One recent evening, Claire found herself carrying out some general maintenance and grooming of my face. Yes, she really does do that on what is probably an alarmingly regular basis.

Part of my preening treatment involved tackling my ears with a cotton bud – also known as a Q-Tip, depending on which side of the Atlantic Ocean you live.

This is the first time in as long as I can remember, that my lugholes had been cleaned. It was therefore of little surprise when Claire managed to dig out far too much ear wax than is healthy to find inside any human.

I must say, the vast majority of the retrieved wax came from my right ear – the left had managed to remain relatively clean.

The good news is that since emptying my right ear of all that nasty filth, my hearing has improved!

I never struggled to hear people talking to me, and certainly didn’t consider myself to be deaf, but since the clear out, a whole new world of sound has been made available to me – some welcome, some less so – for example, when Claire watches television in the bedroom at night.

The wax would once act as a natural earplug. Now I have to fall asleep to the sounds of Keeping Up Appearances and Vicar of Dibley. Both excellent, classic comedies, which I love – during the daytime!

As for the huge lump of wax retrieved from my ear – I’ve already found somebody to make use of it…

You’re welcome, Mr. Yankee.

The inevitable has eventually happened. My self-isolation has broken the 100 day mark!

I made the comparison between my situation and being under house arrest.

House arrest is a punishment more popular in America than over here. It is generally issued to individuals who have committed non-violent crimes.

My understanding of house arrest is what it says on the tin. You are ordered to remain at home for as long as Judge Rinder feels to be necessary.

I have cast my mind back to late February – when my confinement began – and am now wondering what naughty behaviour I could have got up to, resulting in having to spend one hundred days at home. After all, if I was being locked up to avoid catching coronavirus, I may as well also be incarcerated for having a bit of fun!

Here are some of the offenses which I could have committed to land myself in this situation…

Thankfully, only non-violent crimes qualify for the house arrest punishment. Considering that I make a huge effort to avoid running over woodlice with my wheelchair while at home, I consider myself a bit of a pacifist – although any creature with eight legs may disagree!

I therefore felt no pressure to happy slap a rugby player, or perform my kung-fu moves on unsuspecting bodybuilders.

Crimes I Could Have Committed But Didn’t Due To Being A Good Boy

• Drive down the motorway in my mobility scooter – remembering to stay in the outside lane. Did I mention that my scooter has a maximum speed of four miles per hour?
• Find one of those racist American police officers and call him a dirty pig.
• Go to the cinema (pre-lockdown), film the latest Van Diesel movie using my mobile phone camera and upload it all over the internet.

• Break into Pets At Home during the middle of the night and kidnap/rescue all the cute little bunny rabbits.
• Visit Elland Road for a Leeds game. Drive onto the pitch using my scooter, just before the opposition team score – preventing a goal.
• Throw raw eggs at Boris Johnson, Donald Trump, Katie Hopkins, John Terry, Jim Davidson and my obnoxious neighbour. Six eggs, six targets. The problem would be getting them all in one place at the same time.

Which one would I prefer? As fun as it sounds, No.1 would probably kill me, as would No.2. That leaves a clear winner…

While treating herself to a bag of mini chocolate fingers, Claire made a rather lewd discovery.

Make of this what you will…

My day has been much like a Derby County player’s car after a night in the pub… a write-off

A disturbed night meant that I was unable to get the minimum eight hours sleep my body demands. Seriously, if I don’t get enough, I’m fecking useless the next day.

I have always loved my bed and sleep – as my parents will confirm. I was the only baby that anyone had heard of who would sleep solidly from bedtime until morning.

Due to my fatigue, all the plans I had for today went out of the window. I didn’t even get downstairs until 2pm! The afternoon was then spent watching Claire play Rayman on the PlayStation, while offering pointless advice on how to get beyond some tricky sections of the game.

We were going to enjoy a lovely, vegetarian Sunday Roast. However, given that Claire’s night was equally unpleasant and disturbed as mine, she too was tired.

The thought of cooking and eating a banquet wasn’t appealing to either of us. We are therefore having a spaghetti bolognese ready meal. The Sunday Roast will have to be eaten tomorrow. Yes, on Monday – but given the lockdown situation we are currently in, whatever day it may be feels meaningless.