My 91-year-old mother has been alone for 12 weeks. I desperately want to visit her

Of course what I really want to do is what I’ve always done: pack a bag, pick up dinner and a bottle of wine from Euston and arrive at my mum’s just in time for a late lunch, writes Jenny Eclair

The writer with her mother before lockdown (Jenny Eclair)

For some reason the past week has been one of the toughest. It all went wrong when I accidentally sprayed my potted roses with weedkiller. As soon as I realised, I frantically hosed down the plants, desperately trying to rinse them clean of the bad stuff. The next day they looked fine but, as my partner explained, it was too early to tell. Apparently the poison travels through the leaf, into the stems and down to the root and that’s when the dying begins. Oh God, why does everything have to be a metaphor for coronavirus?

The next day the weather broke. How typical of the UK that the moment we’re allowed to meet up in groups of six in parks or gardens, the one thing we need on our side decides to play dirty.

Immediately all those plans up and down the country for splurging out on new patio furniture and state of the art barbecues began to crumble – what’s the point in novelty paper plates when heavy showers mean shivering in your coat and peeing in the bushes? Because the whole lavatory thing turns out to be a complete minefield.