8.30am Wake up and extricate myself from bed.
10am Have watched an hour of YouTube videos about my personality type (INFJ). I am a parody of myself at this point.
11am Spent the last hour on the Vodafone Live Chat with ‘Zak’. I keep trying to get him to tell me when I can cancel my contract with a fee, but he’s hesitant to give me the exact date. Keeps trying to make me stay. I’ve never had someone fight so hard to keep me before; catch myself thinking that it is almost romantic. No, I chide myself, it is harassment. No means no. Then I have to chide myself again – this isn’t romantic or harassment, it’s a conversation with a poor university student who loses his commission if I leave Vodafone.
11.30am Zak makes me an offer I can’t refuse. £5 under budget, all the data I need and a great phone with no up front cost. Fine, I tell him, you’ve convinced me.
11:35am He tells me they actually don’t have that phone in stock after all. Ask boyfriend and flatmate what I should respond. Boyfriend suggests, “You’re breaking my balls, Zak!” and flatmate chimes in with, “You’re twisting my melons!”. I go with a simple horrified emoji, you know, the one that looks like Munch’s The Scream.
11.40am Zak tries to sell me on another, worse phone for the same price, but he knows he’s fighting a losing battle. I google a comparison of the two phone and the first thing I find is “the Samsung A50 is better than the A40 in almost every area”. Bye, Zak.
12pm Why is talking to mobile phone providers always such a harrowing experience? I need a gin.
12:10pm I don’t have a gin, it is maybe worth pointing out, even though it is Sunday in the middle of a pandemic. I congratulate myself on my superhuman powers of restraint.
2:30pm Flatmate gets back from his Run 5 / Donate 5 / Nominate 5 run. He doesn’t look like he had fun. He tags me but stipulates “for when your foot’s not fucked”. He also tags the Pope, so I’m glad that I won’t be the only one who doesn’t do it straight away.
6.30pm Lovely walk round Hampstead Heath. Walk through Frognal on the way there and get to play the game of ‘omg isn’t that an incredible house, how many millions do you think that one is worth?’.
7pm Aperol Spritzes when we get home, and I settle down to finish a book edit for tomorrow.
9pm Have another banging headache as we settle down to watch Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, an enjoyable film with no discernible plot. Dehydrated or caffeine withdrawal? You decide.