Later, quietly contented by the satisfying sight of an empty ironing basket, I sat in the living room, enjoying the silence, watching the ducks pootle around the pond. A local heron paid us a visit and spent hours majestically paddling around at the far end, taking gourmet liberties with the poor goldfish. Cedric channelled his inner David Attenborough, finding the best angles to film these aquatic antics. It’s rare to see the heron in our garden, especially for prolonged periods of time, and I’m certain his presence is directly related to the virtual absence of outside human activity. There’s also far less noise pollution than usual; fewer cars on the roads, fewer trains. Flights in and out of nearby Geneva airport have practically ceased. It’s wild.

You know those questions about what you would take with you, or who you’d like to be with if you were to be marooned on a desert island? Lying in bed last night, trying to not let my brain whirlwind itself mental over this whole Coronavirus disaster, my neurones randomly landed on these questions. I’d never really thought about it before; not seriously, at least. I mean, sure, there was probably a pathetic moment years ago when I fantasied about getting stranded somewhere turquoise and white with my favourite popstar, armed with sparkling conversation, flickety hair, and a toilet bag overflowing with cosmetics.