Day 4 – The quiet before the storm
Today I am feeling good. The sun is dancing through the leaves and I am looking at this forced stay-at-home measures with fresh eyes. The next two weeks (maybe more) could be the most relaxing time of my life. A time when I’ll be able to do what I like without feeling guilty. I can read for hours lying on the sofa, on the floor, on the kitchen table. I don’t even have to answer the door, as I am self-isolating for the good of this country and my own. I started the day with a plan, some exercise to keep fit. I opted for basketball and badminton. It’s amazing what one can do in an enclosed space if you put your mind to it.
A big hurray for the internet, without it the numbers of suicide would go up massively. Let’s be honest, we are not new to home segregation. Binging on Netflix series, while stuffing yourself is probably the most common pastime for many singletons and couples in London. After a week at work, Londoners are too tired, not just to go out, but to walk from one room to the next, and that’s if you’re lucky enough to have more than one room. Going out is an uphill battle: choosing your outfit, the Borough, the best-cheaper-trendier restaurant. Asking your friends if they are free, and when. Can you find the energy? In these hard times, we have been exonerated from such an obligation. No more socializing. Isn’t it wonderful? It’s like being a hermit without having to climb to the top of the mountain. And now that we are all hermits, there is no judging introverts and weirdos, who prefer to stay at home with their stuffed toys. Is so liberating.
While I write –trying to catch any ideas that come my way, before they fly away for ever like butterflies– I am taking part in a virtual queue. The screen says, ‘The queue is over an hour long’, and below it reads, ‘You can leave now and lose your place in the queue.’ No kidding! If you want to do online shopping, you have to queue up. It feels almost real, but you don’t need to wear a mask, or fear nasty Covid, jumping from one customer to the next, and coming your way.
I did my online shopping almost 2 weeks ago. Yes, that’s how long it takes to get your groceries in the time of Coronavirus. But I forgot a few things, and I wanted to add them to my order. Non-dairy spread. Gloves. Toilet paper. ‘Sorry, you can’t add any toilet paper,’ says the virtual assistant, ‘you have already reached the limit.’ The limit is 9 toilet rolls. Damn! I was really hoping to get 24. I can’t go through roll paper hunting again. I add a second bag of nuts, but this is not allowed either. ‘Naughty, says the assistant,’ and pulls out its tongue. I try to add a second can of chickpeas. ‘Naughty,’ says the assistant again, and tries to lick my face. ‘Go away.’ I scream, ‘You, nasty piece of supermarket screen and coronavirus carrier.’
I check out and go. The food is enough. It’s actually too much. I won’t probably be able to eat it. But this is panic buying in very small quantities, one of everything, even things that I don’t normally eat. I didn’t get any wine. Drinking in these crazy circumstances is not a good idea, you might feel cocky after a few glasses, and leave the house. And what are you going to say to the policeman in the police van asking where you’re going, when only have three choices? Pharmacy, supermarket, and walking around your block. I wish I could borrow my neighbour’s dog. He is over 70, at risk, and keeps taking his dog out, like he has always done, at least 4 or 5 times a day. Why does he do that?
Just before this weird nightmare started, for some strange and unknown reason, I went to the library, borrowed a book entitled “The Krakow Ghetto Pharmacy” by Tadensz Pankiewicz, and I started reading it. It couldn’t have been more appropriate. The book is a chronicle of the last years, months, and days in the Krakow Ghetto, from the initial isolation to the deportations and liquidation. It’s an historical and brilliant piece of work. Although, we are not in a ghetto and we are not being liquidated, we are experiencing a life-threatening situation all the same, and the feeling of something ominous endangering our life feels very real.
People in the Ghetto showed an incredible sense of calm, and dignity. Nobody cried or begged for mercy. How are we going to react?
A conservative peer, the Earl of Home’s, came up with an unusual idea. Referring to the lack of food in the supermarkets he suggested that people (he really meant plebe but an adviser stopped him from using such a word) should eat grey squirrels. Grey not red. The grey squirrels are foreign squirrels, imported over a century ago from America, and hated by the majority of the British population for having decimated the local, prettier, smaller, and cuter red squirrels. Not that they actually killed or ate the locals, they just took their food, and maybe their houses. Apart from stating the obvious, like, how do you catch a squirrel? I have never heard of such nonsense. It really shows what conservatives think of the rest of us. Talk soon, and take care.
Scribacchine in Fuga 