At the time of writing, given national variations the UK reached Step Two of UK prime minister Boris Johnson’s “road-map” out of the Covid-19 crisis two-and-a-half weeks ago. So far, so good, and I think we can be reasonably confident that Step Three will happen on schedule on 17th May. As will, we all fervently hope, Step Four on Midsummer’s Day.
But as we emerge, blinking, into the sunlight, seeking to rid ourselves of the “prison pallor” of repeated lockdowns (a word borrowed from jail jargon) and tier-based restrictions, is it too early to draw any meaningful conclusions from our collective experience of this wearisome scourge?
Yes, it is – and probably always will be. We don’t know, cannot know, how long Covid will be with us, what shapes it might assume, or what effect future variants might have. But it’s a fair bet that locally, nationally, globally, society will have to adapt and mutate, just as the virus does.
There’s been much talk throughout the pandemic of the “new normal” – of learning to live according to changed parameters: wearing masks in crowded areas, sanitising here and there, undergoing frequent Covid tests, (maybe) carrying vaccine passports, and so on. But the phrase is misleading, implying as it does that we will simply have to get used to living under a new set of rules. As long as the Coronavirus is mutable – surely one of its key characteristics – there can be no fixed new normal. The best we can hope for is that whatever steps we have to take to counter new mutations stop short of what we’ve had to put up with thus far; but what I see going forward (and I’m no clairvoyant) is not a new normal, but an unending succession of constantly changing new normals.
But the past 14 months or so have certainly been a time of sustained introspection for many. For me, anyway. And I’ve learned five not-necessarily-edifying things about myself, which I will pass on to you here. Egotistical? Guilty as charged; but this is my blog, not yours. If you want to read on, read on. If not, go write your own.
no particular order, then:
I’ve learned that it is possible to be selfish and selfless at the
same time. Selfishly speaking, I want Covid restrictions to be lifted
according to my criteria – what’s important to me – but I find it
hard to care too much about other people’s priorities. I want to be
able to go to pubs, restaurants, the movies etc as (was) usual: to be
elbow-to-elbow with strangers at the bar, to revel in the hubbub of a
busy eatery. I want to be able to travel on buses and trains without
wearing a face-covering. I want to dispense with masks altogether,
actually – I don’t like them. Most of all I want to be able to hug
my family and friends. But foreign travel? To all those desperate for
overseas holidays, or who have family living abroad: sorry and all
that – but it’s not important to me right now, and therefore I
don’t really give one.
know: me me me. Appalling. But in mitigation I should add that at the
outset of the pandemic I signed up as a volunteer delivery driver for
the local food bank, and I’ve been doing it ever since. My three days
a week have since been reduced to one, but I’ll carry on with it for
as long as there’s a need. Which there will be, for the foreseeable.
Breathtakingly selfish, and at the same time ready to help those less
fortunate. To do my bit for the greater good. Odd, no?
Second, I don’t mind being alone for longish periods – as long as it’s on my own terms. Wordsmithery is a solitary occupation; but being alone for much of my working day has never really bothered me. Nor do I necessarily hanker after company at points during, or at the end of, the day; I can be quite happy on my Jack Jones for several days at a time (though whether that is healthy or not is a whole other matter). But the above, arguably misanthropic, state of mind is predicated on being able to see people, to socialise, should I choose to. I have found it very hard to handle that option being removed – in fact I’ve resolved, once that element of choice is fully restored, to make much better use of it.
my boredom threshold is surprisingly high. I’ve always considered
myself a bit of a restless soul: someone who needed near-constant
stimuli, from different quarters, in order to be at my scintillating
best. Not so, as it turns out. Yes, like many I have binge-watched
most of Netflix (other streaming services are available); but I’ve
also been quite happy to sit quietly and daydream – and for quite
long periods at that. Whole afternoons can go by with me doing little
more than staring into the middle distance. If you wanted to dress
this up you could call it meditation I suppose, except that implies
there’s an element of discipline, of structure, to it. Truly, there
isn’t; but I seem to emerge from these “trances” clear-headed and
also rediscovered books. An odd thing to say for someone who makes
his living out of words, but while I read – a lot – latterly it’s
tended to be in short bursts, for research purposes. To have the time
to immerse myself in a well-written novel, and let my imagination run
free, has been a total joy.
I’m not comfortable with uncertainty. When we went into this year’s
lockdown, I felt bullish. Yes, it was winter. Yes, we were on a
post-Christmas comedown (though in truth it wasn’t much of a Festive
Season anyway). But, I reasoned, as we had a way out of this,
lockdown was a price worth paying.
we didn’t. The vaccination programme started in December; but
throughout early January and into February it did nothing to lower
the death or hospitalisation rates. Until Boris unfolded his road-map
February, we had no indication of when, or how, restrictions might be
eased as we clawed our way back to something like the way of life we
knew – and, it turned out, loved.
those six or seven weeks I found close to unbearable. A daily diet of
bad news, and no end in sight, really messed with my head. If – God
forbid – we have to put restrictions in place again, let there be a
start date, and a firm end date. Be as pessimistic as you like; as
long as the date is fixed, I won’t care.
I’ve learned to value my freedom. An unlooked-for benefit of being a
voluntary food bank delivery driver is that I’ve had both jabs
(Pfizer) a little ahead of time, which makes me theoretically more or
less bulletproof. However, should a variant happen along that can
pierce my armour, and only a risky, untested vaccine can stop it?
Bring it on. Use me as a pin-cushion. Throw vaccine-loaded darts at
me. I don’t care. I don’t even much care if the vaccine is effective;
but if having jab after jab means that, after 21st
June, I can continue to walk out of my front door and lead something
like the life I want to live, then being stuck full of needles, and
suffering any side effects short of death, is a price worth paying.