It has been ten days of pure domestic hell for me, since Easter Monday. I have COVID-19 to thank for my latest mess.
It all began on the Thursday before Easter, when my boss Cynthia Worm decided that since I’m such a smooth talker (remember I work for an advertising agency), I am the best person to send down to Mombasa on Easter Friday – to negotiate with some five-Star hotel, and try to get back the half a million shillings we had paid for an end-month client event that ‘social distancing’ has made impossible.