Thurs 12th March 2020 – Small beginnings
First indication that the Covid Coronavirus crisis will bite. Government states that over 70s may need to self-isolate within next few weeks, and one set of neighbours, in their 70s but reasonably fit and well, decide to do so immediately. Their local children/grandchildren are keeping them supplied.
Saturday 14th March 2020 – Isolation
My 86 year old Mother-in-Law decides to self-isolate, which includes having no visitors whatsoever. She will not be coming to Sunday lunch tomorrow. I monitor the Methodist Church website for advice re Church activities. As Health and Safety etc person I may be involved is advising on measures against Covid that we should take, although in practice it seems that the Church nationally will take the lead. I was due to transport an 84-year-old lady to Church tomorrow, but she calls to say that her two daughters have instructed her to self-isolate. She is not happy, but feels that she should do as she is told. She was a nurse, and says she has seen this situation at least three times in her career, and is not particularly worried for her own welfare. There are news reports of panic buying and empty shelves. I am feeling a little unsettled – I am a man of routines, and my routines are being disrupted, future routines unknown.
Sunday 15th March 2020 – A toilet roll shortage
Church is reasonably well attended by a congregation of all ages, the oldest 91 years old. The Minister at Church spends several minutes at the beginning of service passing on advice from the Church nationally, and how we must adapt our practices. At this stage just no hand-shaking, and during Communion we take the small glass of communion wine from the wooden glass holder, rather than being given it, and are “handed” the small pieces of bread from the tray by the Minister who uses sugar tongues. Not sure how necessary this is – by all accounts hard surfaces are more likely to harbour the virus – the silver tray and tongues. The normal Sunday lunch with Mother-in-Law Andree involves wine, and post dinner cheese and biscuits, but she decides that, even with such treats on offer, she won’t attend under current circumstances. On my way home I buy her (and me!) a bottle of wine, blue cheese, and biscuits from Barwell Co-op. There are plenty of these, but toiletries/toilet rolls aisles are bare. I Call Andree from the drive to say I have bought supplies – shall I leave them on the doorstep? She says she doesn’t need supplies, but comes to the door anyway. “Oh, I need these supplies!!!” Sunday lunch is strange without Andree sharing the wine. I call one of the few neighbours who is “vulnerable” but has no local family to see if they need anything. They are shopping on line, and are OK for the time being, but may appreciate someone collecting their daily paper. I agree to ask friend and neighbour Richard to collect it when he collects his own paper.
Monday 16th March 2020 – The start of social distancing.
Pretty much a normal day of work. Roads seem a bit less busy, but difficult to tell when cycling. The office has alcohol sanitising gel, which we are encouraged to use. General talk about working at home more, which many of us do regularly anyway. Lunch with my Son Simon at O’Neills pub, because it is never busy at lunch time, and we can socially-distance ourselves. We agree to avoid the busier lunch venues that we use. I donate platelets this afternoon at the city centre Blood Centre. The lady donating next to me works at a local Co-op. Her Donor Carer says “Never mind telling me your address and date and birth – are toilet rolls in stock??” They aren’t. Social Distance Guidance is issued by the Government. Over 70’s and vulnerable are “strongly advised” not to “Social Mix in the Community” The rest of us are just “advised” to do so. This means avoiding cinemas, theatres, pubs, bars, restaurants and clubs, and any unnecessary face to face contact. We have a trip to the theatre planned for Thursday night.
Tuesday 17th March 2020 – Cancellations (but not the pub).
Working at home this morning, already planned for dog-sitting purposes, but first take Mum-in-Law to the bank to cash a cheque. She asks me to get some bread from Aldi. The toiletries/toilet roll aisles are bare. As I leave cars are queuing to park, and a lady with young children winds down her window to ask if there are any toilet rolls in store. At least I can save her from parking unnecessarily. I pop into Lloyds Pharmacy to see if they have any alcohol hand sanitiser. They don’t. A friend’s 60th birthday meal on Saturday is cancelled. A colleague’s retirement meal on Friday is cancelled. I attend a church meeting and during the meeting we get an e-mail stating that Methodist Churches will cease holding services, with immediate effect. I also get an e-mail stating that Scout meetings will also cease.
