In Red List Quarantine - part 2, detention centre
We are in a box, with 2 single beds, 1 upright chair, 1 armchair. The rest is a basic counter, cupboard, 2 shelves, and small wardrobe. And a TV, on the wall opposite the beds. Because the room is so small, neither chair can face the TV. The armchair is tucked into a corner. The upright chair has an upholstered seat, which has obviously been used as a trampoline by a weightlifter. The counter is work desk, dressing table, and (one at a time) dining table.
The lack of a table is lessened by having all our meals delivered to our door in brown paper bags with plastic disposable cutlery. Today's lunch bag has a main course, a tub of salad, a carton of juice and a piece of fruit - photo of fruit to be sent to a gardener friend for identification. A younger relative tells me it is quite normal to eat takeaways from the boxes they are delivered in. Plates, it appears, are old-fashioned.
Our attempts to get moved to a larger room have failed. The hotel has no larger rooms. Interconnecting? Sorry, none available. Family rooms? Sorry, all occupied. A different hotel? Well, I must speak to CTM. CTM say I must ring NHS 119, whose menu doesn’t have any relevant options. And now CTM have blocked my number, so my next 4 calls don’t connect at all.
But the weightlifter’s chair has been replaced with one used by a small gymnast. I can still feel the wooden frame but there is some bounce in the seat. I have shoved the twin beds together and there is now room for a second armchair, which (hooray) faces the TV.
And my sister is packing a bag with plates, cutlery, fairy liquid, extra glasses, (so the toothmugs stay in the bathroom) and snacks. I’m wondering if anyone has a small table-top fridge I can borrow? The hotel (kind, but terrified of putting a foot wrong and so losing their Home Office contract) can store my insulin in their fridge, but I’m pretty sure they will lose it.
Day TWO
My sister phones. She has left a bag with the front desk, and is parked by a gate to the hotel car park. This, we can see from our window, is also the prison exercise yard, the bin yard and the smoking area. We ask to be escorted down for our daily exercise.
A nice young female guard escorts us, past 3 guards on our corridor, 4 at the bottom of the lift, 3 by the door to the car park, each recording our names and room numbers, to the yard.
A guard at the gate tells us we cannot speak to my sister, who is standing on the pavement outside. Why? Because you are not allowed to talk. Why, we are 12 feet apart, and there is a closed gate? Because that is our orders. It is not in OUR info pack. Nothing about not talking to someone in the street. But the G4S functionary shouts us down and prevents any conversation, interposing himself between us and my sister, who goes away, very upset that after 18 months she is not able to even speak to her mother through a fence. Apparently the rules say “ no visitors”. My sister is standing on the pavement of a public road, and we are inside the locked gate.
Day THREE
Mum tests the system. She takes her book, marches out of the room to the lift. The guards remonstrate but don’t touch her. She settles into an armchair in the lobby and reads. 2 guards try to persuade her to move, but she stands (sits) firm. Finally they call for senior help and (so she tells me) after giving him a telling off on the pointlessness of his rules she appreciates the word "fine” and beats an orderly retreat.
Back in our room she says she is going on hunger strike. Fortunately the next brown paper bag contains a quite tempting meal and we now have plates and cutlery.
We had been given our “menu” at the beginning of the week and asked to make our choices for the duration. Tuesday is an improvement on Monday
Breakfast: Bread, carton of juice, long-life yogurt A: Omelette (sic) with peppers, mushroom and onion B: Cereal, peppers, mushrooms and onion
Lunch: A: Minted Moroccan lamb, Naan Or B: Tandoori chicken, Naan Or C: Hummus and veg, Naan Salad, Crisps, Lemon cake
Dinner A: Salmon fillets, new potatoes & broccoli Or B: Lamb Curry, Basmati Rice & Veg medley Or C: Mushroom risotto with cheese Salad, Flapjack, Fruit
Day FOUR
I work for about 4 hours, and Mum reads. We eat, wash up our plate, our mug and our glass. We have long conversations with people who feel sorry for us.
I ask for escort to the prison yard. The sweet female guard asks if Mum is coming? No. With a grin visible behind her mask, “Is she still on hunger strike?” I think I can get used to the people here.
Day FIVE Mum discovers there are no sports channels on our TV. She rings down to ask if that can be added but it cannot. “There is a TV in the lounge” says receptionist absent-mindedly. So start of the football season and Mum is reduced to listening to Arsenal losing to Brentford on the radio. I think the score reconciles her to not being able to watch.
Day SIX
Phone reception and explain that supplying 6 teabags and 6 of the little pots of milk is a waste of time. They send 2 dozen teabags, milk and sugar which they hope will last till we leave. (postscript, it didn’t).
Eat, work, listen to radio, watch the Afghan debacle on TV, sleep.
Day SEVEN
Eat, work, listen to India beating England. Sleep. 2 hours trying to photograph a plane in a puddle. I haven’t the courage to check my blood sugars.
Day EIGHT
Second Covid test. I’m mildly nervous, what if we have somehow managed to catch Covid and are not allowed home this week? Eat, work, read, sleep.
Day NINE
I check my emails at 5am. Results in, both negative. I sleep sound till 8.
Day TEN
Mum starts packing.
We have thrown away vast amounts of edible food because quarantine rules say that nothing but rubbish leaves our room, in the bin bag supplied with each meal. All those yogurts, fruit, bread, cake… I think I ought not to wash all the plastic containers and half-way through our stay I give up. But we still have a bag with about a dozen, plus about 40 sets of plastic cutlery, and 18 cartons of long-life juice. They will come home and hopefully a picnic opportunity will arise.
Tomorrow is Day ELEVEN.
I hope nothing happens tomorrow to justify me adding to this account.