My alarm sounded at 7:00 AM, but I indulged in a short snooze before finally stirring. The morning meal arrived at 7:30 AM, presenting the usual, except for a fruit yoghurt for a nice change. To my dismay, it again included a banana, my new nemesis.
By this point, I had developed a systematic approach to survival: a strategic pile of used and cleaned cutlery stored in a glass with the salt and pepper, and a three-bottle water rotation system - refilling from the bathroom and chilling in the fridge.
A moment of self-reflection brought a wry smile; remembering that naive man who, four days ago, would put the water bottle in the bag for collection. I retreated to bed until just after 9:00 AM, needing the extra rest.
The three-bottle water rotation system
The morning’s work presented a challenge with a supplier, but a significant victory arrived with the sale of a nice client project.
Conscious of the previous day's light-headedness, I attempted to drink a lot more water, even when I didn’t feel thirsty.
Hunger struck early, and by 11:30 AM I gave in and raided my emergency stash, slurping down a pot noodle to tide me over until lunch.
My emergency and treat pantry
The official meal eventually arrived at 12:30 PM: an unidentifiable soup that only became edible after an aggressive amount of seasoning, paired with a chicken baguette.
After lunch I allowed myself the luxury of an hour stretched out in front of the TV - a necessary, almost decadent pause in the middle of the working day. In quarantine, even the smallest indulgences carried disproportionate weight, and this one felt particularly well earned.
The afternoon’s work came in fits and starts; bursts of activity followed by long stretches of quiet. Somewhere in the middle of that uneven rhythm, a surprising thought emerged: I’m actually looking forward to tonight’s meal.
I had no idea what it would be, and past experience suggested disappointment was the safer bet. But the simple fact of anticipating it - of having something, anything, to break up the day - was almost comforting.
I chatted with my friend Gabi, who lived in the United States, and with Laura, when they both woke up around 2:00 PM UK time, connecting with the outside world for some normality.
Another of my rapid flow tests yielded a negative result, followed by the anticipated dinner. It was chicken curry with rice followed by cheesecake, which arrived at 6:10 PM. Announced by the usual paper rustling sound, on the other side of the door, and a single knock.
Chicken curry with a sensible rice portion
A very colourful cheesecake
The day ended late, with sleep finally arriving around 1:00 AM after a long, lovely chat with Laura. We talked about the possibility of meeting again in Aruba, and even about one day living together in the UK.
They were distant dreams, hazy and uncertain, but in that moment they felt grounding - a reminder that there was more to look forward to beyond these four walls. Holding onto those thoughts helped me to let go of the day and drift into sleep.
If you want to know the full story of how I ended up in this hotel room, the complete book is available now.
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