What My Old Diaries Taught Me About the 'New Normal' of the COVID-19 Pandemic
In a bid to try to put some of the more traumatic elements of my recent past to bed, I recently binned some of my old diaries. (Not before shredding them to within an inch of their lives, of course, because God forbid the bin men should encounter a single mortifying word).
I’ve kept a diary almost religiously since I was around 14, and despite there being little of note happening in my life on a daily basis during my early teens and beyond, I enjoyed recording it for my future self’s eyes only.
It’s a slightly stressful activity in many ways — the mere thought that anyone else would read these ramblings makes my skin itch, and the subsequent offence taken, embarrassment, cringe, and shame felt would undoubtedly be powerful enough to run the national grid for an unlimited number of years.
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