Lockdown Diaries: Part 1
I’ll be honest. I really had no intention of writing about COVID-19, the terrifying disease that has engulfed the entire world. There is a lot out there; literally every time I open my inbox or look at social media, there it is: some more information I didn’t ask for, the latest stats, people spreading truths about hand-washing, and lies about 5G.
Seriously. In the 1400s, there were conspiracy theories that [link]wells had been poisoned by Jewish people – and here we are 600 years later believing that the installation of 5G is to blame for a viral pathogen. It just goes to show that the human race really hasn’t come far, has it?
Instead I’ve been trying hard to limit my exposure as I don’t know how good all this fear-mongering and death is on my anxiety levels. I’m already cleaning the communal door handles of the building three times a day and I’m running out of Dettol.
I feel like it’s quite difficult to avoid the bombardment of information, and beyond that, people want to reach out and fill the void of human touch with human noise, reassurance, and validation. Humans are social and we hate being lonely. But the number of times I’ve been asked if I’m okay – am I okay to reply and say, “You know what, I am sick of talking about coronavirus, and I’m sick of the people joking about it”? Or do I accept it as a genuine attempt to reach out across the void and connect? Obviously I do the latter. But I can’t help but feel that every interaction at the moment has a strange heartbeat to it; a shared feeling and sense that everything is not really okay.
One COVID-19 thing that did pop up in a private group was someone pointing out that we are, right now, living through a history that will be talked about and discussed. If we are lucky enough to be here in 50 or 60 years, this will be on the syllabus at schools and we’ll be asked: what was it like? What happened? And I realise that by avoiding making any mention of it I’m actually doing future me a disservice; documenting what this has been like forms part of the fabric of history. So I’m going to do my part for the future and share what it’s been like for me.
Honestly, I doubt the lounging about on the sofa or eating biscuits is going to quite go into the official history texts, but I’d like to be able to at least go back and remember what it was like.
A little recap on the past few weeks
You can skip this section if you are, like me, sick of information and statistics and just want to get to the bit about watching TV and eating biscuits. There might be cute dog pictures later, if that’s any enticement to stay. The next section header I have made a beautiful colour to help you find it.
It is April 10th today, 2020. It feels like March both lasted forever and was gone in the blink of an eye. London, and the UK, was officially put in lockdown on the 23rd March, meaning that you can leave your property for only the following things:
- Once a day to exercise
- For essential shopping – e.g. groceries
- [For key workers only] to go to work and back again
The government has asked those with severe illnesses to self-isolate, some for a period of months. Yes, months. It sounds insane writing this, and it is.
The virus first arrived right at the end of January, when the situation was at a peak in Wuhan, China. Although COVID-19 featured in the news, people were still going about their business here. Brunch dates. Shopping centres. Dinners to celebrate. Dinners to commiserate. It was above freezing, but not warm enough for picnics. People were wrapped in layers, cursing the dark evenings and the grey, miserable weather. We were all agonising about this dark patch between Christmas and Easter and hoping for nicer weather. The tube was a nightmare, packed like sardines because nobody wanted to walk anywhere. It was dark, cold, and about 50% of the commuting population seemed to have colds. Sneezes were glared at.
The UK risk level changed from Low to Moderate on the 30th January, the day before a COVID-19 case was confirmed. Someone infected abroad had brought the virus into the UK. At this point the government slowly began to stir, discussions mounting about a plan to tackle any outbreak, and to agree approaches to contain it. It’s February, and we’re still experiencing the cold nights, the rain, the many layers. People swarm towards the cafes, restaurants, bars and shopping centres where they amble around, illuminated by the neon lights and the strip lighting. They find a cosy corner in a busy cocktail lounge and share a pitcher. They queue for 45 minutes to have a vegan burger at the new local pop-up. It’s still business as usual, the shops peddling heart chocolates to the lovers, and hot chocolates to the cold and worn-out families.
