Lockdown survivors’ guide

In the last two weeks I have written two long and very serious pieces about how people and the world are responding to the Covid-19 pandemic. I will write another – to keep a promise. The first was ahead of the lock down.

Half way there?

South Africa is halfway through the period initially set for the country’s lock down. It’s not impossible that we might be forced to stay at home for longer than the 21 days that take us to just after Easter.

Last week, I reflected on how learning to live alone (again) and working from home can be applied to an enforced stay at home.

Ahead of our shutdown and all over the world, it seems, people’s brains fell out of their heads. I know mine did. I went shopping to discover no chicken to be had and when I got home, I added another packet of cornflour to the two (!) already there, among other crazy things…



Anyhow, as I said, we’re half way through our compulsory stay at home and the weather’s turning.

It occurred to me, now that we’re settling into a rhythm, to follow-up to my survivor’s guide to load shedding with a kinda, only half, tongue-in-cheek survivor’s guide to an enforced stay at home.

Fiona’s lock down survival guide

  • Pray the Internet never goes down.
  • Save toilet paper.
  • Ration the wine. *
  • Cut your own hair. If you must. But don’t do it in anger.
  • Stop smoking when the ciggies run out. *
  • Every time you see an item is nearly finished, put it on the shopping list – just in case you lose your brain again when you shop.
  • Save toilet paper.
  • Learn to make natural yeast (see the last but one point).
  • Send your friends virtual flowers.
  • Share a virtual toast – only one sip – with the guys and gals who are independently locked down.
  • Learn to cook without wine.
  • Hold a virtual dinner party: sharing pictures of one’s food is a sure fire way that they visit (or stay away) after lock down is lifted.
  • Try not to kill mother. Uncle Richie died. Auntie Doris is still alive.
  • Save toilet paper.

* In South Africa, the regulations prohibit the sale of alcohol and tobacco.

Until next time, be well
The Sandbag House
McGregor, South Africa

Photo: Selma

Post script

  • This is my cheeky entry into this month’s @yourtop3 contest – now on Hive.
    And before I get into more trouble, here is the list of my actual three must-haves while staying at home: Internet access, toilet paper, and, of course, wine! No explanations required….
    Read more about this month’s contest here
  • I’m participating in blogpal @tracyork’s April challenge of sharing a post every day during April – on the Hive blockchain. I succeeded last year – on Steemit from which the new blockchain “hived off”… and…
  • It seems a good way to constructively use the time during a compulsory lock down, right? For more about this initiative, please check out Traci’s post.

  • If you’d also like to both join the challenge and post from the WordPress platform to the Hive blockchain, sign up here.

Living alone, gigs and working from home: lessons for lock down

In the early 1990’s, after living in Johannesburg for eight years, I moved to Queenstown, a small farming town the Eastern Cape.  It’s probably best known for its schools (my ex-husband-to-be was a teacher), and sheep.  Mostly for wool.  I had no job and although I’d trained to teach, hadn’t.  I didn’t want to.  The upshot was that I had to make work for myself.  At the time, I had a couple of voluntary projects that could move with me,  for which I was getting paid.  They’d be known as side hustles today.  They formed a launch pad for others.


Although the move was one I wanted, I had not anticipated the sense of isolation:  from colleagues, friends and familiar places and spaces.  I had to make a conscious effort to maintain relationships and build new ones.  It was not easy.  At the same time, I baked lemon biscuits.  To sell at a little family-owned cafe in the next village.  They were first to bear the Fiona’s Favourites label.

I digress.

My point –

I had to find a way to earn a living.  The ex-husband-to-be, at that stage, wasn’t even the husband-to-be.

Networks and offices

Just before this life decision happened, I had bought myself a little ICL Elf personal computer and a printer.


It helped with the volunteer work I did and when I occasionally worked at home.  Armed with those and a telephone line, the only other essential was a fax machine – with an answer service.  Home office sorted.  In its own room.

Equipping an office is one thing:   one cannot work when there’s nothing to work on, and nobody with whom to work.  The internet was still science fiction, so communication was in person, by telephone, snail mail and fax.  The social media and mobile phones were beyond imagining.

Fortunately, I had a prodigious network that was a function of both professional and voluntary activities. I had no choice or compunction in using it.  The telephone and professional standing (also recognised in hindsight) were my only allies.

Stick to standard business hours

Once I settled, and folk knew I worked from home, that presented other challenges.  New friends just dropped in for tea or a chat.  They’d be miffed if one answered the phone and interrupted their visit with a work conversation.  They didn’t get it when invitations for fun times were turned down – during work hours.  Working from home is still a job.

