Day three of self-quarantine began with our neighbours the Lefevres holding a little Sunday morning service on their back porch. As every good Anglican knows, you have to arrive early to get a seat at the back, so the distance between us and where the worship was happening was perfect. We sang hymns in imitation of what the Italians do from their picturesque balconies.
We then needed to get outside, but far away from other people. Like elsewhere, parks and footpaths are packed with everyone doing the same thing, so we got in the car and drove to the seaside. Galveston is empty at the best of times but today we saw approximately four other people, and one of those may have been a pelican.
It was also helped by the weather, which was heavily overcast and somewhat rainy. But our entire British life was run on the doctrine "I said I was going on a picnic, so I'm damn well going!" Once again, the fact that no one around here has vaguely the same crazed attitude was extremely helpful.
Of course, even on a rainy day I managed to get sunburned, another vestige of pale northern European heritage, so now I look like I'm running a fever so bad that it's cooking me, which is more reason to stay out of sight. Tomorrow is the start of home school - and rumours of an imminent Houstonian lockdown abound - so I agree it was good to get some fresh air, even if my lobster-coloured skin doesn't.
Preaching to the choir.
Remember to keep a minimum of six miles between you and the next person.