At the end of February, there is a little more news popping up. People are slightly less certain, slightly more anxious. The government advertises washing hands, but there isn’t a sense of worry or concern yet. Somewhere, someone is agonising over the seating plan for their April wedding, and somewhere else, a family book a well-needed break to the Maldives. The virus isn’t a cause for concern. Unless of course you are in London, packed tightly with other commuters, glaring suspiciously at anyone else. You see asian people being targeted and you make a conscious effort to sit next to them. The virus is still very much seen as an issue for the Chinese and there is a vague concern about spreading it here – and the xenophobes are out in force. You hear horror stories from your friends in London, their relatives or coworkers being attacked or harassed for being racially profiled as asian.
The 28th February is the first day that the virus is transmitted to another person on UK soil. And so it begins. By March, there are already cases in England, Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland. It’s here.
The UK government argue amongst themselves over how they’ll tackle the virus, and they unveil plans to contain it. It’s declared an ‘incident’ and the virus is globally declared a pandemic – meaning that it has spread across the globe.
Early March begins with a little trepidation. Of course, the bars and pubs are still jammed, the restaurants full, the hotels open. People are taking long weekends in the Peak District. They’re travelling to nature reserves at the weekend, and they might be reading the Sunday papers where page 3 has an update on the coronavirus. Coronavirus is now in common parlance, everyone is aware of it. They are just silently hoping that it will disappear, like H1N1 (Swine Flu), or SARS, or MERS. There is a sense that it’s important, but to someone else. It’s mentioned in passing over dinner, maybe.
As we know now, things changed quickly. The beginning of March was still business as usual, and the idea of leaving home wearing a mask was preposterous. By the middle of March, people begin questioning whether they can work more remotely. Within just a week, they’ve gone from thinking it’s someone else’s problem to worrying that it might impact them. Flights to and from countries are banned, and the people labelled crazy are beginning to stockpile for the armageddon.
The government seem disorganised and unsure. There are rumours that an advisor to the Prime Minister has welcomed the idea of herd immunity, reportedly saying “well, so what if a few pensioners die?”. There is this sense that they are unprepared, and journalists’ criticisms towards the government seem to suggest that with their strategies, they are willing to take risks with people’s lives. This criticism comes from the observation that the government’s approach seems so vastly different to the countries trying to contain the spread of the virus: Italy, France and increasingly, Spain.
The 12th March is a normal Thursday for most people. Perhaps they don’t go out after work, they head straight home. Maybe they avoid getting too close to other people on the train. The restaurants are slightly quieter, there is less of a queue for the coffee shops. But the people are still out, they are determined to not let any threat of a virus interfere with their everyday lives. The people wearing masks and gloves are still considered part of the tin-foil hat parade; an abnormal behaviour. The 12th March was fairly normal. Until the UK government changed the risk level from moderate to high. Businesses begin to hold crisis meetings. A nervousness taps into society, a sense that things might not be okay, and that we might now be genuinely at risk from something.
The outbreak in Italy is getting worse. It is the beginning of thousands of people dying. Their health system is at breaking point. In France and Italy, there are curfews in place, and people are isolated at home, forbidden from leaving. Social media is filled with Italians singing and dancing at their windows, a happy break from quite a bleak reality. Death, and isolation.
I’m asked whether I think the tube in London will be closed and I scoff at the question. Of course not, I say. I hope.
The government go hard on social distancing measures – no closer than 6ft to another person. Do not go out for anything that isn’t essential. Don’t touch your face. Avoid pubs and clubs. Avoid gatherings. Anyone with health conditions are advised to self-isolate.
It’s just a flu, say some people. If it’s serious, things would be closed. And they’re not. The pubs and restaurants are filled with people, the shops are still offering egg cups designed to look like chicken feet, and offering 2-for-1 on a set of Easter cupcake cases that are absolutely unnecessary. Because the government hasn’t formally closed these places, the argument is that they should remain open. They can’t afford to close; their insurance doesn’t cover it unless it’s a government shut down. And the economy. We need to boost the economy, not let a little pesky virus that the Italians can’t handle bother us.
On the 16th March I head into the office. On my way, I pick up a coffee from the little coffee cart by the station. The person behind me in the queue stands about a metre behind me, close, but not too close. I chat to the cart owner, and it feels almost completely normal. He hands me my coffee and I notice that he has no gloves on, even though it’s a slightly nippy 7 degrees. He wishes me a good day, smiling. See you soon.