Folk began to say that I was very disciplined.  The truth is, that I was not:  I had work to do, and it paid the bills.  I prefer to do it during business hours – when most people also work.  I like having downtime when my friends and family have down time.  Logical, isn’t it?  One doesn’t readily drop into visit a friend at work – during office hours, does one?

So, I established a discipline which has, by and large, defined my working day since 1993:  into the office at around 08h30 or earlier.  Break for lunch – often short, and then back to work.

Understanding one’s body clock

As a child, I always hankered after my own space.  Except for a short spell, when I was about seven (and as punishment), I shared a room.  A room to myself was not punishment.  The real punishment?  Well, that’s a story for another day.  Five years later, I went off to boarding school. This meant sharing a room with three other girls: complete strangers.  I was the only girl from Grahamstown – in the boarding house and in the school.  I adjusted and learned to live quietly in my allotted space.  In my head. Fortunately, seniors were allocated double or single rooms.  A single room was always my aspiration and my eutopia.

Front row, first left: Fiona at 13

Similarly, my not objecting to my mother’s insistence in my going into residence for university, even though we lived in the same town, had less to do with studies the social life than it did with control over my own being space.

There’s a pattern here:  surrounded by people, yet yearning for my own space and devising strategies to make it so.  It’s a pattern I only recognised years later.

When I started work, I left Grahamstown and moved to Johannesburg.  After a very short stint in a house share, I moved into my own apartment.  My criteria included not living (cooking, entertaining) and sleeping in the same room. If I could avoid it.  I have very fond memories of that first apartment, even though it was more than a little down at heel.  After six months I moved into a house share again. It was also short lived and after about nine months, I went in search of an apartment with similar criteria. Again, I have very happy memories of that apartment and those times in the glory days of my youth.

I lived alone until I was nearly thirty and moved to Queenstown.

However, there’s a big difference between choosing to be alone and, for want of a better way of putting it, ending up alone.  The latter, for most people, is the consequence of the end of a significant relationship, and it presents a new set of challenges.

Living alone, working from home

After settling in Queenstown, the ex-husband-to-be and I (reluctantly) moved to Cape Town.  The “ex” bit came to pass and I was living alone again.  It was not a prospect that filled me with horror.  On the contrary, I relished the idea.  I was, however,  very conscious of the potential pitfalls of working from home, for myself, and living in the same space.  Again, I made some conscious decisions that have stood me in good stead:

Get up, get dressed and go to work.

In other words, have a routine and a space that is dedicated to work work, i.e. the drudge for which you are paid. The Husband, when we first got together, was fascinated that I would not just get dressed, I’d do the work gear and war paint thing.  Even if I didn’t have a meeting.  It was part of taking myself seriously.

Get out at least once a day.  Even if it’s just a walk around the block or to the corner shop.
Don’t eat breakfast or supper at your desk.
Stop work at a reasonable time – overtime happens – but don’t make it a habit.
If something’s not finished, that’s not just ok, it’s good.

Unless, of course, there’s a looming deadline.   I’ve learned that if I go back to that unfinished work outside my peak time (you’ll read about this below), the synapses do their thing because there is a foundation on which to build.  A good night’s sleep gives perspective and a fresh eye.

In that framework, develop a system that works with your brain’s best times to work.

Change the routine for weekends and time out. This is contrary to what sleep experts say, but over the weekends, I wouldn’t set the alarm clock.  I’d wake up when I woke up.  Sometimes I’d have breakfast in bed. Sometimes I’d take myself out. I’d mooch about, read, get a video (yes, it was that long ago) entertain and, generally have a weekend.

Have a social life fun and treat yourself

Last but not least:  enjoy life and the odd treat. Why deprive yourself just because you’re on your own?  Why not have good coffee, or a glass of nice wine with your dinner?   That was one of my resolutions:  in my first single life, I didn’t have alcohol in the house unless I was entertaining.  In my second single life, I consciously decided that I would enjoy a glass of wine with my dinner.

Understanding one’s peak learning times

At boarding school, our compulsory study time was from around 4 pm until about 8.30 pm with a break for supper.  For some reason, that time would just whizz past.  Homework and study were a breeze.  I didn’t think much of it at the time.  At university, when everyone else was studying during the morning, it was all I could do to stay awake.  I resented my concentration being broken for supper – our main meal.  In those days, we had set meal times, at long tables.  If you were not there, you didn’t eat.  There was no keeping meals for students, nor was there a possibility of dining earlier or later, let alone collecting supper and eating it in one’s room.  I studied best when most of my peers were watching TV or down at the pub.  Good thing I was mostly socially rather shy and awkward.