It’s “dog walking” to the pub night. Of five regulars, one is over 70 and self-isolating, one has a family commitment, and one is on an Australia/New Zealand/Bali tour (the last leg in Bali has been cancelled – he’ll be home a week early). That leaves long-time friend and neighbour Richard and me. After careful thought we decide that the Tuesday night quietness of the Heathcote Arms should not be in the same category as London clubs, and so we are probably safe to go. The pub proves to be quiet, and, with no drivers in our group for once, we manage an extra pint or so, a bottle of hand sanitiser on the table between us.
Wednesday 18th March 2020 – Working from home.
My wife and I work at home all day, already planned. I receive various e-mails about putting arrangements in place for majority working at home. The Noise Team call out service is cancelled. Face to face interviews will no longer take place. Working home arrangements work well – me in my study, and Chantal has set up an office in the small front room. We are just a few feet from each other, but separated by a wall, so she can have TV on in background, and I have Classic FM. I have the printer. My stepson lives with us, has his car here, and takes any opportunity to be independent, with the option of his own space. Consequently, he is perfectly happy to tour the supermarkets of South Leicestershire to find items for Mum-in-Law. He finds one Pharmacy allowing in one customer at a time, with a queue outside. The Government announces that all schools will close from Friday.
Thursday 19th March 2020: Feeling vulnerable.
I speak to our other neighbours, over 70, but fit and well and not yet self-isolating, unlike their local daughter whose husband is displaying symptoms. Our neighbours are still happy to pop to local shops. I go to the local “tip”. , A chap normally leans into the car window to check what items have brought for recycling, but today he stays in his hut with the door closed. A vulnerable neighbour living down the Lane passes by on a daily walk, scarf across her face, and asks, keeping a very safe distance, if I can deliver some leaflets to people on the Lane from Croft Good Neighbours, with details of help on offer to those self-isolating. She also asks if I can buy her regular fresh fruit if I get the opportunity. The Little Theatre calls to confirm that tonight’s performance, which we were due to attend, has been cancelled. This was so expected that I’d already forgotten about it. I agree to donate the cost of the tickets to the theatre. My youngest son calls me. He and his girlfriend were coming for Sunday lunch next Sunday, Mothering Sunday, after visiting his girlfriend’s parents in Derby. They have decided not to visit her mum, and after discussion we cancelled the visit for Sunday lunch.
Last normal office day before lockdown. There is an end-of-term/Christmas Eve atmosphere, with banter between Teams, and talk of how future working arrangements may operate. I divert my office phone to my office mobile phone ready for when the office is sparsely occupied. I have a pre-arranged interview with someone who caused a noise nuisance when I last worked a night-shift. A couple duly arrive, bringing a friend to interpret (Romanian), and so I can’t avoid a prolonged face to face interview with three people in a small room. No social distancing. At lunchtime the City centre is still busy. Savers store are just shelf filling with Paracetamol (recommended for use for Covid-19 symptoms, and in short supply on shop shelves) and so I buy my permitted two packs. The adjacent butcher is selling fresh meat faster that he can cut the joints, so lots of bones available for the dogs. The outdoor market has fresh fruit and veg, and the indoor market has fish, meat and cheese. I tell colleagues that Paracetamol is available at Savers and our part of the office promptly empties. All manage to buy some, but the last colleague out of the door finds an empty shelf just 15 minutes after my visit. Fortunately, a member of shop staff spots two available packs by checkout – someone has attempted to buy more than permitted.
Friday 20th March 2020 (2) – A final chance to socialise.
I Visit Sainsbury on way home. The toiletries/toilet rolls aisle is empty, but there is plenty of fresh fruit and vegetables for our neighbour who prefers the blueberries-in-sealed-punnets varieties to those from Leicester market. Puppy Ellie is poorly, and Chantal takes her to the vet. Just one owner allowed to attend per pet, call the practice on arrival and wait in the car park until called in. As I am about to leave for an evening dog walk, I stop to hear the daily 5pm Boris Briefing. All pubs etc to close from tonight. I call friend and neighbour Richard and we decide to bring forward tomorrows planned pub lunch. Within 30 minutes of Boris’s announcement we are in the pub and ordering food. The pub gets busy, but our prompt arrival means we sit at our usual corner table, socially distancing from others. We have a nice evening, with a nice atmosphere, and nice country walk at either end. Irresponsible? Maybe, but there have been mutterings from Government Health Advisers about balancing risk of infection against mental welfare. We leave the pub mid-evening in good spirits, telling the Licensee that we will see her again in Summer. She was also in good spirits considering that her business is about to close, and her wedding, next Saturday at a local hotel, has been cancelled.
