Lockdown Diary — Week 1

Monday 23rd March

The truck came at just the right time, given the circumstances. On board was a climbing frame and tree-fort for the boys, earmarked for construction over the weekend. As it happened, we’d asked our childminder to stay home, after she’d called to say she had a slight cold. A week of home-schooling and full-time employment loomed. The fort was a great distraction, and a good head start for our rapid deviation from the national curriculum.

In our garage sits one sack of potatoes and one sack of onions. We bought both from the local farm, 20kg apiece. They’ll see us through! Much more than we need, we gave plenty away. The pleasure of our neighbour at the sight of a full box of staples — a retired insurance broker not normally short of funds, or food. How the world has changed.

Tuesday

On Tuesday, better prepared, I woke early to work from home. Home-school would start mid morning, and I’d log on again from the late afternoon. Rong’s work requires her to be more available during the day, so that was the deal we struck. I’m glad to have the flexibility.

Boris’ Lockdown announcement didn’t make much of a difference to us. We’ve already been home for two weeks, having volunteered the boys away from school/nursery a week before. It was welcome nonetheless. In general, in a crisis, I like to do whatever Germany is doing. It was reassuring that Boris thought the same, more-or-less.

We were thinking of going to my Mum’s place for Easter. The idea of running home to the countryside was becoming appealing anyway, not least because I recall something similar from The Day of the Triffids. Lockdown simplified that decision. It’s a strange thought that, along with millions of others, we’re not allowed to go and see our families for an unknown time.

Next year my Mum’s business will be forty years old. It’s a boarding-kennel for dogs while their owners go on holidays. It was surprisingly resilient to the 2008 recession, but this is different. On Thursday the last resident will be collected, and the buildings will sit empty. Every year, the calendar fills up with bookings, with people often calling months in advance to ensure there’s space. Over the last few days my Mum and sister took call after call, pencilling bookings out again until nothing was left.

Wednesday

It was on a long car journey last summer, I think. I looked up at the blue skies, criss-crossed with vapour trails streaking in all directions. What would our ancestors think of such an alien cloudscape, I wondered, somewhat wistfully. Would we ever enjoy the sky as they did?

I woke up early for my early shift. Standing in the garden, assessing the first morning of lockdown, cold before the sunshine, I looked up to the sky above, a canvas of uninterrupted blue. The traffic that thunders past our house at rush-hour was stilled. The air felt cleaner in my lungs, the birdsong louder.

The school provided some online materials to work through. A story about a rabbit who loses her teddy and finds it again. My six year old son Jesse was supposed to write down some sentences about the rabbit’s miserable experience. Sometimes it’s good to be in charge. I taught him about refraction and lenses, and the names of all the different metals we could find in the kitchen (we counted seven).

Thursday

There is nothing like fort construction to get the boys into the garden, and I was happy to oblige their constant demands for further progress on the project. The COVID-19 is always there in the background, each recollection bringing with it a little shock, as after a bereavement. The fort is well designed and enjoyable to build. Jesse learned to use a drill without significant injury. It felt normal, and easier to forget what’s going on outside our little garden.

Friday

The neighbourly potato exchange has evolved into an amusing WhatsApp barter channel with unlikely pairings. Today we traded two fresh-baked baguettes in return for two sharpened knives and a chisel (the latter a result of hard-bargaining). The blades are razor sharp now. Just as well we have kilos of potatoes and onions to slice through. We dispatched some ground almonds to our neighbours’ doorstep for transformation into macaroons. It is all rather middle-class.

I haven’t been near a supermarket in about three weeks. The farm remains deserted and plentiful, so we keep away from the busier shops as we can. Some of the tinned items on the shelf are disappearing, old friends not being replaced. This is the first time I’ve really had to think about food in my privileged adult life (aside from a time in University when I ran out of money and had to subsist for some time on Weetabix). How common a feeling it must be for millions of people in the world, and for the vast majority until not so long ago in history? At home, we waste practically nothing now, with a renewed sense of pride, and value in the things we have.

We order a takeaway from the local Chinese. We’ve waited for two hours before on a Friday night for a delivery, but it arrives in twenty minutes, along with lollipops for the kids and other freebies that feel a lot like gratitude. I will keep giving them our business.

Saturday

A terrific day with nothing but fort-building. Unfortunately, the thing is now nearly complete. On typical weekends Rong usually itches to leave the house , while I’m content stay home. Now that I’ve won that discussion for the forseeable future, we need more to do.

I order a new shed to replace the decrepit one in our garden, whose roofing felt was lost to February’s winds, and whose floor succumbed to ivy years ago. The new shed won’t be delivered for three or four weeks. Everybody is buying garden buildings right now, the salesman explains. His business is thriving. He says he feels guilty.

My hands are dry and chapped, desiccated by the building work, and all the hand-washing. They feel like proper hands now.

Sunday

Rong likes to collect supplies from the local corner shop, but I haven’t felt the urge to go, until now. We’re low on a few things and a walk is appealing. I walk by myself into town, some fifteen minutes through suburbia. The streets are deserted, and I walk down the middle of the street without disturbing anybody. The wind makes the stillness all the more eerie.

I reach the high street and the shops are almost universally closed, including the small asian grocery store I planned to visit. I walk down to the Tesco superstore at the end of the high street. People are going in and out but I don’t join them. I walk home with my empty shopping bags before the sunshine turns weirdly into snow.

The clocks went forward today. One less hour at home?

Click here for continuing adventures in Week 2