It was only when I was an online writing tutor, twenty odd years later, that I became aware of the notion of peak learning times.  Analysing one’s study habits was a standard topic of the Writing 101 papers that I reviewed.  Then I discovered Howard Gardener’s 1992 Theory of Multiple Intelligences.  Suddenly,  things fell into place and structuring my working day significantly impacted on my creativity and productivity.  It’s why you still find me in the office “in the zone” between 4 and 7 pm.  It’s 5.22 pm as I write this sentence.

Lessons for Lock Down

Today is day nine of our lock down in South Africa.  As things stand, we should be able to get out and about on April 17.  However, that’s not cast in stone.  Although the curve is still rising, it’s not as steep, but as we enter week two, that’s likely to change.  And there are other challenges and it’s not impossible that the lock down will continue after April 17.

My takeaways from having lived alone and worked from home for nearly thirty years:

  • Consciously take control and make decisions – even in the limited constraints of enforced confinement.
  • Create structure which gives you purpose (however banal) and a routine:
      • Do get dressed – even if it’s just into schloomf  clothes.  Do make your bed.
      • Plan to do at least one thing every day.  Do it.  If you’re not working, that could be anything from cleaning out a cupboard to doing the ironing or starting a free online course.
  • If you’re allowed to leave your property to go for a walk, do.   We aren’t.
  • Cook and eat a proper meal once a day.  Even if it’s just for you.  Make meals you enjoy and if you’re worried about waste, make enough for a second helping. Freeze it or have it for lunch.  I used to have cook-ups and portion meals to re-heat or to reconstitute into “leftover dishes”.  As I still do.
  • Talk (not text) to at least one human being every day – either on the phone or video chat.  Hear a voice, see another person.  Get that virtual hug you need.

Bringing things into the 21st century

That the Internet and the social media have shrunk the world is no more evident than in this time.  It also makes us aware of how important physical touch is, and how often we do.  A handshake; a pat on the arm; a nudge and a wink. We took them all for granted.

I have a love hate relationship with the social media.  I’ve often acknowledged that our move to McGregor defined my relationship with Facebook.  I was able to share our journey with those dear and not near.  I won’t befriend anyone with whom I haven’t formed a profound connection outside that forum and with whom I’d happily share a glass of wine.

All of that said, in this time of lock down, the social media make a big difference to folk isolated and on their own.  Just today, I heard of an eighty year old who’s just discovered Facebook and connecting with friends and relatives all over the world.  WhatsApp has connected me with my son’s mother.  We’ve been friends for more than thirty years and our brief interactions only miss the tea and lemon biscuits we shared when we both lived in the same apartment block all those years ago.

I’m in awe of what folk are doing and I am delightedly embracing some of these – for fun, and for my own mental health:

  • A dear friend in the village, who’s in lock down on her own, started a WhatsApp group of Independently Locked down people.  In the group are those of us who’d connect – and hug – at least once a week.  Her daily, or twice (sometimes thrice), lock down jam, the serious and not-so-serious group chats with the attendant repartee, keep us in touch.  Out of sight is definitely not out of mind.  We also share evening toasts and a virtual breaking of bread.
  • A foodie friend and chef – also in the village – has started what’s for dinner on Facebook.  It’s a small group of mostly foodies and village friends, and friends of friends and has a world wide reach.  There’s ribaldry and recipes all in one group.  And real learning.  I’m trying my hand at making a sour dough mother….
  • Also on Facebook, and further reaching, is What do you see from your window? #StayAtHome which is forcing us to look out: potentially with a different lens.  Some people’s circumstances are gut-wrenching and, the messages of support heartfelt.  I guess, right now, it’s all we are able to do.

The first two often make me laugh, the second is teaching me things too, and the third reminds me that the majority of humanity is confined to quarters.  All are helping me to retain some semblance of sanity and a little more “outside” The Sandbag House.

Every day feels like Sunday

From inside The Sandbag House, every day has the feel of a Sunday.  There’s no real reason to get up.  The village streets are mostly deserted;  there are few passersby, and only sporadic agricultural traffic.

McGregor’s main road on day 2 of our lock down. It’s never this deserted. Even mid-week when the village is at its quietest.

The village is full of the sound of birds and frogs that click and croak.  As it was when we first started visiting the village nearly 15 years ago.  It’s wonderful.  It’s awful.

