Dear Friends, 

Almost two months into the ‘lockdown’ of Covid-19 – I feel our only weapon is the art of the pacifist until the vaccine breathes life! Like match boxes we all have the potential to become ash – but here inside we are safe – for the rough glass paper is without and we stay within. Back to back, side by side, ear to ear and nose to nose.

Barely room to strike a pose, but the selfies spawn – endlessly and perhaps with more vigour. What else is there to do? How has one found the different pace of life – nice? Is it slower? Do you notice a whole lot more?

In your 20s did you go travel the world in the quest to find yourself – lockdown gives one a chance to actually reflect… was all that indulgent travelling just a distraction from the painful truths? Have you found that Yourself was here, in this match box, patiently waiting for you to just be, without distractions. Now is the time to take ‘high tea’ with oneself and ask all those gritty questions one never dreamed of doing before. Is it painful or emancipating to get to know one’s self at such close proximity?

Did you get so bored you legally changed your name by Deed Poll? Did you spend the whole time since being furloughed taking up the habits of a naturalist? Is it airy and freeing – or were you disappointed to find you had to put a sock on it with the draft beating through the floorboards? Did you find a woodlouse on its back wriggling away and it made you feel so tired you flicked it over and watched it escape into the horizon. Did it give you a sense of purpose for the day?

Do you stub your toe without fail on your morning commute from bed to kitchen, kitchen to bed, on that pesky chair your other half ALWAYS leaves out at an awkward angle? Does your mind reel into some extreme questioning as you slosh milk into the cereal bowl – ‘would I have married him if I knew he was always going to leave his chair a-jar’?

Have the kids got your tongue? Did they tangle you up in remnants of solid and squalid linen and clothes. Did you scream, so hard, you were left fatigued but found not one of them even turned to see what that was? Did you even scream at all?

Have you rolled your eyes a million times at your once pitied singleton friend who you once thought had ‘it so hard’, but as they recall their 50th misty Brazilian tinder date that went from an innocent Zoom to a firework-like climax in just under an hour – Oh and she’s gotta go, Jose is calling again! Were you shocked to find a tinge of jealousy in you as you gaze over at darling Fred picking his nose again? 

Have all the monsters come out from under the bed yet? Or were you scared but found it only to be an angel come and kiss you on your weary head? Did you actually catch yourself saying ‘well said’ to Johnson on the news and panic Covid could make a Tory girl out of you yet – all in the desperation to end the ‘lockdown blues’. 

Did you start a book called ‘Love in Lockdown’ only to get ghosted 48 hours later? All that’s left is a scribble on the notepad – ‘This writing game is a fad’ and you’re left bemused by how a guy or gal you never met can leave you feeling quite so sad? Are you dreading another bloody hour on another bloody group quiz, when you could just be staring out the window instead?

One thing I know is that lockdown is a universal effort that we are surviving as the hideous kinky individuals we are.

I leave you with something that captures something of the lockdown blues for me:

 A Hazy Shade of Winter- A song by Simon and Garfunkel 

Time, time, time, see what’s become of me

While I look around for my possibilities

 I was so hard to please

Don’t look around

The leaves are brown

And the sky is a hazy shade of winter

Hear the Salvation Army band

Down by the riverside’s, there’s bound to

be a better ride

Than what you’ve got planned

Carry your cup in your hand

And look around

Leaves are brown, now

And the sky is a hazy shade of winter

Hang on to your hopes, my friend

That’s an easy thing to say

But if your hopes should pass away

Simply pretend that you can build them

Again

Look around

The grass is high

The fields are ripe

It’s the springtime of my life

Seasons change with the scenery

Weaving time in a tapestry

Won’t you stop and remember me

At any convenient time?

Funny how my memory skips while looking over manuscripts

Of unpublished rhyme 

Drinking my vodka and lime…