This morning “The writer” wakes certain that we shouldn’t, mustn’t, venture outside the door any more. He has dreamed about marauding gangs in the parks and since there are already reports of thefts of food and refrigerators, it appears not unlikely – though what they’d be after in the parks, I’m not sure. I’m committed to agreeing so I don’t try to dissuade him and, instead, work out how not to lose what remaining muscle I have without daily walks. Our “trainer”, whom “The Writer” more accurately dubs our “stretcher”, comes – came- twice a week to inflict mild torture and teach us T’ai Chi routines, one of which that involves opening and closing a fan while twirling and stamping and which “The Writer ” refuses to do on the grounds that it makes him feel silly. I feel sillier, having been trying and failing to learn a simple sequence of steps for over a year. I decide to do my 10,000 steps walking up and down the sitting room. This involves pulling back the heavy rug, moving the television and trying to avoid creaking floorboards as “The Writer” is working like a maniac. I realise, half- way through the second lap, that I won’t be able to keep this up for a week- let alone a year. I decide to do my 10,000 steps walking up and down the sitting room. This involves pulling back the heavy rug, moving the television and trying to avoid creaking floorboards as “The Writer” is working like a maniac. I realise, half- way through the second lap, that I won’t be able to keep this up for a week- let alone a year.