The US just hit 1 million cases, and worldwide, the number of cases has hit 3 million, with just over 200 000 deaths. There has been an alarming rise in the number of people drinking bleach and, it seems likely, a corresponding increase in the number of Darwin awards to be given out this year.

Over here in my corner of the world, even though we have nearly 25 000 dead and 165 000 active cases, the rate of hospitalisations is continuing to decline, including those on reanimation (ventilation/life support). This is giving some hope that our efforts over the last 42 days are having some effect.

Back home, kiwis are already enjoying coming out of lockdown, even if it is just to level 3. Wellingtonians will at last be able to get their coffee fix as cafes can open for takeaway. I confess to being a little envious. Life will soon return to normal in New Zealand, although I imagine borders will remain closed or strictly controlled for a while yet.

I’m saddened by the businesses in my village that have closed for good. Weighing up the effects on the economy with preservation of life is of course obvious, but it is still sad to see the changing face of my locals and the financial troubles those little business owners are now in. France is fiercely protective of “Buy local” and with good reason – the quality is just so good.

Tomorrow at 3pm we hear our fate. What will our coming-out-of-lockdown plan look like? It won’t look like New Zealand’s. The Government is terrified of a second wave like Singapore’s. So it will be a cautious plan that will see us in some form of lockdown for some months yet.

On the plus side I got to touch a real live person today. Yes, actually touch them. Well, they touched me. A strange feeling. Ok so it was a doctor, but that in itself was a miracle too. Even before lockdown doctors in my area are scarce and not taking on new patients.

I needed a physical check-up for my repeat prescription. I tried every doctor online but if you are not already a patient, they are only doing online consultations. Cursed myself for the 237th time for not cementing in place my change of treating doctor once I arrived here.

Fortunately, the Government introduced a rule that you could go straight to a pharmacy to get your prescription filled even if it was an old one. Apparently my June 2019 one was just that little bit too old and the pharmacist gave me a big explanation of the rules relating to the rule.

I have learned that the french always say no at first. So I persisted, apologised for my level of french, played the newly-arrived foreigner card, and engaged her in a “Isn’t it terribly complicated right now” conversation about how tough it was for health professionals and how valuable her assistance would be in helping me settle in. Before too long I was walking out with my medication and a list of doctors in my area that I could try, together with the after hours doctors telephone number just in case.

Luckily I had talked to a doctor last year whose cabinet happened to be next to my apartment. She agreed to take me on but turns out hadn’t registered me online and had said she’d do the paperwork during a first appointment. Which of course I didn’t make before lockdown.

I took a breath and phoned to beg for a physical appointment. The secretary tried every type of no, including trying to scare me off by getting me to detail exactly what was wrong with me and then arguing with me about it. I decided to embellish the symptoms a smidge to the point where it would be considered essential to be seen physically otherwise there was a risk I may pass out, alone in my apartment. It would be you, Madame Docteur’s Secretary, who would be at fault.

An hour later I was in the doctor’s office. The doctor had one of those duckbill-shaped masks on, and was head to toe in plastic. She gave me a bottle of what seemed like paintstripper to wash my hands with. Then, like magic, she touched me. Just to put the blood pressure cuff on and listen to my heart rate. But still. Someone was within one metre of me for the first time in a very long time. Plus I got a new prescription. Plus the signed form to change my doctor officially. Plus I was registered online at her practice. I officially have a doctor! In lockdown! Who touched me!

Small wins indeed today.

Right. I seriously need to take myself in hand. Having put on 5kg and finding myself puffing a little on what used to be an easy 45 minute walk for me, I have had to conclude that baguettes are taking their toll. I must also stop eating raspberry custard tarts.

Even though we are supposed to be coming out of lockdown on Tuesday, it will be a gradual process and basically means that more businesses will be allowed to open, along with schools but not much more. The gyms will likely still be closed as they can’t guarantee a minimum 1m distance.

So it’s time to be creative again, this time with exercise. Today’s walk was conducted via video call with a buddy. It was a nice way to socialise, pointing out the highlights of the neighborhood like the graffitied buildings, all the closed shops, and the empty marketplace. There were some gems of course, like the spring flowers, the trees with their new leaves and the way the sun sparkled over the river. In turn, I got to see their local park, see the sun glistening on the river there, and have a chat to their ex who happened to be walking through the same park with her new boyfriend (not awkward at all).

Fortunately, the swiss ball I have ordered is actually going to be delivered a week earlier than planned. I have also found a weight loss yoga workout online. The first time I tried it, I did marvel at just how effectively my internal organs were squeezed and “energised” just as the instructor said they would be. Couldn’t actually sit up properly for two days but never mind. I’ll get back into it.

While I haven’t been able to make gluten free bread with 43 nuts and seeds (still not a chia seed in sight…strange here in the land of butter, cream and cheese), I do still have plenty of lentils left. The cat is eyeing me suspiciously when I bring them out hoping, I imagine, that I won’t get any ideas given the paraffin oil bottle is still sitting on the bench.

So I bought walnuts, sesame seeds, beetroot, artichoke hearts, avocado, salad greens and some crottin chavignol (best goat’s cheese in the world). Plus quinoa. Plus a dash of turmeric. Made a salad that would see the cavepeople and their paleo diet green with envy and my microbiome suitably activated. Felt extremely virtuous and healthy afterwards and decided I deserved that lovely glass of Bordeaux red.

The streets are a-flutter with the news. May 11 is the end of lockdown and the start of a gentle “deconfinement” – literally “coming out of lockdown” period. Tuesday night all will be revealed by the President and the Prime Minister as to exactly what that means.

From the little snippets released to press it’s going to be compulsory masks on public transport, people still need to work from home as much as possible, children are allowed back at school unless their parents don’t want them to and some businesses will be allowed to re-open.

There’s also talk about not being able to travel, particularly if you are in a severely affected region like mine and want to travel or pass through a less severely affected region. Exactly what that looks like no one knows. It’s been nearly two months since I last saw my other half and I have no idea when we’re going to be able to see each other again.

No restaurants or cafes yet. Which in some ways is a good thing judging from my experience this evening. Takeaway stores have been allowed to remain open (somehow it seems their finger-smeared counters are immune to COVID). Most have shut in my village, but I jumped for joy when earlier this week I discovered one lone sushi/thai place was open. All week I looked forward to a little treat of sushi and dumplings (funny what you miss) for my Friday night.

Until that is, I went in.

I ordered, then noted the complete lack of any protective gear on the staff. Unlike the supermarkets where staff are dressed as surgeons and have now erected large plastic screens between the checkout staff and customers, these guys had zip. Nada. Not a hand sanitiser bottle in sight. No sans contact (paywave) either, I noted as I punched in my pin number, wondering just exactly how many virus-infested hands had completed this very act before me.

I, on the other hand, have spent the last couple of weeks doing COVID training sessions including how to put on, wear, and take off a mask correctly. This procedure has involved cleaning my hands three times each session with what appears to be some kind of hydrochloric acid-based hand sanitiser judging by the lack of skin on my hands. I’ve been explaining the virtues of the 2m rule, how many times a day the workplace is disinfected, the perils of gloves, and how it’s not a good idea to say Bonjour by bumping elbows.

But here, no posters, no scotch on the floor to mark one metre distances and, from the look of the table, no frequent disinfecting of the premises. Perhaps I’m just spoilt at work, I don’t know.

The mask-less guy smiled and thanked me as he stood within one metre of me to hand me my receipt. I got home and took more skin off my hands with a thorough soap-washing before settling in to eat, trying to touch as little as possible of the packaging directly with my hands.

Oh well, I can always drink disinfectant.