Here we still are, twenty-three months in. But I think (and I know I’ve said this before) the end is in sight. The peak for infections in Belgium seems to have been passed about the time of my last ten-day update; hopitalisations, ICU numbers and deaths are still rising, but I think the first two at least are likely to peak next week. Even the most Eeyore-ish of Belgian health experts thinkswe’ll be able to relax the restrictions soon.

Apparently our 80% teleworking mandate is stronger than anywhere else in Europe art the moment – no more than one day a week in the office, and the office should not have more than 20% of personnel present – and I must admit it’s really getting to me. There’s nothing to beat in-person contact with colleagues and friends; when you try and get someone’s attention on Zoom, you’ve already lost the spontaneity of popping down the corridor or spotting someone at the coffee machine. And in general I’ve been a passive supporter of lockdown measures, but I did wonder if the latest tranche has actually made much difference.

Myself, I noted in the last ten-day entry that I’d had a persistent sore throat; it lingered with me for more than a week, and I needed a full day and two afternoons in bed to really get rid of it. Woke yesterday feeling much more like myself, which is a relief. I do wonder if the “Long COVID” effects made it more difficult for me to shake the bug. I kept neurotically taking home COVID tests every couple of days, and they kept consistently coming up negative.

In other health news, I had a full specialist check-up of my heart on the Friday before last. When I went to hospital in November, the doctors thought they might have spotted something in the EKG, and given that my father and both my grandfathers died of sudden heart attacks in their sixties, and I turn 55 this year, my instinct is to be cautious. The final phase of this was to wear a heart monitor for 24 hours, hooked up to my torso by half a dozen taped-on sensors that made me feel like the Emperor Dalek.

That was jolly uncomfortable and I found it almost impossible to sleep with it on. When the moment came at 5pm on the Saturday that I could take it off, I was actually driving home from Antwerp with Anne, but I pulled over, stripped to the waist, pulled off all the sensors and had a damn good scratch, no doubt to the consternation of passers-by. Anyway the verdict is that apart from mild hypertension there’s nothing wrong with my heart, which is a relief, but I’ll get in the habit of annual check-ups given my family history.

I’m going to keep up these posts at least until we reach the end of restrictions in Belgium, which I suspect means I’ll do another three or four. See you next time.