Like everyone, I am being assaulted on the hour by a tonne of helpful emails suggesting (and selling) what I should be wearing to work at home in this time of COVID-19 self-isolation.

I’m already far into this social distancing thing, having been alerted by the NSW Health Department that I sat within two rows of a confirmed coronavirus case on a Melbourne/Sydney flight, so I have already existed in a one-metre radius from my couch for a full week ,thankfully with no symptoms.

Add to that two sons who have been sent to work from home, a husband who has lost all his hours, as he works in events, and two girlfriends and we are a house of six adults with laptops circling each other like nervous wildebeest. What I am wearing is the very least of my problems.

I did see an Instagram post with someone suggesting that this is a time to dress up, and wear all your best clothes just to help lift your spirits, like wearing a silk robe over your jeans with sparking earrings. I wanted to weep.

It’s all I can do to find yesterday’s leggings in the morning, while we all edge past each other in the kitchen on the way to the coffee, sssshhing everyone because someone is on some rambling and pointless conference call or having a weird virtual drink with a client.

https://www.instagram.com/p/B9-hIo3gdvZ/

Interestingly, all the suggestions have been for easy, breezy loungewear options, sporty separates, oversized tops, cardigan jackets and floppy silk or jersey pants. No, people.

Stretch is the enemy at the moment, almost as alluring as the two packs of Milky Way chocolate bars in the pantry that call to me every 15 minutes.

We did a big shop for the household that was meant to last a week, but just like on a school excursion, we have eaten all the fun stuff even before the bus was on the road for barely an hour. We should have bought Twisties and Space Bars to really capture the feeling.

https://twitter.com/keanyssance/status/1239813528917135360

One of my sons is doing a relatively smart thing by wearing sneakers even though he is working remotely at the dining room table, because every now and again he takes himself outside and shoots some hoops, but as I am in strict quarantine I have resorted to half-hearted attempts at yoga via YouTube.

Meanwhile, my husband walks over me on the mat and says, “Has the yoghurt expired?” because apparently the threat of the virus has robbed him of the ability to read.

I’ve decided that from now on my at home uniform for the unforeseeable future will be tight, unforgiving skinny jeans that dig in uncomfortably at the waist (I’ve already got those, thanks).

It will be a constant reminder that two breakfasts is not the best way to boost your immune system and that a 4pm tea and freshly baked scones with jam and cream is not something that EVER happens in the office. Neither do leggings.