Making those connections

The aim of this blog has been to record the extraordinary happenings of the past few months. Now that things are gradually opening up again, my musings have become less relevant and I actually thought I’d written my final post. But there are still many aspects of life that can only be described using that much-overworked word – unprecedented.

The weather, for one, has been extraordinary. This was the sunniest spring on record; the fifth driest and the eighth warmest. Some springs are basically extensions of the winter when we gaze dolefully out the window at the gale-battered daffodils and the sodden foliage and think to ourselves: “Oh, well, there’s always summer”. But stuck at home as we were, our gardens (for those who had them) were a godsend as we wheeled out our barbecues, paddling pools and outdoor games. Meanwhile the parks, beaches and commons have been choc-a-bloc with people picnicking and sunbathing. 

But the other unprecedented occurrence is the fact that we’re still making connections, three months in. I went on a walk with my friend Jane on Tuesday and every time we pulled in for social distancing purposes, we found ourselves in a friendly exchange with the people we’d pulled in for. Some of them happened to be friends and neighbours, but others were complete strangers. In normal times we would brush briskly past one another with a cursory “Hello” if that. But now that we’re giving everyone a wide berth it seems more important than ever to stop and chat. When Jane and I stepped into a clearing to allow one particular old gentleman to pass by, he made no attempt to do so. Instead he told us it was his 82nd birthday and that he was celebrating by breaking in his new replacement hip on a solitary walk. It sounded pretty bleak, but then he mentioned a wife at home and the prospect of a cake, and suddenly his lone walk in the sunshine chatting to friendly strangers (us) seemed like an idyllic start to the day.

When walking with Sue on Monday we had a similarly friendly experience. Mind you, I go out with Sue a lot and people are always treating us like a couple of smiley, harmless old dears. Sometimes they chat to us and sometimes they treat us as a benign but insignificant matriarchal presence. Sue and I have been to bars and cafes where complete strangers have left their handbags and purses on our table, assuming they would be safe. One woman even left her baby with us. They were right, of course – their precious belongings were indeed safe. But Sue and I have often speculated about the successful life of crime we could potentially one day lead. Because no-one ever suspects the nice old lady.

Anyway, I digress. I’ll end by saying what everyone else is saying: Let’s hope that when lockdown is over, we all stay more connected. Let’s hope we carry on being kind to one another and helping each other out. 

Actually, hope has nothing to do with it. If f we want it, let’s make it happen.


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