Postcards From Across the Pond

My wife and I are currently in Lockdown. It is, however, voluntary and, although it is happening on the two-year anniversary of the first UK Lockdown, this is not an attempt to recapture the magic. It is, instead, due to an awkward event looming in our not-too-distant future where, through no fault (or choice) of our own, we will be required to appear at an officially recognized, Government ordained, testing centre, to submit to a PCR test. Failure—to appear or to pass—will deny us permission to board our flight, and thereby remove the possibility of seeing my G-Kids—who are currently two years older than the last time I saw them—for the foreseeable future.

We could, of course, have opted to go about our lives as usual, but with near-misses landing all around us, we decided to hunker down in our bunker, like timid OAPs hiding from the COVID boogeyman. And, you know what? Like the first Lockdown (Lockdown 1.0 or, as I like to call it, Lockdown Classic) it’s really kinda nice. It helps that the weather is reminiscent of our initial internment, with blue skies, a warm breeze and a riot of spring flowers burgeoning all around. It really evokes a sweet sense of nostalgia, and makes me want to open YouTube and cue up a Joe Wicks Workout, or sit on the balcony in the sunshine, to sip tea and listen to Sandi Toksvig’s latest Vox Talk.

For those of you who have left this sort of thing in the past, allow me to remind you that waking up in the morning with absolutely nothing to do, and having the entire day at your disposal, is immensely satisfying. For a limited time, at least. We’ve only been at it a day or two and already—between the two of us—the laundry is done, the ironing pile has disappeared, everything has been dusted, and the entire flat is, generally, less cluttered. Right now, my wife is relaxing with a book, and I’m tinkering in my office, and neither one of us has to continually glance at the clock to be certain we’re not running late for an appointment. It’s like spring 2020, but with adequate toilet paper and no homemade bread.

Naturally, the best thing about this Lockdown Tribute Act is that it won’t last quite as long, and it serves as a welcome break between the hectic weeks we have just experienced and the coming frenetic activity (assuming they allow us on the plane) that characterizes our US Tours. Given that, I think I’ll head out to the balcony with a cup of tea to sit and enjoy the sunshine and revel in that uncommon elation that comes from knowing you have nothing to do. And hope that this draws to an end before we start looking at the curtains and decide they need replacing.

Not really the same, is it?