It’s slightly less busy in the office, but not by much. I stop to chat to the security guards, we exchange a joke. I have three meetings, back-to-back. Then I hit rush hour on my way home. I am surrounded by people, and it’s at this point that the news begins to sink in. I am so tightly bound in by stressed commuters and my head is spinning with the worry that the virus is spreading, and it’s exactly these closed-in conditions that cause it to spread further. I feel at risk, in danger. The carriage is silent, and although rammed with people, everyone can hear the man further along coughing. A dry cough. By now, we all know that one sign of the virus is a dry cough. Eyes dart to the end of the carriage with each hacking cough. I am grateful to be further along but my mind begins to whirl. If he’s coughing, can those droplets come as far as me? Am I safe?
Just as I’m thinking this, and an elderly woman sitting to my left turns her head slightly – and coughs. A dry cough. Right across me. She doesn’t even attempt to cover her mouth. I freeze. I don’t breathe.
I am so stressed by what happens, I am close to tears. I run home. I panic. I decide not to go back into the office. The tube now, to me, feels dangerous and untrustworthy.
It is later this week that the city becomes different. People in the office report that it’s emptied, and advice begins to trickle down that remote working should be considered. Nobody wants to make rash decisions but everyone is on tenterhooks; afraid, poised, ready.
Kids are still hanging out in gangs. They head out on their bicycles, laughing. Small-time criminals pull up outside buildings in their black SUVs, facilitating small-time drug users. People are taking their children to school, taking them home, taking them to swimming lessons. That April wedding has a seating plan sorted, but the tasting menu is being arranged for next week. Social media is filled with articles on stockpiling, and just like that – reports come in that the toilet paper aisles in supermarkets are bare, and everyone is fighting to make it to Tesco in time to grab the last pack of Andrex. People are making jokes about it, they’re beginning to stockpile other things – beans, cereal, hand soap – and the tin-foil hat army is beginning to look less like a crazy bunch of loons, and more like the sensible ones. The ones taking precautions.
But the bars and the restaurants are still filled with people, albeit fewer, as if offering a haven that is protected somehow from the spread of the virus. The advice is to stay away, but people can’t. They have gym workouts to do. Birthdays to celebrate. Things haven’t shut down. As long as everyone washes their hands, then everything is fine. Memes flood the internet; it’s toilet paper, or washing your hands, or racist jokes. The humour is so light that it implies we aren’t taking it seriously. And for the most part, we aren’t.
One day later, and I am holding theatre tickets I have booked for tomorrow. There is a lot of mixed messages about the theatres; most seem to still be operating and a quick look online seems to suggest everything is still going ahead.
The UK death toll is at 71. There are snarky posts from friends on the £330bn the Chanceller, Rishi Sunak, has made available to businesses affected by the coronavirus pandemic. The comments vary between taunts on the Tory party offering a welfare state, to comments on freelancer businesses that are not offered any support. Some people use this to start conversations about Brexit, turning it to questions around how this money could be so readily made available so quickly. I begin to tune out social media. People are just constantly shouting into the void and it’s all so angry.
Two days later, on the 18th March, all the schools are ordered to close. It’s as this point that the reality begins to sink in. My theatre visit is cancelled, the theatre closing all performances from the 18th onwards. They send a blanket email and their Twitter feed is filled with confused, angry, and upset people. I’m relieved that I don’t have to take the tube. I pick up milk from my local shop and I feel nervous with how close everyone is to each other. The man behind me in the queue is paying for medicine, and he’s so close I can feel his breath on the back of my neck.
On 20th March, restaurants, clubs and gyms are all closed by the government. Many had closed within the past two days, but the response is an angry one. Some people had been enjoying low customer turnout at the gyms, and were able to do their exercises in the peace and quiet. They insisted that it was enough to wipe things down after use. Businesses angry because they were going to run out of money. No promises have been made on how they will be supported; there is uproar. The government subsidies are unclear, and people are almost immediately being laid off.
