Lockdown Diaries 2020/21

When was the last time you had a stimulating conversation?   I’m not even sure what I mean by “stimulating” these days. Conversations usually begin with an exchange of news, don’t they, and develop into a sharing of details about the interesting people we’ve met, the places we’ve been and the experiences we’ve had.   But if there aren’t any trees falling in the forest, and there’s no-one around to hear them ….well, you get my drift. There’s absolutely nothing happening in our lives and while we’re all desperate to connect with one another, there’s only so much traction you can get out of your latest Zoom call or Netflix box-set.   Actually that’s not strictly true if you consider the elephant in the room. COVID-19 is the main topic of conversation on everyone’s lips - from the moment we wake up in the morning to our nightly check on the latest figures.   I went for a walk with one of my best friends yesterday – an intelligent lady with whom I regularly exchange views on a variety of di

It was nine months ago when I first wrote about lockdown easing in this blog. NINE MONTHS. We all thought COVID-19 was virtually over at that stage and easing would mark our first baby steps back towards a permanent return to normality.   How little we knew. One year on and we all feel thoroughly bitten and cripplingly shy. And we’re also hugely fearful that we’ll end up back at square one if we get it wrong this time. So we're taking things slowly.   But there’s slowly, and there’s the pace of a geriatric snail on cannabis.   This week came the announcement that from March 8 - two weeks from now - children will be allowed back to school. That’s great for them, but the only impact it will have on us will be that gaggles of schoolkids will once again be hogging the pavements when we’re out on our afternoon walk.    Then three weeks later on March 29 we’ll be – wait for it – allowed to meet up with other people outside. Well, we do that anyway, but in five weeks from now we’ll be off

OK, I’m bored now. I’ve done my chores, I’ve no imminent work deadlines and I’ve planned out all our meals for the weekend.     The sun is shining and spring is around the corner with its promise of longer days, bulbs, blossom and the easing of restrictions.   But I want it NOW.   I suspect I’m not alone in periodically becoming very, very fed up with this whole sorry business. It’s tragic when one reflects on what one was doing this time last year. Brian and I had just spent a weekend away with Ben, Josie and Robbie to celebrate Brian’s 60 th birthday and we were about to set off on a 10-day trip to Vietnam. This would involve us eating in restaurants, mingling with happy crowds and dancing in pubs with strangers.   How alien it all feels now.    It’s in times like these that I console myself by a) remembering that we’re finally on the home stretch and b) by looking more closely at the nitty gritty of what life was really like this time last year.   I have my 2020 diary to hand. Exact

The other day I did something different. Something that thousands of people all over the world have been doing every day for the past 12 months, but was nevertheless new to me. I took a COVID test.   I haven’t had any symptoms and it would have been pretty annoying if I had, seeing as I’ve been more or less self-isolating since December 2020. But I was picked at random to take part in an Imperial College trial to help them assess transmission levels.   I’ve never really fancied doing one of those tests. I have no desire to rediscover my tonsils, or to find out exactly how far up my nostrils go. But in the global fight against the pandemic it seemed like the least I could do.   But now that I’ve done it, I can’t help wondering how accurate these tests are. Not because of any conspiracy theories or an innate scepticism about the abilities of the scientists who develop these tests.   No, it’s the fallibility of people like me that I’m concerned about.   My self-swab kit came in six parts,

 .. …except when it isn’t.     We all like a bit of variety from time to time, whether it’s a tea-time treat, an unexpected outing or a change of scenery. That’s why phrases such as “ringing the changes” and “a change is as good as a rest” trip so easily off the tongue.   Of course, variety is no longer feasible in our current monotonous existence when it’s all a question of bed, wake, work, walk, eat, TV, then bed again.   But I’ll tell you when variety ISN’T the spice of life – when it becomes a “variant”.   That’s the word on everybody’s lips at the moment and it’s striking dread into all our hearts. Turns out that the good old COVID-19 we’d come to know and hate has now morphed into thousands of new variants and we’re struggling to keep up. Ex-president Trump referred to COVID-19 as Kung Flu (racist and preposterous, albeit somewhat cleverer than most of his other epithets. I suspect he had help). But if Trump were still in office he would probably now be referring to the SA Strain

  I don’t care how good it is for cooling the blood. Who wants their blood cooled in an English winter anyway?   There’s nothing particularly glorious about mud – and we should know. We’ve all had plenty of opportunity to make that assessment over the past few weeks.   The winter of 2020-21 has to go down as one of the muddiest on record. There won’t actually be any records, of course – how does one quantify degrees of muddiness? By depth? Or viscosity?    So while my claim is entirely anecdotal, I’m sure that every walker out there will agree with me.    It’s been a wet old winter, and everyone has been out because there’s literally nothing else to do but go for a walk. So our combined footfalls in the soft, wet earth have churned up the ground to such an extent that the paths and river banks are now quagmires. So we’re forced to squelch along in our wellies, making disgusting sucking noises with our feet while clinging to wire fences to prevent ourselves from going base over apex.  

That’s a line from American Pie* – one of the least incomprehensible lyrics from the famous 1970s Don McClean song. Though February doesn’t usually make anybody quiver: quite the opposite. It encourages lassitude on the sofa in front of the TV. But in 2021, February already feels miles better than January.   I’ve been saying all along that January 2021 will be a lowlight, not only of this current year but potentially of our entire lives. Poor Brian – he’s been having to co-exist under my little cloud of gloom since New Year.   But I think we can all agree that January was not a month to look forward to. After the damp squib that was Christmas coupled with the news of another impending national lockdown we had to prepare for 31 days of post-festive fallout with bad weather, no social interaction, no change of scenery and escalating cases all around us.   But it is now February and a corner has definitely been turned. Well, it might actually be more of a bend in the road or even just a s

….The tough make pizza. That’s how the saying goes, right?     Actually, it’s not - but that’s what I did the other morning when January became too much for me.    It wasn’t a well-thought-out decision. It’s true that I’d been missing pizza, the only ones I’d eaten over the last few years having been either a) doughy American-style jobbies topped with what tasted like tomato ketchup and Monterey jack cheese or b) trendy, hipster-style thin ones with right-on toppings such as rocket and avocado. In other words, salad served on an over-sized water biscuit.    So when I went into the kitchen the other morning and spotted some flour spilt on the units, I thought: “I know. I’ll compound that mess and make a pizza”. And the project was a qualified success because the result was edible and it helped to pass a few hours.   However, the fact remains that the going is indeed getting tough in this overly-long winter that feels like wartime.   I used to wonder how I’d cope in a wartime situation.