Lockdown Diaries 2020/21

I n a previous post I mentioned how we used to feel like the angry offspring of bickering parents in the run-up to Brexit. Now, however, we’ve become the good little children of a proud Mum and Dad. “Well done!” they say in their daily briefing. “You’ve done a great job! You’ve stayed at home, protected the NHS and saved lives. Keep it up!” As a child I was a bit of a goody-goody so I respond quite well to this sort of feedback. And Brian and I have actually kept pretty much to the rules. Though there was that one road trip to Dunstable to pick up some pre-ordered toilet rolls from Brian’s office, with me riding shotgun….. a big day out it wasn’t. But even the best-behaved child can become restive sometimes. And an increasing number of us are beginning to say: “Enough already! I’m sick of being inside. Why can’t I go out and play? It’s not FAIR!” The Americans are going one step further and are taking to the streets, honking their horns and waving placards in protest a

Have you noticed how swiftly we’ve moved through the social distancing spectrum? Initially we all felt somewhat shamefaced about having to shun strangers in the street. So we treated everyone like our least-favourite neighbours, crossing the road to avoid them and averting our eyes in hostile awkwardness as we did so.  Then we started to embrace the concept, smiling and nodding across the road in an embarrassed, “I-know-this-is-silly-but-these-are-the-rules” kind of way. Now, however, some of us have become social-distancing zealots who glare at anyone who gets too close. And others have become space-invading mavericks who walk where they please, forcing everyone else to duck and dive out of their way.  Social-distancing rage is everywhere. Dog-owners hurl abuse at each other for encroaching on their ball-throwing space, while parents are berated for allowing their children to scamper within the sphere of others. I’ve heard of a skateboarder who shouted at an old l

You know what they say. You can choose your friends, but you can’t choose your lockdown buddies. This is where we found ourselves when the music stopped. And we remain petrified in position as though stopped in our tracks by lava from a virtual volcano. Lockdown will no doubt be a big test for relationships. Courting couples had to choose whether to self-isolate together or separately - and then stick with that decision. I know of one young couple who have chosen not to co-habit, which means they’re no longer allowed within two metres of each other.  The man can only speak to his fiancee online or by calling up to her on her balcony Romeo-style. Their wedding is set for July, but they are understandably nervous. Personally I am happy with my lockdown housemates. Brian and Robbie are good-humoured, funny and upbeat and I love them both very much. But I do sometimes wonder what it would have been like to have had a female lockdown companion. I’m pretty sure that my

  Last night we received the news we’d all been expecting – but also dreading. We’re now officially in lockdown. Here in the UK there’ll be no more outdoor recreational activities: instead we will only leave our houses to pick up essential supplies and to get some exercise (though we’re only allowed to do that once a day). So this is basically jail-time - though we haven’t done anything wrong. How did it come to this? Less than a month ago Brian and I were heading out on holiday to Vietnam – though admittedly we were nervous about the implications of travelling at a time when the virus had started to encroach on China’s neighbours.  But here we are, just four weeks later and suddenly such a holiday would be unthinkable. Not only have airlines been grounded and countries closed their borders, we aren’t even allowed to travel to the airport – let alone get on a plane.   We should be devastated. But actually, so far it hasn’t been so bad. Everyone I have spoken to (virt

We’re an average family locked down in semi-self-isolation as the COVID-19 pandemic starts to invade even our little corner of the world.  We live in a small commuter town  – “we” being my husband Brian and myself. We’re also temporarily providing shelter for our youngest son, Robbie, aged 25.  Like everyone else, our norms have altered beyond recognition and we currently find ourselves stumbling about, trying to adjust to this brave new world in which  bog rolls are virtually non-existent and where anyone who coughs is looked upon with terror. When I say “semi-self-isolation”,  I mean we’re still in that "phoney war" period where life seems to be trundling along as usual despite the fact that we’ve all been advised to practise social distancing and to self-isolate if we display any coronavirus symptoms. So we’re still making our daily trip to the practically-empty shops, triumphantly snapping up that last packet of blancmange (why?) and the last tin of corned bee