Suddenly, I’m gripped by the certainty that we should no longer have anyone else in the house. ” The Writer” and I made a promise to each other a few days ago that, if one of us feels strongly about any course of action, the other will go along with it. He’s as good as his word and we say a sad goodbye to our lovely cleaner for the ‘time being’ – whatever that is. She’s relieved and says she had been thinking of saying it to us. “The Writer’s” assistant is also delighted to scoot off to the country. Alone, we stare at each other. That’s it. Maybe for 18months. Or maybe more. There’s no logic, is there, in totally isolating ourselves then coming out before there is a cure or a vaccine? But we are still going to keep up our precious walks in the park and Government advice says it’s OK. (I wish they’d stop “advising” and just tell us, clearly, what to do)
March 13
“The Writer”, wakes up dizzy and with a sore throat. The trouble with people with vivid imaginations is that they tend to imagine whatever’s uppermost in their mind at the time. Friends who have been staying at their son’s new house in Scotland to help with house painting, are trying to decide whether to stay up there or come home to London . The house is in the middle of nowhere so they’d be mad to come home, though I’ll ‘miss’ them, illogical when I won’t be able to see them either way. We’re still walking daily in the park, feeling every time we close the front door behind us that going out is a transgressive and, therefore, thrilling act. Today, the Pelicans who live on a tiny island in the middle of the lake, have put on a show for the tourists, who seem to be reluctant to return to wherever they came from. The huge, lumbering birds land on one of the park benches, chosen for its position facing the sun, and look benignly at the tourists still gathering in large tight-knit groups, ooh-ing and ah-ing and taking selfies with the uncomplaining creatures.
MARCH 12
I saw this lock, below, attached to a tree in St. James’s Park, near Buckingham Palace. I don’t know who put it there-or why- but it was the last thing I saw in the open air before self-isolating in our apartment.
That was on March 23 but I’m going to go back a bit further than that before bringing you up to date.
Both of us are frightened to death by Prime ‘Minister, Boris Johnson’s speech at his briefing today predicting that “More people will lose loved ones before their time”. We are those loved ones – or at least, we’re the aged he’s talking about. My husband, “The Writer” and I have the same conversation we’ve been having since all this began. Me : ” The only way to be 100% certain we don’t get it, is not to leave the house until there is a vaccine in 18months time.” ‘The Writer’: Well then, that’s what we should do”. Me: But I don’t think I could stand not walking in the open air for so long” Him: Well, then, let’s keep going as we are” Me: “Oh God” “
I’ve noticed that God, in whom I definitely didn’t believe last month, seems to have crept into my thoughts quite a bit lately. I remember a school hym “God is working his purpose out as year succeeds to year”. Surely this is God working his purpose out? We have plundered the planet so now we can’t fly or cruise or litter the beaches with plastic. He allocated us three-score years and ten and we got cocky, lifting weights and jogging and bo-toxing and living to 80/90/100 so, now He’s targeted the elderly with his hideous virus and is clearing us out of the way. When I’m feeling more my normal self, I tend to the theory that it’s a Global conspiracy of Governments to rid themselves of the costly elderly, not have to pay out fortunes for Social Care and start over with a young, vigorous (and much less high-maintenance) population.
Locked down in London 