To judge by all the the likes I got on Facebook for the last post, as well as the positive comments there and on Twitter, it seems that a lot of people share my mild distaste for the “Post your 10 top breakfasts. No explanations, no comments!” type of post.

Tell us about your favourite breakfast. I’ve just had a croissant with Victoria plum jam.

Why is it that all these “challenges” on Facebook say that you should post the things – movie posters, album covers, artworks – “without comment”? I’d like to know what my friends have to say about the thing in question.

App updates that amuse. Booking.com: “Now you can book taxis…”

Thanks, mates. Get back to me when that’s useful again.

Of course (following on from my previous post), I neglected to mention that Little Britain was never very funny.

In my humble opinion, of course.

Matt Lucas was much better in Doctor Who, and David Walliams was beter in… well, Attachments, if anyone remembers that.

It strikes me that Richard of York’s battle wasn’t in vain, when I see all these rainbow paintings with the colours in the right order.

(Personally, though, I learned the order without learning about Richard.)

Out to the supermarket today, because we were running low on a few things and our next delivery isn’t arriving till Monday. It’s the first time I’ve been out – except to the back garden – since the bike incident. Admittedly that was only four days ago, but like everything now, it feels a lot longer.

And I felt some trepidation about it. The world’s a dangerous place: the very air is dangerous, depending on who you get close to. And some you can’t avoid, because pavements have a finite width, and some people still walk blithely two-abreast, or on their own but down the middle… honestly, people, keep your distance.

In keeping with my recent exhortation, I wore a mask. Just a bandana, but as I said there, anything is better than nothing. And hey, it reminded me of The Clash in the “Bankrobber” video.

Sainsbury’s was fine. A spaced-out queue of about ten people outside, one-in-one-out, and maybe only five people in the shop at once (it’s one of the small Sainsbury branches, I should note). All very well handled

People with and without masks – some kind of face covering, at least – I’d estimate at around 30/70. Some with were also wearing gloves and looking very overheated.

But there’s a feeling of society – there already, and that I think might grow – when you’re masked: you see someone who isn’t, you shy away; while when you see another mask wearer you make eye contact. A small nod passes between you: we’re different. We’re connected. We’re doing something they’re not. Or maybe just, we have the same fears.

On the way back I passed a bus stop, where the only person waiting was an NHS worker on her way to a shift at Homerton Hospital (I assume, because that’s where the bus goes). A month ago I’d have wondered why people wear their staff passes outside of their work. Today it’s a badge of honour.

The only thing about having put my site into a repo in GitHub, which has to be deployed to my server, is that I need to be able to get to the server to deploy it (until I automate that, at least). Still, I’ve just posted this entirely from my iPad.

If you’re seeing this, then the new static version of my site is successfully running on its new server. Details here.

Just been for a bike ride. I think I’ve forgotten how my legs work.

Lots of people out, mostly keeping their distance.

Down to the Olympic Park. Nice view of the Orbit.

Good piece by Margaret Atwood about… what everything’s about, these days.

Any child growing up in Canada in the 1940s, at a time before there were vaccines for a horde of deadly diseases, was familiar with quarantine signs. They were yellow and they appeared on the front doors of houses. They said things such as DIPHTHERIA and SCARLET FEVER and WHOOPING COUGH. Milkmen – there were still milkmen in those years, sometimes with horse-drawn wagons – and bread men, ditto, and even icemen, and certainly postmen (and yes, they were all men), had to leave things on the front doorsteps. We kids would stand outside in the snow – for me, it was always winter in cities, as the rest of the time my family was up in the woods – gazing at the mysterious signs and wondering what gruesome things were going on inside the houses. Children were especially susceptible to these diseases, especially diptheria – I had four little cousins who died of it – so once in a while a classmate would disappear, sometimes to return, sometimes not.