The order, that we are all expecting, finally comes from higher up within the business: we are to start working from home wherever possible. We are not to go to the office. We need to start rethinking how we are going to work. For some people, this is completely new and frightening. They don’t know how they are going to cope working around their families, or without seeing their colleagues every day. They don’t know where they are going to comfortably work. As a manager, I am suddenly fielding questions about the virus and about home working that I just don’t have an answer for.
The weekend is bright, but quite windy. I go for a short walk. Despite the gusts, there are plenty of people out. I wonder where they’re all going. Nobody is taking any notice of social distancing, and I end up walking down the centre of the road to avoid people. The number of people out surprises me. I want to do some DIY and I spend a few hours on my balcony, scraping off a layer of dirt 8 years old. I can see the DLR from my balcony, and the trains are still filled with people heading to Stratford. I can only imagine they are heading to Westfield to shop to replace the void of gym membership, restaurants and pubs.
There are still very few people wearing masks out. Some are donning gloves, the kind of medical grade gloves that they wear once and then throw on the ground. Litter has changed from empty McDonald’s wrappers to empty gloves. The rubbish bins are overflowing, bin bags piled at the side of the road, and the recycling bins are full. People are spending more time at home, and you can tell: they are purchasing hammocks, slack-lines, laptop computers, board games, musical instruments, mysterious packages from Amazon. I can see their intent lying in all the wonky cardboard jutting out of the recycling bins. I later walk past one of the estate team, packing the cardboard in as closely as possible in order to find more space and keep the area clean. As he works, he says hello, and comes within about 30cm of me. He is wearing gloves, but social distancing hasn’t quite landed with him. I swerve around him, smile, and head back to safety, within the building. I wipe the handles with Dettol on my way in, and as I’m doing so a neighbour walks past and says hello. They are so close that they brush my jacket with their arm.
I watch the announcement on the 23rd March live, which isn’t something I normally do. The Prime Minister seems uncomfortable with the message he is delivering, and within minutes I already spy parodies of his speech popping up. His fists tight and knuckles white, he tells the UK that they are on lockdown. They are allowed to leave their homes once a day, for exercise, to go to the shops, or to go to work. Gatherings are banned.
From this moment onwards, the country shifts. There is widespread panic-buying which shops are wholly unprepared for. Delivery slots online are all full, leaving the most vulnerable without options. Within the next few weeks, some companies offer slots to those self-isolating and in greater need, but this takes a while for them to organise. They are just responding to an incredible demand on them. The Morrissons website has a queue of 15,000 people waiting to use it to try to order their groceries. The shops begin to add limits to what people can buy.
The first day after a government lockdown, I see two families taking a leisurely bike ride through the park. The tube is still full. People are still going outside, as if being asked to stay inside suddenly reminded them how much they liked going out. Among the families and people out aimlessly walking is a constant stream of delivery drivers on mopeds. The streets are, in many ways, busier on a Tuesday afternoon than they were at the weekend. There are coats and in some cases sunglasses, smiles and waves, but not yet masks and gloves as standard.
It’s 9th April and just over two weeks since the lockdown. Today I took my dogs for a very short, brisk walk. One man, no mask or gloves, stayed entirely in my path and I drag the dogs to one side to leave the legal 6ft gap enforced by the government. If he notices, he certainly doesn’t care. I walk past 5 other people, on the hottest day of the year so far – 23 degrees, but cloudy and slightly breezy. They are all wearing a combination of medical-grade gloves or protective masks or both. They eye me with suspicion. The roads are empty at 5pm on a Thursday – when just two months ago there would be traffic at standstill, honking and rush hour frustration. In my time out, about twenty minutes total, I only see a single bus. There are no passengers and the bus driver is wearing a mask. Just two weeks ago this would have seemed like overkill. Today, we are fearful of each other, suspicious. The bins are overflowing and even if there were daily collections it wouldn’t be enough to shift the sheer amount of waste produced by a eating out of boredom, eating because there are no restaurants or cafes open, eating because the schools are closed. Eating.
I get home. I clean the door handles and lift buttons, just part of my daily routine. I wipe the dogs down, wash my hands for probably the twentieth time today, and settle down to check in with friends. Quite a few aren’t free. They have dates with their partners or friends over Zoom, the video conferencing software that has appeared out of nowhere during this crisis, or FaceTime. I spend a little time on social media, then I go back to my office and start writing about what the past few weeks have been like.