We, too, need to keep some semblance of routine.  I have to come to the office:  check mail, go online and do what I normally do – or try.  Obviously, there’s no Saturday market so I’m preparing one person, one dish meals for folk who can’t cook and who are assessed as at risk and in need.  I’m grateful to make even a small contribution as well as for the little bit of money it will earn.

Provencal Chicken on the ready

It’s hard to establish a rhythm and routine when you are locked in, and the only creature nagging you to get up is the cat.  Even when there are two of you, and you’re used to being at home and working from home.

That one is not permitted to leave the house does things to one’s head.

Acknowledge it. Then make it a project or series of projects.  I have a mental list.  I hope I have time to finish them all.

Until next time, be well
The Sandbag House
McGregor, South Africa

Photo: Selma

Post script

  • I’m participating in blogpal @tracyork’s April challenge of sharing a post every day during April – on the Hive blockchain.  I succeeded last year – on Steemit from which the new blockchain “hived off”…I’m already behind, and hope to catch up….
  • Seems a good way to constructively use the time during a compulsory lock down, right?  For more about this initiative, please check out Traci’s post.

  • If you’d also like to both join the challenge and post from the WordPress platform to the Hive blockchain, sign up here.

Gigs, Headlines and Sound Bites – in the time of Covid-19

Where to begin?

That I’ve been working in the gig economy since before it was a “thing”?

Or that I have been self-employed for nearly thirty years, effectively selling my time expertise to clients that are prepared to pay for it?

Notice I didn’t say value?  Because often it wasn’t valued.  Particularly in the last few years that I worked in my preferred sector.  That’s how it goes.  It’s fine – mostly.  What it does mean is that one is always looking for the next project hustle and one is only as successful as the last job.  Events over the last few years, including the last part of the Zuma era necessitated a change in direction.  I reinvented myself.    The details of those 25-odd years are not important.  But, if you’re that interested…  The point, however, is this:  if I do not work, I do not earn.  I cannot remember the last time I actually had a salary.  It’s been feast or famine and, by and large, I’ve got by.

No pity party

On March 5th, 2020, South Africa had its first positive diagnosis for Covid-19.  Like the rest of the world, we’ve been watching its rampant spread.  It’s been like a pall descending on us all. The Novel Corona virus has dominated discourse for the last ten weeks as more than a hundred South Africans clamoured to come home from Wuhan.  They touched down on March 8th and went into 21 days’ quarantine.

My primary gigs are in the tourism sector which has already taken two knocks:  the drought and the economic downturn.  One client’s entire business depends on inbound tourism from Germany.  Two and a bit weeks ago, cancellations began exacerbating an already evident drop off in international and local tourists – because of Covid-19.  Oh, and this client does value my work.  If I could work for them, and not charge, I would.

On Sunday, 15 March, 2020, South Africa’s President declared a national disaster.  That, in turn, was ten days following the positive diagnosis of patient zero.  Who has, incidentally, recovered.  As has another.  The virus is a rampaging one and the curve in this country is still rising:  554 – more than 100 more in 24 hours.


If my undergraduate population and health geography, with a smattering of epidemiology, tells me anything:  the numbers (curve) will continue to rise – exponentially – for a while.  The number went from 60 to 113 in our province in just two days.  There are predictions that one million South Africans will get the virus.  The declaration of a national disaster enabled the government to do a range of things:  release funds; restrict activities – social and economic.  International travel has all but been prohibited with the revocation of all visitors’ visas.

Two weeks ago, I had a rant about the panic and paranoia and in that post I included links to information from reputable sources like the World Health Organisation and the Center for Disease Control in Atlanta.  Including this graphic and good advice:

The President’s announcement included these new etiquettes for greeting and for coughing and was smartly followed by a slew of regulations.  Among these was social (physical) distancing with increased and more rigorous hygiene practices.  And:

  • the prohibition of gatherings of more than 100 people (including weddings, funerals, church services, etc.)
  • the prohibition of the sale of alcohol after 6 pm on weekdays and after 1 pm on Sundays and public holidays.  When they restaurants and pubs were open, they could not have more than 50 patrons on the premises at any one time

Travel, other than essential, local and international, air, as well as mass (train, bus and minibus taxi), was discouraged.  Businesses were not shut down and we were not told encouraged to stay at home.  In other words, South Africa was not in lock down. Or wasn’t when I started writing this two days ago.  It is now. Or will be, effective at midnight on Thursday 26 March.  From Friday, 27 March, we may not leave our homes for anything other than food and medical care.  The first day we will hopefully be able to set foot out of the house will be Friday 17 April.

