I stopped off at Any Amount of Books on Charing Cross Road and treated myself to the Folio Society edition of Parade's End in two volumes before meeting a friend from Bond Twitter and his partner. We visited a bar to get ourselves in the mood for flying cars, Sheriff JW Pepper and "Nick Nack! Tabasco!" before the film. It was delightful sharing it with someone who, like me, knew and loved the movie but wasn't above mocking its sillier parts; we did a fair amount of whispering to each other behind our masks during the screening, and afterwards went to a Thai restaurant so we could dissect it more thoroughly over dinner.
On Tuesday, I was punished for these excesses when I got pinged by the NHS app and told to self-isolate for seven days.
I was pretty cross, as I had plans for this weekend, which has been the hottest and sunniest so far this year - not least another Bond at the Prince Charles, this time my favourite The Living Daylights.
I decided to spend my Saturday evening watching it on DVD instead. My friend Hannah is also currently in the sin bin and we co-watched, hitting Play simultaneously so we could chat about it over WhatsApp. My flatmate also joined me for the viewing; we made hot dogs and popcorn for the proper cinema experience, as well as Vesper martinis. Afterwards she declared it her new second favourite Bond after On Her Majesty's Secret Service, which we watched last summer.
Hannah expressed a hankering to watch Licence To Kill immediately afterwards, and since neither of us was going anywhere the next day, we stayed up past midnight doing just that. "I walked past and saw Timothy Dalton looking very wet," said my flatmate in the morning, "and I thought I'd just leave you to it." Very wise.
Otherwise, I have spent a lot of time on the balcony drinking homemade lemonade (when life gives you lemons...) and reading trashy spy novels. Counting down to my release at 23:59 on Tuesday.