And that brings us to the end of our recap.
So let’s discuss what I’ve been up to.
Now you’re up-to-date with where we are, I’ll avoid talking too much about the reasons for our current lockdown and how fucking shitty it is, and just chat through how I’m feeling and what I’ve been up to.
I’m alright.
I’m doing okay. Sometimes, I’m doing more than okay. Sometimes I’m not doing so well. The most stressful thing is looking after [link]these two – being restricted to just one walk a day is a real change, for all of us. They are used to going outside four times a day, so they’ve been adjusting to a new routine and it’s been hard. Months of hard work is being undone in just a few weeks. I owe them many walks in the park when this is over.
If the cons are having two under-exercised and bored pups at home – who pee on the mat to remind me they exist, bark at absolutely every person when we’re actually outside, who can’t listen to instructions anymore, and steal cardboard from the recycling and chew it up, leaving me to find it in random places – then I’ll have to talk through the pros. I now have two affectionate little dudes and little Bear is getting increasingly more cuddly. We’re on about five daily demands for scritch-scrotches behind the ears and tummy tickles.
All this cute dog time is a big thumbs up from me, and I hope it stays when we’re all allowed outside again. Until then, I will enjoy all the extra cuddles.
Yes, like every single other person, some D.I.Y
I am so proud of myself on this one. I decided three or four weeks ago that I wanted to redo my balcony as it was looking…gross. I moved into my flat in 2012, and the handrail and wooden slats of my balcony hadn’t weathered very well. Just to demonstrate how bad the layer of green slime was, I’ll share some pretty grim photos, including some in progress images so you can see just how much of a difference it made!
Top middle: after two hours scrubbing
Top right: a days effort of scrubbing
Bottom: scrubbing complete, oil and stain applied and dried!
I started using a toothbrush and some soapy water to just clean off all the grime. There was a lot of grime and I quickly realised that I needed a cloth to dab off all the black and green gunk. I also quickly realised that a toothbrush wasn’t going to cut it.
I know what you must be thinking. You’re thinking, well Caz, this is exactly what the powerhose was made for, why the heck are you using a toothbrush?! And that’s a great question. Let me explain. I’m on the fourth storey. There are also big gaps between those slats – and honestly, the last thing I wanted to do right now is kill my neighbours’ plants. Or flood their balconies with black slime.
I mean, I do concede after about four slats that a toothbrush isn’t going to be very fast. I get a rough bristle brush, one of those old school wooden ones, and I get to work. I wonder if this is what they mean in those pirate films where people are ‘swabbing the deck’. It is a proper workout and I need to take regular breaks but imagining that I am a pirate is slightly helpful.
Two days later, my balcony looks like it’s made of wood again, and no longer looks like a background image from Lord of the Rings. I give the whole balcony one more wipe down with soapy water. Then I use a Ronseal oil stain that I bought from Amazon with reviews like “Much darker than advertised” “More mahogany than teak” “Terrible colour” and I get to work doing two layers with a paintbrush. I need to let each layer dry in-between for 4 hours.
After 5 days, and what feels like 5 years, after I start this journey to a nicer balcony, it’s completely dry and I can confirm that the reviews are on to something. It’s a little darker than I thought it would be. But at least it looks nice and presentable for all those balcony parties for one I am going to have over summer.
I am tempted to buy an outdoor beanbag. The pros are obvious, but I do wonder if right now I should be holding back on purchases so the postal service isn’t pushed to breaking point.
My working from home attire
It is almost 100% Lucy & Yak dungarees. Now the temperature has rocketed up from 5 degrees to 23 degrees, I’ve swapped out my roll neck jumpers for some cami tops. And question: do you even need to change your underwear if nobody is going to see you for months? Asking for a friend…
If you haven’t heard of Lucy & Yak, then do you even follow me on Instagram?! At the moment my go-to dungaree has been their black and mid-wash denim ‘Atlas’ – generously sized, and the perfect amount of baggy to both hide my wobbly bits and allow enthusiastic air guitar-ing to Bohemian Rhapsody. I am also rocking a pair of red Originals for my dog walks – they’re faster to dry, so it doesn’t matter if I get a few mucky paw prints on them. I did however have to say goodbye to a favourite pair of ballet flats as Bear missed the wall and weed all over my shoe instead.
