A couple of weeks ago, just as I’d begun to think that if I hadn’t got Covid by now I never would, I succumbed to Omicron. The timing was terrible: I was due to play in the European women’s trials the next day, and hated letting my partner down. Still, I was cheered up by several messages from friends, including Zia Mahmood, who told me that he also had Covid. We compared notes: a cough, some aches and pains — nothing too bad.
It was only the next day, when I tried my hand at an online duplicate, that I realised there really is such a thing as Covid brain-fog: I couldn’t concentrate at all. Instead, I took to bed to watch some online bridge — and lo and behold, there was Zia playing a match.
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