Even though I'm supposed to be in Sydney this weekend and I'm not. Even though I'm supposed to be seeing Hamilton, The Musical this afternoon and I'm not. Even though I'm meant to be catching up with relatives and I'm not. Even though I'm not getting to do all those wonderful things, I'm secretly glad to be at home, in lockdown again (I'm calling this one chocdown for the amount of chocolate I'm eating to stay sane).

It means I get to spend time in my beautiful house with my beautiful people, doing things like napping on the couch with our beautiful cats.

How can that be a bad thing?