Tales from Isolation Street!

Hello everyone!

After I published Tales from Isolation House yesterday, I received a new diary entry! This time it’s from my cousin Chloe, who has written her diary as if she were my neighbour! I think this is an absolutely brilliant idea, and now I’d like to create a whole neighbourhood of imaginary diaries, which I can publish on my blog! You don’t have to be a writer to do this – anyone and everyone can write a diary.

So, if you’d like to join our neighbourhood – Isolation Street – please send me your diary via the contact page on my website (just paste it into the box), or via PM or DM on social media. It can be as long as you like – mine was 1400 words but yours can be shorter – but please keep it light-hearted and fun. You can even write regular diary entries if you enjoy it! Any problems with getting your diaries to me – just let me know and I’ll help!

Let’s raise our spirits by coming together to create an imaginary neighbourhood, while we’re all in this crazy business called Isolation!

Here is Chloe’s diary. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

Until next time,

Michelle x



I spill my coffee down my uniform as my three dogs shout their hellos to the teenage girl passing our house. I momentarily feel like a kid on a snow day until I remember I am actually working from home and need to find a way to stay motivated and not just binge watch Netflix.


I have changed into a fresh pair of pyjamas. They say you should stick to your routine and still get dressed to work efficiently from home, however I will always refuse to wear outdoor clothes in my house and a clean pair of pyjamas feels like a treat.


The dogs sing the song of their people in reply to the dog next door’s barking. I begin to suspect my lovely babies are not the well-behaved children I expect them to be while I am at work.


I realise I am the neighbour from hell as the dogs bark at every noise – The postman, the wind, a passing car. I make a mental note that when we are allowed to leave the house again, I will subtly mention the dogs to the lady next door and see if she mentions it.


I’m two cups of coffee deep and have been researching which Netflix series to have on as background noise for an hour. I realise there are three new emails in the office group inbox and panic that my boss knows I’m not made for this home working malarkey.


I freshen my cup of coffee and put a wash on – I mean, I may as well, seeing as I’m at home. This is it… Time to work… No more procrastinating.


FINALLY! At least a solid hour of work has been done and now it’s lunch time. This is far more exciting than my usual ‘cup a soup’ I have at the office. I fry up a bacon sandwich and settle down on the sofa for a full 40-minute episode of Ru Paul’s Drag Race.


Turns out that even with an excessive amount of coffee, it is bloody hard to not fall asleep during the day while in the comfort of your own home. I decide tonight I will clear off the desk in the corner of the living room and use that from tomorrow. I need to have a job when all of this is over!!


I can hear the deep aggravated tones of a man next door. I think I’ve fallen into some neighbourhood gossip and discovered that the lady next door is having a sordid affair, but upon looking out the window I realise her husband’s car is outside and he too has joined the world of remote working. I decide not to mention this to boyfriend when he gets home as I don’t need another lecture about how his being at work will surely infect the whole street.


My boss calls to check everything is going OK. I’m relieved to hear he finds remote working impossible for staying motivated and he has missed our usual old married couple banter. I must admit as much as I love the dogs, they are awful conversationalists.


A sudden influx of email enquiries has caused my quoting system to have a nervous breakdown and kick me out. I call IT and they are not surprisingly even less help than usual.  I call my boss to let him know and we have a 20-minute conversation about last night’s Coronation Street, while my laptop reboots. The ‘turn it off and on again’ approach doesn’t work, he swears about useless technology and we hang up having resolved nothing.


The choir of yapping tells me the teenage girl from next door is arriving home and I wonder if she can hear me screaming at the dogs to shut up.


I text my dad to see how life is, locked in with his 80-year-old parents. He replies to inform me he may go to jail for murder at the end of his 12 week’s isolation.


The dogs let me know they want to go in the garden. They instantly run to the back gate and sound as if they would kill whatever is on the other side. I wonder what would actually happen if their toothless mouths actually came into contact with whatever creature is on the other side of the fence.


Whilst letting the dogs out, I collected the toys they have taken out there in the past few days. I find 9 toys and 3 socks, all covered in mud and soaking wet. As I am a newly proclaimed domestic goddess, I put them straight in the washing machine.


I have officially finished my first day of remote working and decide to get a pasta bake ready for when boyfriend returns from work. He will think I am a queen and have conquered the world of working from home when in actual fact I am a professional procrastinator.


I turn on BBC news to listen to old Bozza give his speech. Watching the news and staying up to date with what’s going on in the world is normally unheard of for me and I realise I am a failure of an adult.


Boyfriend gets home just in time to hear that the schools are closing. We hear the neighbours cheer at the decision. Boyfriend ALMOST wishes we had children so he could now stay home from work, but then he remembers he isn’t a fan of most humans let alone young ones.


Boyfriend has weighed an average teaspoon of coffee and works out that we only have 10 days’ worth if we have 4 cups each a day. He decides this is not enough if we go into isolation, and adds it to the shopping list


Boyfriend has now decided we do not have enough sweets and chocolate in the house. He is so panicked by this he ALMOST has a walk round to the corner shop, but as he is already out of his outdoor clothes and in his pants, he decides the chocolate can wait.

6PM I spend half an hour contemplating whether I have an actual sore throat or if I am just being paranoid. I decide to concentrate on something else before I bring on a panic attack.


One of the dogs coughs, and I research if dogs can catch the virus. The information is they cannot, but I wipe their face with a baby wipe just in case.


Boyfriend joins his friends for some online gaming and I retreat upstairs. I sing songs from Disney’s Mulan while showering and then call my mum for an update on her isolation. She tells me of the old biddies she knows who are refusing to stay in the house, and I tell her she better not get any ideas about leaving.


I have been reading for barely half an hour when my eyes start dropping. I accept that I am in fact an 80-year-old woman trapped in a 28-year-old body, and snuggle up to my furry children for an early night. I promise myself I will be more productive tomorrow.


As I drift off, I jolt awake remembering I have not cleared the desk. I decide it is too late now and I will make the effort before my work begins tomorrow…probably.

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