Daniel Hutchinson From The Hutch

I've been told to self-isolate a lot over the years, in a variety of different ways.

Often I've done something to deserve this. Sometimes I've just been misunderstood. Rarely has this been related to a medical condition.

Until now.

These days it's perfectly OK to tell anyone and everyone to ‘self-isolate.

I'm quite pleased with this sudden surge in the popularity of self-isolation. I'm a bit of an early adopter in this context. It has previously been known as ‘working from home'.

You don't actually need a deadly Coronavirus to be a self-isolator but there are a few basic rules to follow.

And number one is that you need to make it very clear you are self-isolating so nobody disturbs you.

You can make this easier by ensuring the area you are self-isolating in is the least desirable place in the house.

For example, I convinced the Mrs that we needed a big 4k TV. She wasn't that keen – screen size is irrelevant she says.

Just move closer, etc, etc.

I fixed my new TV at one end of the lounge on a big swivelling mount. You can blob out in your favourite seat. Big speakers. It's perfect for watching sport.

But do you think I can self-isolate in the lounge? No, no, no – it's too popular of a place now. I can feel the furrowed brows brushing the side of my face before the fast bowler has even reached the top of his run-up.

So I head to the spare room and watch rugby or cricket or whatever on the old TV. I just sit a bit closer.

Anyway, I heeded the advice of the medical professionals on Monday. The reason for this is that I walked through a diseased cloud on Saturday, created by a slightly exotic looking gentlemen who could have been from Iran or Italy.

He coughed as I walked past him on the footpath.

I immediately held my breath, but I just knew the spores had already entered my body. I awoke on Monday with a tightness in the chest, a dry throat and an overwhelming sense of doom.

This is fairly normal for a Monday, but it could have been a virus so I tried ‘working remotely', as per the memo', once again using the spare room.

The distraction

Working from home is a very cool and modern concept but, as I have already mentioned, it does have a major drawback. In between firing off clever emails and fielding phone calls, you get side tracked by your domestic life.

In my case it was Thomas - the much-loved fifth member of our family. At 16-years-old, he is the youngest but, because he's a cat, he is also the oldest.

And he has developed a suspicious lump on his lip.

So off to the vet he went, courtesy of my eldest child, who got the lovely little bundle of kitteny joy for her fifth birthday.

He's not a lovely kitten anymore.

He's more like a retired lawyer – he has an opinion about everything and protests loudly when it affects his personal comforts.

It wasn't long before my self-isolation was interrupted by a Messenger alert (young people are so cheap they don't even text anymore).

‘Do we have a limit cost wise?' my daughter asks.

‘FFS' I blurted to myself. ‘Of course we have a limit, I'm not bloody Rupert Murdoch'.

So I phoned her back. 'Hi sweetie, what's happening?”

The money or the cat

It turns out Thomas was not agreeing to an examination so they had to sedate him. Sedating him was dangerous and costly and vets don't like to tell you how much something is going to cost in case they want to charge more.

So, without trying to sound financially motivated and uncaring I said: ‘Well it does need to be done, but tell them to let me know if it's going to be more than $500'.

This is a masterstroke of diplomacy – I hadn't put a price on the beloved family pet but had protected myself from insolvency.

But now I really did have to work out how much Thomas was worth, in case he needed surgery.

After a lot of thinking, I arrived at the sum of $1200. This is slightly more than what three year's of Sky Sport would cost me and I reckon the cat's got maybe three good years left in him. Therefore, this proves the cat means more to me than sport. Genius.

I only shared these thoughts with the Mrs who just snorted and called me a ‘cat daddy'. By then Thomas was back, he decided to allow an examination and checked out OK, so it was only $80.

I'm fine too by the way but the gloss has kind of gone off the whole self-isolating thing.

daniel@thesun.co.nz