Seven weeks ago, while passing the pelican cabaret in St. James’s Park, “The Writer” and I were discussing Covid-19.

“Absolutely the only way to be a hundred percent safe”, I suggested , assuming it was a preposterous idea, ” is to lock oneself in and not come out until there is a vaccine”

“Right, said my husband, “Then that’s what we’ll do.” And that’s what we did. We have depended on food deliveries, seen two people on neighbouring terraces, talked to groups of friends and our trainer on Zoom and FaceTime, and exercised both in the house and by walking up and down the terrace. We have not been outside our front door since that day.

We agreed then, that if one of us feels strongly about something Covid-related, the other would go along with it, and my husband felt, and continues to feel, very strongly, that we should keep ourselves as safe as possible. Most of our friends take advantage of their daily exercise but they are not in London. And things are undoubtedly worse in London.

What we never did on that first day, was agree our criteria for going out into the world again. I’m not talking about the Government’s easing of Lockdown. That’s irrelevant. We, not the government, decided we would not take our hour’s exercise outside and we, not the Government, must decide when we are prepared to change our own rule.

When I first broached the idea, a few weeks ago, that we should discuss our exit strategy, my husband said that, for him, it would be when the hospitals were not so pressured as to be on the point of collapse, that there should be spare capacity in Critical Care units and that the death rate should be falling.

I felt this was reasonable and agreed.

It seems to me these criteria have now been more or less met and I would like to go out. My husband doesn’t feel they have, is perfectly happy exercising on the terrace and can’t understand my urgency. I realise that “I just want to go out now” is not a convincing argument but I am worried he may be nearing the foothills of agoraphobia.

I point out to him that there is no need for both of us to go out. I am perfectly happy to walk in the park or round the streets on my own – in fact would rather do so. He is a few years older than me, therefore slightly more at risk. He is male, therefore slightly more at risk and he is naturally a more anxious person – though I’m bad enough. I would far rather go alone than be responsible for making him feel uncomfortable or nervous. I’m pretty anxious myself but I can deal with that.

I’m sorry to put this pressure on him but now I worry that if we don’t take the plunge, there may never be a reason to go out again.

But there is our pact to consider. If I continue to cajole, leave optimistic statistical reports lying around the house, chat, casually, about our friends’ happy excursions into local shops, I’m breaking it by emotional blackmail. And suppose I persuade him to go out and the worst happens, and he catches it and is terribly ill or worse, it would be my fault and I couldn’t live with that. And, if he did suddenly agree, would I panic and be too scared to open the front door?

To sum up: I can’t break the Marital Pact. So welcome to another few weeks(?), months(?), years(?), of this Lockdown blog.

Meanwhile, I think I’m staying relatively sane, compared to some!