A Week under Lockdown
- Details
- Written November 2020
The neighbourhood walk clockwise one day goes anti-clockwise the next. We bump into friends (well not quite as we all keep two meters apart), or find the animal sanctuary one day, so return the next with a carrot for the horse, but she's far away from the fence, doubtless also getting this message of social distancing. So the carrot goes into the evening stew instead. At least that was a change from three days in a row of lentil curry. Actually it's jolly good stuff.
We've spent a few afternoons in the garden shed, set up as the art studio: one day it was finding a Morning Glory, then Fountains Abbey, the next a small harbour, and the day after that, a fishing boat headed out to sea. They wouldn't have made the Summer Exhibition at the Royal Academy even if there'll be one this year.
Outside, the garden continues to give pleasure; the birds at the feeders, the tits exploring the nesting box. But the regular visitor who came each evening for her food has not been around for a couple of weeks. Foxes don't get covid-19. What could have happened?
After a silence of some time the muse reappeared, so I had a go at a few lines of verse. It's there for any who wish the read it. Isolation. It's had a mixed reception. You've been warned. Perhaps I should put the pen away.
A phone call from a friend expresses surprise that I've not been called back to medicine. Maybe he'd heard that I'd been at Professor Chris Whitty's School of Hygiene and Tropical Medicine in the 60s and had exam questions like: 'There's an outbreak of cholera. Outline the steps ....' and: 'You're serving with the Royal Army Medical Corps and are asked to plan a field hospital. Describe ....'
'Not me, I responded.' I'd just get in the way.'
We watched the 1980s film: The French Lieutenant's Woman. That was made in the days before subtitles. I enjoyed the Dorset scenery, but even though I’m trying out the best of digital hearing aids, Wendy paused the film occasionally and summarised things for me.
Thursday morning is set aside for house cleaning. I've learned to use a swiffle. Maybe next week I'll be trusted with the hoover? In the afternoon we baked a cake (sorry not for breakfast, fellows). We decorated it with a ribbon and sang happy birthday as we videoed my sister in Cape Town, (and no, we weren't washing our hands as we did as the prime minister said we should) just sad that we couldn't share a slice with her.
The digital world keeps us in touch - a virtual tour of Catherine's house under extensive extensions in Dorking. She explains how she keeps her therapy team safe and goes for walks with some of her parent-infant mental health clients. Then there's the regular Skype with André, now in Richmond, Virginia, as he starts to think of heading back to Geneva where there's talk of getting back to the workplace on 1 May. And on Sunday morning we share the service live-cast from his church in Geneva.
One of the most emotional moments of the week for us was to join neighbours out on Thursday evening, clapping the NHS. I had my nurse daughter and niece very much in mind, but also many others who're caring in one way or another.
There are a few photos to back up what I've written - The Week that Was, especially for those who can't get out and about these days. Enjoy the wild flowers; turn a blind eye to the paintings.
As the country braces itself for more, we concentrate on doing next to nothing. But giving and receiving love and friendship remain at the heart of our humanity. We matter to each other. Thanks for being examples of that for me.
April 2020