Ayesha Hazarika
(Picture: Daniel Hambury)I wouldn’t say that my body was a temple — although my middle resembles the dome of a mosque, the closest I get to my religion these days — but I was quietly proud that I had managed to dodge the old Covid for two years. I told myself that despite my very unfashionable Glaswegian beige buffet food habits, deep inside, I was secretly incredibly healthy and had the constitution of an ox. I very much believed the Government when they declared Covid was officially over and threw myself back into life with gusto. Never has a woman been so happy to quaff warm, free wine at a parliamentary reception or to clamber back on the dinner speaking circuit.
Then, two weeks ago, almost two years since the start of the pandemic, it finally got me. I felt like one of the last characters who almost made it across the bridge of death in Squid Game. So close, then splat. Bugger. When it came for me, it came hard.
