Today I was due to fly out to India for the first of a series of three-week trips working on a programme for professional services staff in Indian Universities. I was going to do something I love, working with colleagues on a development initiative that would have added value and made a difference. Instead, I am sat in my makeshift office in the spare bedroom thinking of what could have been and reflecting on how fortunate I actually am. I am safe and well at home with my wife and daughter knowing that my son is safe in London.

My thoughts are with all those “key workers” who are trying their best to keep us safe and functioning, often in conditions that would certainly break me. (I am also reflecting on the irony that we didn’t call them “key workers” until the pandemic hit.)

My thoughts are with those who are suffering at home; counting the minutes, hours and days since the lockdown began.

My thoughts are with those whose mental health is cracking under the strain.

My thoughts are with those in the camps and ghettos in countries such as India who are terrified that the invisible enemy is getting closer and closer.

My thoughts are with those who are apart from their loved ones with no way of making contact.

My thoughts are with those who have lost family members and friends well before it was their time to leave this fragile earth.

My thoughts are with those who are desperately worried about how to put food on the table for their families.

I cannot deny that I am sad that I am not on my way to my adventure in India and I am worried about how, as a fledgeling business, I can gain a foothold in a competitive market. I also cannot deny being worried about my income since my diary going forward is empty and I do not qualify for any of the Government support schemes.

Yet, I still believe that I am one of the lucky ones.