't got much else to do for the next 10 days. I might as well make the most of the time and people like to read diaries, especially when something out of the ordinary is happening - which it is. 10 days might be a bit short for a book, but maybe a newspaper serialisation... Rosey, don't start hoping it'll take longer than 10 days just for the sake of a book! There's a lot of bad things to being stuck in the house not really knowing what's going on. 10 days is going to be hard enough.

Having lost my audience by talking to myself, I'll get down to the facts. Yesterday, about 5:00pm, we hear a loudspeaker thing coming down the road. One of those they have on a van when they're going to switch the water off, which is what we thought it would be. Only, it wasn't. Oh no, "Your water will be off for the next 4 hours, we recommend you fill some bottles, sorry for the inconvenience" would have been most welcome.

Instead, it was something along the lines of:

"Residents of Farnsworth. Please remain in your homes. Please close all windows, curtains and doors. For your safety, please remain in your homes and do not attempt to leave them until you receive further notification."

You hear something like that and you just freak out. Because they never tell you what you need to know.

• WHY?
• Are we going to die?
• Is this happening everywhere?
• What do I do about work?
• What if I need something from the Spa?

I know the answers now, well most of them, not the top one, entirely.
The rest of the answers, not upside down at the end of the book, but here, are:

• ...
  
• No
• No
  
• Nothing
• Tough

I didn't know that then and so I went straight into over-dramatic panic mode which was disappointing because I've always visualised myself as calm, philosophical. I blame the fact that we didn't get any other information, so the imagination is left to run wild, worser case scenarios building on worse case scenarios. Also B. was so matter of fact about it it seemed only right for me to add a bit of hysteria to proceedings. But you can only panic so much when presented with a cup of tea and a biscuit and I was beginning to annoy myself, so we decided that the most likely reason was a dangerous animal or person at large in village - hence staying in. Perhaps not a person as they said close, not secure? Or was that an oversight on their part? We locked everything anyway. Closing the curtains we figured was because we might see something nasty. I think we mainly decided that because we don't have curtains at the back of the house so we had to make do with just not looking out of them!

Now I've lost my flow. More tomorrow, or maybe later.