Hello there. I took the risk and it paid off. Yep, I'm now typing from my childhood bedroom in the sunny countryside outside Milan. It's 26 degrees here today, and while I only get to feel the sunshine through the window - there is no place I'd rather be during lockdown.
This week was by far my most exciting one since the beginning of the pandemic. I actually got to travel.
The train from Edinburgh to London was empty, but the journey was incredibly smooth. Oddly I didn't even get asked for a ticket. I guess people just count on the public to be smart in these scary times.
Living a 15-minute walk away from King's Cross means I was allowed to get my one-exercise-a-day on that little trip there. I won't ever forget the main station square. Eerily empty, but somehow peaceful. I remember it being warm, the warmest it had been in months, and the sun was shining high in the sky. I passed a number of households, many of which were blasting summery tunes, basking in the sun on their balconies, in nothing but tank tops. It's clear that it's going to be incredibly difficult for the government to keep people in when summer really hits.
The next 36 hours passed pretty quickly. I tried not to think of all the things that could go wrong in the next part of my journey. It probably wouldn't have done my mental health any good.
Monday came, I re-packed my suitcase for home, bagged-up the rest of my flat, and FaceTimed my best friend... who is unfortunately still stuck in London.
Tuesday came. I woke up promptly at 7am. After eating breakfast and packing up the last bits and pieces, my taxi pulled up. It was time to go.
The journey to the airport was, for lack of better words, strange. I took a 10-seater, my driver right up-front, and myself at the back. We didn't exchange a single word the entire journey.
I found my way to the check-in desk, and while the lady was incredibly generous, she couldn't allow my 4kg over the limit. I managed to transfer half of that into my rucksack, and she pretended not to see it was still overweight when I place it back on the belt.
After showing her my Italian ID, she gave me my tickets home. And it was as easy as that.
Security was even more strange. It seemed Heathrow had an abundance of staff, even though none of them could actually come anywhere near me. I started and finished the security process completely alone. And when I got to the other side, I realised that the only flight leaving that entire morning was the one to Rome.
After finding a seat, positioned close to the screens, I called my mother and my boyfriend, updating them on my journey thus far. So far, so good.
Boarding was an even more surreal experience. Halfway down the queue, I realised I was the only individual not wearing a mask on the flight. Where had all these people found their masks? Before handing over my boarding pass, a man was stopping every person and pointing a scary looking machine at their heads. Some Black-Mirror-type stuff. It eventually became clear that he was taking our temperatures.
Once we were all settled, and the cabin staff had run through safety procedures, I got ready to sleep for take-off.
I woke to the sound of an announcement:
"We encourage all passengers to wear their masks at all points of their journey today."
I looked around me, was I really still the only person onboard without one?
An air host made eye-contact with me and frowned. He walked up to me and demanded to see my mask. After I shrugged, telling him I had searched for days for one with no luck, he shook his head and walked away. Typical Italian customer treatment.
But then he returned two minutes later with five masks in his hand and apologised. I guess I spoke too soon.
The flight was smooth and after we were checked for fevers again, I made my way to the other side of Rome's airport. We were told to fill in our third form of the day, before going through a second security check and then lining up for airplane number two.
This last leg was probably the slowest. I had no problems, and no interactions. But the desire for family, my bed, the comfort of home-cooked food and good weather - the usual things that amount to homesickness - was especially immense. I remember looking out at the clouds, a blanket over the Italian landscape, and wondering where everything had gone so wrong. Up there, everything was so peaceful. We were so far away from the world's problems, and something inside me wished I could stay up there forever. I was in a dream-like state for most of that flight. But that shattered the moment we touched ground.
Then a sudden wave of excitement washed over me. I had made it home.
My mother was waiting for me outside arrivals, her mask on too. We did an awkward "hello" dance and I told her off for trying to take my case. I sat in the back of the car and we didn't stop talking for the entire ride home. A similar yet very different scenario to the morning.
When we got home I ran straight up to my room, and looked outside of my window. My sister, dog and father were all in the garden waving up at me. Communication with them has been like that since day 1.
While I have to take my temperature twice a day, can't leave the space between here and the bathroom, and can only talk to my sister through walls and windows, my time in quarantine here has been pretty good.
I have been extremely productive. I've eaten some fantastic food (my sister suddenly took a mysterious fascination in cooking). I've binged my way through several shows.
But with just over 10 days left, I know I will soon grow bored of this routine.
We'll have to see.