LONDON—By 1 p.m. on the day after arrival here from across The Pond, the authorities had telephoned twice and texted once. We were reminded repeatedly that we faced a fine if we were not quarantined for 10 days and did not undergo a COVID-19 test twice in eight days.

Prior to our flight here, we had passed an original test—flying colors to go with the sparks in our heads from having that swab so far up our noses—and spent approximately five frustrating hours navigating question-and-answer forms to confirm our temporary London address and phone number, and to provide detailed travel specifics, as well as evidence of being fully vaccinated. Most unsettling was the lack of confirmation that any of this information had been received by either the airlines or the British government.

Once in the U.K., we were not to leave our rented flat, not to go for a morning run or walk (ooops), although the parks and paths were well populated with foot and bicycle traffic (minus face masks). We were not to go visiting, which was the purpose of the trip, since our daughter is a London resident and we came to finally meet the grandboy, born just a couple of months into the pandemic.

Understand that we believe in anti-pestilence protocols. Masks. Distancing. The kind of thing that most people had ignored during the 1 1/2-hour slog through the line to clear customs. Avoiding pubs, restaurants and humans in general is not a problem. Accepting the uncertainty of the plague is frustrating but understandable.

But the moving goalposts and changing signals in this venture have been more exhausting than the 15 months of Zooming and day-to-day activity detours wrought by the coronavirus. Two days before the flight here, our airline—no names, but it might have been American—emailed with the shocking revelation that it had moved our departure up a day.

It took my wife five hours on the phone, until 2 a.m.—most of that time waiting on hold—to correct that.

That and the flight successfully accomplished, the calls from health officials, with the same warnings and orders each day, came at various hours. We were able to report that we had self-administered a COVID test on Day 2 in the English capital, and put the testing kit in the mail. “You might get a visit to see you are quarantined,” was the added threat.

Email confirmation of the negative results arrived the next day. Meanwhile, we read that Health Services volunteers were contacting only 20 percent of visitors to monitor quarantine rules. Still, Big Brother kept calling, and our cell phone twice wouldn’t connect, and a callback from us produced only a recorded message that BB had missed us and would try later.

When the clocks strike thirteen? Were we busted? My wife’s telephone search for advice to confirm that we were conforming led to three half-hour delays on hold, then to a person apologizing that she was unable to offer help, and finally a nice fellow’s easier-said-than-done recommendation: “Don’t panic.”

We already had. Repeatedly.

News of the Delta variant was rampant. Britain’s health chief had just resigned after reports he had violated his own rule to mask up and not go around hugging unrelated people. Yet two major international sports events—Wimbledon tennis and soccer’s European championship tournament—are being contested in London this month. Before large crowds.

When the TV in our quarantine bunker failed on the first day, it magnified the isolation experience. (The television somehow recovered the next evening, in time to watch British champion Andy Murray’s first-round Wimbledon victory.) There remains a constant, nerve wracking feeling that misinterpretation of sheltering requirements will lead to unnecessary grief—multiplied by the helpless freakout when technology fails to complete the checkup process.

Here are the pluses: The flight here—masked throughout—was uneventful. There was no evidence of the passenger violence we had been reading about. Brief, long-awaited gatherings with immediate family are the extent of our activity, but worth it, as well as a general sense that muddling through this plague is possible.