On Sunday I was due to preach on Luke 4:1-13, the temptation. I thought I'd have enough breath control to cope without too much coughing, though I knew that singing would not yet be possible. Mrs Davey, on the other hand, was not due to be released until Monday, one week after she tested positive for covid.
We've effectively lived apart. I've lived in the office and the spare bedroom. There's a small showroom and a toilet. All this on one side of the living room.
On the other side of the living room is our bedroom and an attached bathroom. That's where Pat lived.
The living room was our dirty zone. In there we would wear masks and be careful to wash our hands on entering and leaving. Whenever possible we would leave a window open. There I would prepare lunch and we would yell thanks at each other across the room before going to our own ends to eat.
It all sounds very tedious, and it was. But others have done similar things or worse. A doctor friend in the UK hired a caravan and put it on his driveway so he could isolate in that. The Welsh Prime Minister moved into his garden shed.
Meanwhile Catrin and Froim were both struggling too. I was able to deliver paracetamol and self-tests to them. You can order food deliveries.
So Sunday morning I got out the test and carefully probed, dunked and dripped. Look after 15 minutes and before 20, said the instructions. I looked. Negative ! I could preach.
I'd made a quatre-quarts with chocolate chips - this is a kind of buttery madeira style cake that's very popular in France. It's a sandwich mix - the weight of the eggs in sugar, butter and flour, that you prepare by the creaming method, but then you bake it in a loaf tin for up to an hour. It makes a big cake, so I wanted to take it to church to share.
Encouraged by my test, Pat decided to try. She too was negative!
We both cough. Lots. I am still very restless at night. Pat is incredibly tired.
But we're free !