If I’m honest, my beauty routine at the moment is: did I brush my teeth this morning? I feel for anyone who bumps into me on a dog walk; hair in a greasy topknot and definitely yesterday’s bralet. Yes, comfy old bralet, because I have given up wearing bras until I need to dress properly again. Who cares if your boobs are at your knees when nobody you care about is going to see you?
My skin is not very well
I know you are absolutely not interested in my skincare routine but I’m going to talk about it anyway. I’ve been struggling with adult acne for a while now, and things seemed to be under control until about two weeks ago when my entire face broke out in those awful deep cysts that hurt like the devil and just gently ooze over the space of a few weeks. I’ve been cleansing twice, using a supposedly blemish-banishing toner that cost me a small mortgage, using a night serum specifically targeted at acne, and a gentle (but eye-waveringly expensive) moisturiser from Kiehls that I only pull out in skincare emergencies. My only guess as to why this combination hasn’t been an immediate hit is that I am also wearing the night serum during the day.
My skin is clearing up, gradually, but there isn’t much I can do about it really. I’ve experienced terrible hormonal acne ever since I had the coil, something I have for medical reasons. I guess this cysts will all come back in two weeks again. Can’t wait.
The small blessing I have is that, considering that this might be the worst breakout I’ve ever had in my entire life, this is at least during a time where literally nobody else can see me. The curse I suppose is that we have been advised to not touch our faces, and as anyone with acne will understand, THIS IS REALLY DIFFICULT.
I purchased something EXCELLENT.
Someone made the mistake of sending me a link to a Lego Ideas set. Ideas is where they find popular designs made by non-official Lego Master Builders (and yes – Lego Master Builders is a real thing, [link]click here to read an interview with one) that Lego love and make into real sets that you can buy!
At £55 it isn’t the cheapest gift I’ve ever bought myself, but it is my birthday in a few weeks and I am definitely going to be spending it alone, so I feel like I deserve this treat.
I really don’t think anyone is going to be surprised that I snapped this up immediately.
Basically, if it involves dinosaurs, then I’m in.
If you want to ogle at the set, and then the other awesome things Lego sells, then [link]head here. There’s also an Ideas version of the Friends ‘Central Perk’ set and a pirate shipwreck that I totally want to get my hands on. But let’s be honest – I think the immediate one on the ‘purchase ASAP’ list is that International Space Station set. The detail is just incredible.
Website update!
Some of you might have noticed that my website looks a little different. This has been something I’ve been quietly working on for a few months now, save for a huge dip between January and the end of February where everything was just terrible. I moved to a new host, who have the best customer service, and upgraded my design to a new one.
I had a little help along the way – my chief website manager, Bear, was there every step of the way, as was my trusty caffetiere.
I’ve also changed a few things to make it simpler to subscribe and unsubscribe, so please do subscribe if you haven’t already! I’ve been collating things to include in my next newsletter, which will be an email this time rather than a blog post.
For those of you who are reading this through subscriptions and not from my new site, here is a little sneak peak:
It’s live up on [link]https://www.quirkandfolly.com – please tell me what you think, I’d love to hear your thoughts! I’m also thinking about what kind of content to write next, so let me know what you might want to hear more of – the best way to chat to me is drop me a direct message on Instagram. I can pay for any feedback or ideas with picture of two adorable dogs.
Phew, you’ve reached the end.
That was one very long post wasn’t it? I promise it’ll be much shorter next time, when I bring you Lockdown Diaries Part 2. There’s a high chance it’ll include more dog discussion, probably a bit about coffee, and definitely an update on my Lego building skills!
If you made it this far, give yourself a high five (though wash your hands first ok) and leave a comment to tell me: would you rather have to read aloud every word you read, or sing everything you say out loud?
Sing everything!! Love L&Y dungarees but haven’t tried yet