Covid Diaries

By Liz Hunt

Molly and I isolating in what was known as the ‘beach house’

Photography by Eibhlin Lee

I have to first apologise for bringing the Covid into the sphere but it is quite fitting to my six and a half days in isolation. While I refuse to further discuss the Covid matter at hand, I feel it is only right to capitalise on my experience. Tuesday eve, I was experiencing some questionable symptoms but I blamed it on the boogie. I was pacing around a college bar 12 hours previous without a frock to my name so I was surely just experiencing post cocktail fever. As the night brewed, so did these foreign substances in my body. I was greeted with a cryptic message from the HSE that notified me of my lease of absence. Once the novelty of having Covid had worn off and my phonebooked had been extended. The hottest day of the year was upon us and I was feeling 70 degree burns. My visions of a 10 day retreat with my best friend soaking up the valachian sun rays had well and truly vanished.  

After a few days of flu-like symptoms, it was time to level up. The loss of my taste and smell was on the horizon. Day 3 I took it upon myself to challenge my endangered taste buds. My first destination was the onion cabinet, an obvious choice some would say but I knew it was what had to be done. As I write this from across the pond I still get flashbacks of that deadly bite. Day 10 we were released back into the wild, our first destination: Gala.