Quarantining in London

I just flew in London from Kyiv about a week ago to do a simple surgical procedure. In case you wonder why London, it’s too complicated to explain, frankly. Anyway, currently England requires anyone coming on the island to self-isolate for 10 days, taking COVID-19 tests on day 2 and 8 to make sure they are not sick. The National Health Service (NHS) will check on you and supposedly so would the police.

Now let me tell you why this is stupid and utterly ineffective. Before arrival, you have to register with something called a Personal Locator online, putting down critical details like what seat you are on the plane, what your address is, where you have been and where you are going. Fair enough. You also have to buy online from a random (and huge) list of laboratories tests that are to be sent to your place of abode (in my case, a vast and ancient hotel), which you will then self-administer on days 2 and 8. Oh, what fun.

So, let’s see what could possibly go wrong with this super scheme (it is actually called a “scheme” in the UK).

• You have to receive the tests by courier. It took the hotel 30 mins to figure out where they were delivered (not at reception). Great start!
• The tests came with extensive directions and multiple bags and labels. You have to figure out what to put where and how and then where to mail it. I am not stupid. But I did it wrong for the first test. Good luck to you!
• You have to self-swab with a giant stick and then send off the sample by mail. First, that is disgusting (assuming you have already been swabbed for COVID before, you know what I mean, and then imagine doing it to yourself). Second, I’d think that is putting way too much faith into humanity when it comes to public health – ultimately, who’s to know whose swabs those really are?
• The NHS calls me every day to check on me. Full on conversations, repeating the same thing every boring day, telling me what to do if I develop COVID symptoms, asking me if I am quarantining home. Now, mind you, they call me on my cell phone, and for all they know, I could be in Australia petting a koala bear or eating crumpets at Buckingham’s Palace. Recently, they have taken on calling me not once, but TWICE a day. Turns out that since I filled out that amazing locator twice (I switched hotels), they cannot put two and two together, and think that I am now two separate people, quarantining in two different places, and they call me twice. Which tells you how well this “scheme” is working.

So, what does a person do for 10 days alone in a hotel in London? In a thrilling series of several posts, I thought I’d let you know in case you find yourself in the same position.

I arrived on a chilly and rainy Friday. I took an absurdly expensive taxi from Gatwick to the Marriott County Hall at Westminster Bridge, a giant and ornate historical hotel facing Westminster Abbey and Big Ben. Killer view! Upon check-in, I admitted that I was going to self-quarantine, and the hotel lady told me icily that there will be no housekeeping for me. I will need to make my own bed (ouch!), and should not interact with anyone. Which did not seem to be challenging since it looked like it was just me and her in the giant, empty, ghostly hotel, located in the former UK Parliament building. She said that there is a limited dining-in menu and when I order, they will leave it outside the door. All in all, it all strongly resembled plague times.

My room was lovely. I quickly changed into casual ware, and sat down to study the lunch menu since I was starving. Of the 10 items on the list, 9 were fried and one was boiled. Unwilling to believe that, I called “in room dining,” which was again reception Ice Lady, and was told that indeed, that is their menu. She recommended a delivery app, Deliveroo, which I promptly downloaded and excitedly ordered sushi. In about 20 mins, the delivery person began calling me, asking me where I was located. She was two streets over, in a different hotel. 6 calls later, and me having to leave the hotel (the HORROR), I finally found her and got my food. That process happily killed 2 hours of the day.

I realized that I will be ordering more food, so I decided to call Housekeeping and get a minifridge. Turned out Housekeeping also was Icy Lady, which promised to send me one. I admire Icy Lady, I do believe she singlehandedly runs the entre hotel and fries the food behind the reception desk. The fridge soon arrived, and I finished my late lunch. That excitement took another one hour. By now, it was 6 pm, so I decided to take a shower and settle my toiletries in the bathroom. I took extra time and by the time I was done and in PJs, it was already 7 pm!

I settled down to watch a new show – someone recommended Shtisel – and it seemed like a great show. It was. One 1-hour episode later, I was fully hooked. I decided to order a (unnaturally expensive) glass of wine to go with my dinner. Since the room delivery of that glass cost a whooping 4 pounds (around $5.50), I decided to go pick it up by myself. I got it from – you guessed it – Icy Lady! In another hour, I had finished dinner, another episode and was ready for a nightcap of scotch (I had bought a bottle at Duty Free). I called Concierge (aka, Icy Lady) for a bit of ice. She brought me a giant bucket of ice, from which I daintily took two cubes and sheepishly handed the rest back. I don’t think she likes me. With this and brushing my teeth, I managed to get to 11 pm and off to sleep. I cannot wait for the delights of the official Day 1 in quarantine (your arrival day does not count).

In other updates - we are still in Kyiv, but Fat Cat moved on to greener heavenly pastures, and we acquired two new family members: Batman (scrawny, hairy, hyper blackish baby cat, that looks like a sickly bat), and Sedate Cat (an emotionally needy, excessively purry leopard-looking cat, which is consistently tormented by Batman by rough playing). Currently, all four men are turning the house upside down in my absence.