I have been bored at home, says vanessa feltz

Frankly we, their loyal subjects, have likewise reached the end of our creativity quotient. We've tidied our tights drawers, archived the family snaps, decided we will never learn the

oboe/Mandarin/macramé, ruined a good vase with botched decoupage, besieged the charity shops with unwanted stuff, driven friends mad with phone and Zoom calls in which we make the mutual

discovery that as we're doing nothing and going nowhere, we have nothing whatsoever to say. We've lagged the loft, harvested tomatoes, overdosed on banana bread and wondered

whether to invest in a "feature wall". We have gazed lovingly at our partners, looked daggers at our partners, locked ourselves in the bathroom to avoid our partners – and

festooned our partners with kisses. Now we are sitting at separate ends of the sofa in anticipation of several more months of the same old stuff, twiddling our proverbials just like the In

related matters, a rather sad thing happened at Feltz Towers this week. For the past few years, my dining room table has been legless and propped up against the wall in the kitchen.

We're a party household, and if you factor in three grandchildren's birthdays, engagements, baby blessings, anniversaries and assorted gratuitous shindigs, we've been so busy

throwing shapes in our biggest room that there was no point reassembling the table and schlepping it back into the dining room. Yes, my kitchen was a trifle clogged, but that

out-of-commission dining table proclaimed: "Celebrate good times!" It signified festivities, hospitality, fun, friendship, a few bevvies, great music and a house full of people

with whom I love dancing the night away. Last Friday we put the table back in its rightful place. There is no point being permanently "party ready" when there is no chance of

giving or attending a party. How do I feel? Put it like this: "It's NOT my party and I'll cry if I want to."