A Year of Coronavirus

I would not normally quote myself, but I was looking up something on my blog and was intrigued to read what I wrote a year ago yesterday:-

7 March 2020

In so far as my blog is a record of my routine preoccupations, which it half is, it would be odd not to make reference to the fact that the whole of the last week has been occupied by anxieties about the consequences of Coronavirus: from early in the week when it seemed odd and a bit discourteous not to shake hands and embrace to the end of the week when the best one could expect was a greeting elbow to elbow, when travelling on the underground meant standing stock still terrified of the first person who might sneeze, and even the Wolseley was half empty for breakfast. It is presumably sensible what we are all doing: making efforts to avoid crowded places; paying attention to the passage of germs; earnest hand washing to rid one of the taint of possible infection. But it is odd how a week can change everything.

8 March 2021

So, it has been a whole year of on and off lockdown, getting used to social isolation, not seeing people, listening to much more classical music, going out only to the local parks and shops. I don’t regard it as all bad – the need to slow down, not travelling, more time to think and reflect. Now, today, children are going back to school, spring is coming, one day we might be able to go back to Wales. More than anything, more than art galleries, I have missed a view of the mountains of Wales.


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