I believe in wearing masks entirely – but seeing them on TV shows reminds me of all we’ve been through

I think I might be getting there. I don’t know about you but during the past week I’ve experienced several fleeting moments of normality.

Call me shallow, but one of the best moments included buying a small yellow vase over the counter from an actual shop – The Conran Shop, to be precise – after a glorious Sunday afternoon mooch, which included actual chatting with charming assistants.

I love Sundays in London, where you can mix and match a trip to a park or garden with a retail chaser. On this occasion, we’d been to Fulham Palace garden, where a delightful walk around the tiny grounds was somewhat marred by a man in his forties who had decided to bring his guitar to a public garden and strum the wretched thing on the lawn.

The great thing about not having to wear masks outdoors is that people can see your face – mine was the picture of appalled horror, and I know this for a fact because I got a mirror out of my handbag and checked.

Of course, masks must still be worn when indoors, something I fear might be the case for a long time to come – and although they’re an overly familiar sight by now, for some reason I’m still struggling with seeing people wearing masks on TV.

The models on the wonderful new series of <em>The Great British Sewing Bee</em>, for example are masked up; whilst the contestants and judges – who are presumably safely bubbled – aren’t. I believe in masks entirely, and wouldn’t dream of not wearing one when required; but I still find their presence on entertainment shows depressing.

After all, masks more than anything symbolise the terrible situation we have all been living through and seeing the Queen at Prince Philip’s funeral – masked up and alone – is an image I don’t think any of us imagined we’d see in our lifetime.

But whilst masks continue to be de rigueur (in England, at least) one can almost dare to imagine that we are seeing light at the end of this very long pandemic tunnel.

My 72-year-old partner was double Pfizered almost three weeks ago, which has lightened a considerable emotional load – and with any luck, I’ll be getting my second AstraZeneca shot in mid-May, which will mean that I will be leaping on buses some time in June.

Until then, just to be on the safe side, I’ve got a couple of packs of DIY testing kits in the cupboard, and I’m checking myself out twice a week.

If you have yet to do a home coronavirus test, I’d encourage you to get yourself sorted – the packs are free and can be obtained very easily online, or from your local chemist. Each pack comes with seven individual testing kits, which include swabs, test tubes and mixing fluids. I can’t think of any nine-year-old who wouldn’t be slightly thrilled by this set-up – it’s all very kitchen laboratory.

Apart from the unattractive retching noises that accompany every “back of the throat” sample, the process is pretty simple – but it’s best to read the instructions through thoroughly before you start.

The testing stick itself took me right back to those nerve-wracking pregnancy testing days, and although weeing isn’t involved, you are still waiting for lines to develop: one for negative, two for positive.

These results come in after half an hour; and although, as we have been warned, lateral flow tests are not 100 per cent reliable, from what I’ve read you’re more likely to get a false positive than a false negative.

If, God forbid, you do get a positive test and can’t imagine how on earth how you got it, it’s best to isolate and get the result checked out by a further PCR test.

Also, don’t be freaked out by a dud kit, either – this has happened to me and you simply have to do another. After your results come through, you need to report them to the NHS and I promise, online is much faster than phone, all you need is your testing kit code, so don’t chuck it away until you’ve finished the paperwork.

For me personally, a series of negative test results have given me some peace of mind, mostly because I feel more in control of what I can allow myself to do.

The other day I was working on some new stand-up material for my (fingers crossed) autumn tour with a director friend. Having both received negative DIY Covid tests, we were able to work together mask-less in the garden without any fear of getting too close; or me being weird about him coming into the house to use the loo and touching my things.

It was in the garden with the sun being kind and a couple of jokes raising a small titter from Herr Director that just for a moment I dared to hope that everything might just be okay.

Of course, later on, when I caught up on the news and the terrible situation in India, all my optimism evaporated – and once again I felt my heart cloud over.