Saturday 21st March 2020 – A Spring stroll.
My son joins me for a long dog walk around Croft Quarry with 9 year old mongrel Tia, leaving Chantal walking puppy Ellie on Croft Hill with a friend and her two dogs. Croft Hill is busy – maybe people pre-empting a possible “lock-down”, or maybe it is just because of the first proper spring weather. I visit Broughton Co-op where there is plenty of fresh fruit and vegetable, milk and dairy products, but limited tinned goods and the toiletries/toilet aisle is empty. A delivery has recently been made, and after a request from another customer a case of tissues is produced from the warehouse. It is on my list and I am allocated two boxes. The checkout operator said that staff had received some “grief” from customers unable to buy what they wanted, but most people were fine.
Mothering Sunday 22nd March 2020 – Beware relative bearing gifts.
Mum-in-Law decides that she doesn’t want the garden planter that Chantal has bought as a Mothering Sunday gift, to cheer up her patio, which would be visible from the living room, through the patio doors. The plan was to just to leave it in place without going inside, but Andree has heard that flowers can harbour the virus, and will not be persuaded otherwise, and rejects gift. We later find that Mum-in-Law has allowed a friend to visit her indoors. Mum-in-Law texts a shopping list which includes “oil”. I must train her to be more specific in her lists if she doesn’t want a pint of engine oil delivering.
Monday 23rd March 2020 – Lockdown
Probably my last trip to the office for a while. The office is busy with teams finalising work-at-home arrangements. I visit Leicester Market for fresh fruit and vegetables. Neither Chantal nor Mum-in-Law have got around to providing a list, and so I WhatsApp a photograph of stalls for Chantal to “browse”, she then WhatsApp’s me a shopping list, and I return to the office laden with bags. I notice that banks are restricting customers to five or so at a time, and each has a queue. I leave work for home at lunchtime, and take Chantal to a local village pharmacy to collect medication – one customer allowed in as one leaves, but we only queue briefly.
A Boris announcement is made at 8.30pm – as expected, “lockdown” starts at midnight. Food shopping will be allowed, but we decide that Sainsbury, which closes at 2300 tonight, might be quiet now. Sainsbury has closed early, as has Asda, no doubt to prevent crowds of shoppers from exchanging The Virus, and so we visit the village Co-op, closing at 10pm. We are the only customers until three others arrive while we are at the checkout. We manage two baskets of provisions, one for us, one for Mum-in-Law. I’m glad that the shop is empty – Chantal can join me and confirm that “oil” on Mum-in-Law’s list is olive oil and vegetable oil. Even better, Plymouth Gin is on offer, and we treat ourselves and Mum-in-Law, placing a bottle in each basket.
Tuesday 24th March 2020 – Lockdown day one.
I start each day with Radio 4, and it is strange listening to reporters broadcasting from their front room, with variable sound quality. It’s the same on TV, with slightly fuzzy pictures.
I drop the car at the village garage for a pre-arranged tyre fitting this morning. Reception is locked, and I ring the new doorbell. The door opened slightly, and the proprietor reaches through the gap for my keys. I walk the dogs back home via Croft Hill, and meet a friend and her two dogs and son. Social Distancing is natural with four dogs and an eight-year-old running around. Her partner works for a specialist precision engineering company, now working full time manufacturing parts for hospital ventilators. Ellie is attached to a long trailing lead which I can stamp on if she runs to other walkers to say hello. If this fails, I can use it to pull her in from a safe distance. When we see other dog walkers, we would normally exchange greetings as we pass. Now we wait at a distance for them to move on.
