Eleven days ago, ‘lockdown’ became a definite fact of my existence, instead of just a word I jokily substituted for Skepta’s 'Shutdown'. Perhaps you’ve been self-isolating for a lot longer; I’ve learned that in a real-time pandemic, everyone’s timescales are different. Much to the horror of my routine-obsessed self, there’s no absolute linear protocol to be followed during a global disaster; we’re all simply muddling through.

'Home' - a simple word that means a million different things to a million different people. For some, it's the smell of a parent's cooking, headlights setting the front room aglow as your partner pulls into the driveway, or the sound of your dog's tail thwacking against the cupboards in excitement as you return home to them.