Why lock down makes sense

Forcing everyone to stay at home makes sense for a number of reasons other than the containment – and potential cleansing – of the virus.  Firstly, it deals with the miscreants who did not respect social distancing or practice good hygiene.  Before we were in lock down, we were asked to stay more than 1,5 m from each other and not to crowd places.  Some people did.  A lot of people did.  Just as many, if not more, didn’t.  Similarly, the sanitising of surfaces and hands was, at best, patchy.  Secondly, it deals with the fear and potential stigma:  we’re all in the same boat.

As an almost aside, you may want to read this in which former journalist, Janette Bennett, reflects on how unthinkingly one can contribute to stigma and how we might well be doing something similar now.

Let’s not.

It’s not only about the elderly

We live in a small village (about 9,000 people including the surrounding farms) and many in the more affluent part of the community are older – in the acknowledged high risk group.  There are other folk in the village whose immune systems are challenged for a range of medical reasons.  I understand their fear and concern. Prior to lock down, it was appropriate for them to retreat and self-isolate.

There are people whose immune systems are compromised by diabetes, life-giving immuno-suppressant drugs, hypertension, chemotherapy, and other underlying medical conditions.

Not included in that group are people living with HIV.  They all have compromised immune systems.  Whether or not they receiving treatment.  The South African numbers:

SA population with HIV Source

What do these numbers tell us?

A significant proportion of South Africa’s population of nearly 59 million, have compromised immune systems.  They are HIV+.  In 2018, 7,7 million people were living with HIV and 20.4% of these were between 15 and 49 years old, and 240 000 people were newly infected with HIV.  Of that 7,7 million, 62.67% were women:  child-bearers and carers.  Of greater concern, is the proportion of these who are HIV+ and who were also being treated for tuberculosis: 57.0% in 2017 (Source).  I’ll come back to this.

The risks are real.

A friend from the UK cut her visit short as it became clear that things were worsening at home.  Not just because her visa was revoked.  Her parents are elderly and not well.  Our neighbours who spend every other weekend here (they live in Cape Town), have just returned from Australia went and are in compulsory self-isolation.  Most of which time they tell me, has been on the beach.  In fresh air. Their two weeks ends as the lock-down begins.  That means a total of five weeks for them.  The UK is now in lock down.  A friend who lives there says he is concerned that it will be like Italy.  I fear so.  I pray not.

Social distancing and staying at home

All the authorities say that social distancing and good hygiene, especially hand-washing, will stop the spread of the virus. The first set of regulations didn’t prohibit people from taking a walk or from going to work if they had to.   The new regulations will stop that, but shops will stay open:  people must buy food and supplies.  Not everyone has the luxury of online shopping. We must still stay 1,5 m or more away from each other.  That is more than sensible.

Who are the people who cannot stay at home?  Obviously, the medical professionals, carers and staff of associated services.  Who else?

Let’s begin with the people whom, until last night’s statement from the President, were not considered.  They will all run the risk of exposure;  some more than others:

  • the people who provide food:  grow it, pack, process and deliver our online orders
  • the people who must ensure that our utilities (running water, lights) continue to work.  In the village that includes the guys who operate the “honey sucker” what empties our conservancy tanks.  The majority of the village does not have water borne sewerage
  • shop keepers:  the cashiers, shelf-packers and, of late, the folk designated to sanitise our hands, trolleys (shopping carts)
  • the media on whom we depend for reliable information about the pandemic – among other things

Infographics – not all they’re cracked up to be

A little bit of knowledge is a dangerous thing.  As is not properly engaging with the information that’s out there.  Just focusing on the headlines and sound bites fosters fake news and conspiracy theories.  Conspiracy theories and fake news happen when you’re not paying attention.  They spread like wildfire.  Often courtesy of people who come in on the back end of conversations on radio talk shows and who share infographics like this one which popped up on my Facebook timeline:

No source. No date. Just vomit on to a timeline.

The person posting drew attention to the differences between just China and Italy, and specifically the death and recovery rates.  Then, there was a raft of comments about deliberately misleading data from China, and, and, and…

It’s the old story of damned lies and statistics, coupled with the 21st century penchant human tendency that just reads the headlines.  Add to that the proclivity to only be concerned about one’s own ilk – similar age, race, gender, etc. – our friends and family.  This is why I talked about that “unseen” group of people.  Their HIV+ status means that they also live with the constant threat of opportunistic conditions.  The one about which we know most is Tuberculosis (TB).  It is a notifiable disease and is the leading natural cause of death in South Africa (Source).  The table below shows the highest national incidence of TB by province and district – with my notes on what are the likely contributory factors.  The overriding one is poverty.

