May 31

For the first time since this whole appalling Covid saga kicked off, I’m worried. I mean the kind of worry that buzzes constantly in the head like background music behind the ordinary tasks of the day. New loosening of Lockdown is being announced every day and I realise ,with a shock, that I’m finding the prospect of Unlockdown more difficult to handle than its opposite.

Firstly, because I have enjoyed – am enjoying – Lockdown . We are comfortable. We have access to fresh air, we have plenty to do, plenty to eat, enough to live on and no children to home school. I am well aware it’s a far cry from this for many people who are suffering badly, desperate to resume earning and cooped up in unbearable conditions , sometimes with a partner of whom they are terrified.

Unlike “The writer, I’m not a party animal. I understood what parties were for when I was single – they were for becoming not single. But, nowadays, the prospect of standing uncomfortably sipping warm white wine and having every conversation curtailed by “circulating” just when it’s getting interesting, isn’t my idea of fun. I miss dinner, breakfast or tea at a round table, with friends, laughing and arguing and bitching about or admiring others in a restaurant. But I find, reprehensibly, I’m not missing theatre, opera or galleries – just substituting with far too much TV.

Yesterday, I knew where I was. Stay in, except if I fancied a walk, sanitise every piece of cardboard or plastic, bag a food delivery slot, discuss the day’s meals, take some exercise, listen for hours to news about Dominic Cummings, shout at the TV about Dominic Cummings, and look forward to our weekly meeting with friends on Zoom. I didn’t worry, just got on with tasks.

Today, the world has suddenly become a more equivocal place. Are we morally obliged to start shopping for ourselves again? Will we be expected to invite friends round soon? How many friends? Which friends? Suppose the friends we do want to see don’t choose us as their preferred group? Will there be a spike? Will we ever board a ‘plane again? When will we feel confident enough to get on a bus or take a taxi?

A plethora of new rules was gleefully announced on Friday:

Groups of six may meet but not hug or hold babies.

Up to 6 people from 6 different households can meet in gardens and private outdoor spaces. You can see 5 people from another household on one day and 5 on another but not 3 groups of 5 friends at different times on the same day.

Food and drink can be served but not handed round.

If you use the lavatory in the house, the door should be opened and closed with a paper towel and everything should be “wiped down”.

Four-ball golf matches and tennis doubles can now be played as long as your doubles partner lives with you.

If it rains, you should stay out in the garden, use an umbrella or go home.

Try sloganising that lot Dominic Cummings! Hard to fit it on the front of the lectern, too. And try remembering it the rest of us.

To my surprise, I discover I have enjoyed living life on solid ground with fewer choices. Is this what having a religion feels like – clear rules and rituals, a comforting framework? What in the therapy business they call containment – literal containment in this case, as we are locked away indoors. Or have I just become institutionalised?

Like some of the scientists who spoke out yesterday, I feel we are being encouraged out of Lockdown too fast. Life suddenly feels more precarious.But when would be the right time?

“The writer” and I have made up our minds what we’re going to do – stay put, change nothing, wait to see if there is a spike in the next two or three weeks and, if not, think again.