Plague diary — week 13. There is a strong temptation to conclude the plague diary, since things (touch wood) seem to be shifting rapidly towards normal. That said, my own definition of "normal" will only officially register when I am again enjoying a special platter with a glass of sangiovese at Magica Roma, and bantering with the bearish sommelier, Marco, about the merits of small-cap shares.

Still, I was hugely grateful to be legally on court last week. I fitted in 14 sets of tennis, unrepentantly slicing and dicing my way to a satisfactory 65% win rate. But I did earn a blistered hand, which might be the price of regular hand sanitising (which has left my previously calloused palms rather delicate). It’s also incredible how the footwork goes after a lengthy layoff, those so-called short muscles deactivated by too many hours of jogging and hiking...

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