Incidence of TB by province and district with the highest incidence. Source

I just bored you with another of my own infographics.  It tells very little of the detail – even with my notes;  I do, however, cite my sources.  That said, my infographic doesn’t drill down into very important information like:  gender (sex if you will), age, education, income, etc. which would tell one a whole lot more than my annotations.  I deliberately chose TB to reiterate the point that the same group of people susceptible to TB, are likely to be HIV+.  Ergo:  South Africa has a huge number of people who are extremely vulnerable to Covid-19.  They are not in the acknowledged high risk group.

So what?

A significant number of people are ignoring these facts and retreating into their own bubbles of paranoia.  This is important because the cohort I talk about, is by and large, a silent majority.  They do not have the luxury of working from home, online shopping, and/or shopping at all.  South Africa’s unemployment rate sits at 29% (source).  Those who work, support on average another 15 people (source).

How many of you skipped the last paragraph to just look at this headline?

TL:DNR? For the uninitiated that’s too long; did not read.

Shame on you!  That’s how conspiracy theories and fake news begin.

Let’s return to Italy, and my freak-out about that Facebook post:

The facts about Italy:

  • Italy has the oldest population in Europe, with about 23% of residents 65 or older
  • The average age 47.3;  in China, it’s 37 (source)
  • Many of Italy’s deaths have been among people in their 80s and 90s


So what’s my point?

The China-Italy infographic didn’t include that level of detail.  The initial comment, and the responses, were based on only half the story and there was little apparent effort to consider what the other half of the story might be.

We’re all human, so we filter everything based on our own experience, realities and fears.  It’s how we hear things. It’s how we absorb information.  Then we judge.  On top of that, most of us don’t bother to read the small print.  What’s more, it seems that in times of high emotion and panic, most people lose their ability to think clearly.  I admit, I do.

Daniel in the Lion’s Den

Remember, I said we live in a small village?  On a Saturday there is a market.  It’s held out in the open.  On busy days, there must be a maximum of 100 people there – including stall holders.  It lasts all of an hour and a half to two.  The stallholders decided to continue with the market last Saturday – with the appropriate precautions for hand sanitising and social distancing.  The community was notified via a Facebook post.  There is a public group and a private group.  The overriding tone of the comments – in the private group – was that we were being irresponsible.  Made, ironically, by people who rarely, if ever, come to the market.  There is a symbiosis between stall holders and regulars, so cancelling the market could equally have been seen as irresponsible.  Nobody went there.

The market – in 2015 – before the drought, the economic downturn and Covid-19

I went to the market feeling rather like Daniel must have felt going into the lion’s den.  That the regulars arrived to do their weekly shop vindicated the decision.  However, as things unfolded in subsequent days, it became clear that the emotional energy associated with trying to counter the paranoia and ignorance swim against the stream, just wasn’t worth it.

Then there was yesterday’s Presidential announcement.  The decision was made for us.  However, the question then is:  how does one serve those who depend on your offering?

I’ll get back to you on that.

This does, however, bring me back to where I started.  I am not alone in having lost gigs as a consequence of Covid-19.  The new regulations provide for registered businesses, but not freelancers working in the gig economy.

So, despite Covid-19, I am looking for my next hustle – in the kitchen, online or wherever – within the prescripts of the lock down.  Somehow, we must get by.

Until next time, be well
The Sandbag House
McGregor, South Africa

Photo: Selma

Post Script

I am planning share how I adapted to working alone and from home. Before the advent of the Internet, and how cyberspace has made it more than possible.

In addition to WordPress I blog on a number of platforms:

  • Hive, an offshoot a fork of Steem where I have blogged for nearly three years.   Both are crypto, social network and blogging platforms.
  • From Steem, which I post from WordPress using a plugin.  If you’d also like to use your  WordPress blog to earn crypto by publishing to a block chain, join us by clicking the link below.

  • To find out more, please contact me on Discord.
  • Should you join the either the Hive or Steem platforms, you are welcome to contact me on Discord and be sure to look out for The Terminal – a dynamic team of folk who will happily guide you through the apparent quagmire of blogging on blockchain.
  • Instagram is a mostly visual platform where I post microblogs about fluff:  usually food and the cats as well as posts that sometimes promise hint about future WordPress posts.