I work at home for the rest of the morning. From time to time the “virtual desktop” used to access the office freezes, probably overwhelmed by demand. Later I drive past the local Honda dealer. The normally full forecourt is empty, all cars locked away in the rear compound. My son calls using WhatsApp video. Last night while we were pre lock-down shopping after Boris’s statement, they set off to Norfolk to collect a Labrador puppy, originally due to be collected next week. They arrive at midnight and get home at 4am.
Tonight would normally be pub night with friends and dogs. We will all miss the walk, pints and chat. I “Face Time” one of our group, over 70 and isolated for a week. He is fine, with his neighbours keeping him supplied.
Mum-in-Law has paid for her shopping with an envelope full of 20p, 50p and £1 coins. I have gone from being cashless to having a pocket full of potentially infected shrapnel. It should be the other way around. Mum-in-Law calls Chantal to ask if her gentleman friend should visit her, but doesn’t seem happy with the response. I text to say Government advice is to decide to stay apart or live together, and then keep this arrangement, but that if her friend is self-isolating as strictly as she is, then the benefit will outweigh the risk. Self-isolating for Mum-in-Law is a different ball-game to those of us living with family and technological communication.
Wednesday 25th March – Social distancing.
We meet our friend and her two dogs and eight year old son on The Hill. My wife Chantal repeatedly tells me off for getting closer than 2m to our friend. It was the first day of “home schooling” yesterday, and apparently it did not go well, with both “teacher” and pupil getting very frustrated. We have a brief chat with other dog walking friends, suddenly realising that we are all standing at least THREE metres, if not more, apart, even the married couples amongst us keeping the distance, such is the fear of a “gathering”. One of our friend’s comments on the clear blue vapour-trail free sky. I have also noticed the reduction in aircraft noise.
Two other friends, from The Lane come striding over the hill, heading for the village Co-op to shop for their neighbour. They phone later to report that the shop is well stocked with fresh fruit and veg. I set off on a shopping trip after the dog walk and buy most things from lists from the neighbour, Mum-in-Law and ourselves. All are short lists – just as well since the Co-op is small. There are lines on the floor, 2m apart, for those queuing for the checkout – just four people is enough to occupy much of the last aisle. When I reach the front, an elderly lady enters the shop and heads straight for the checkout with a query, unaware of the hidden queue. I tell the lady at the till to deal with her first – she is of an age that should not stay in even a small shop for long. As I leave, the shop “safe capacity” of five has been reached, and a shop assistant is supervising a one-out-one-in policy. Tonight, I browse a photo sharing “community” website, which emphasises the global nature of the Virus, commenting on lock-down arrangements in Canada, USA, Australia, New Zealand and South Africa, as well as across Europe.
Thursday 26th March 2020 – Thank you NHS.
The news seems to have settled down somewhat, concentrating more on the practical aspects of the epidemic, numbers of ventilators and test kits for infection, rather than deaths, infections and more intrusive measures of social isolation. I come across a newspaper item about the Labour Leadership election, a relief to read some “normal” news. Later today a neighbour says that he avoids the news to avoid worrying about the epidemic. Both Radio 4 “Today” presenters are presenting from home, as are Classic FM presenters.
Our dog walking friend Amy is planning a visit to a Tesco store and offers to buy flour, which I was unable to find yesterday, but later phones to say that Tesco has none. If I lose weight during the crisis it won’t be anxiety – it will a shortage of home-made cakes. Amy did find some sugar lumps for a diabetic neighbour, something else I couldn’t find yesterday.
For a second day Chantal and I leave our working-at-home-desks to have lunch in the sunshine on the patio at the bottom of the garden, and watch several couples and families on footpaths across the fields. The footpaths aren’t normally this busy – are these people who normally exercise by visiting shopping centres?
Tonight, I remind Chantal and Steven to come outside at 8pm to applaud the NHS workers. Steven cannot believe that anyone will stand in the darkness of a country lane to clap at empty fields. He doesn’t know our Lane. At 8pm sharp, along with the rest of the UK, we join neighbours along the Lane in our respective front gardens to clap, cheer, whistle and saucepan-bang our gratitude to all in the NHS.
Friday 27th March 2020 – Queuing.
Mum-in-Law Andree texts a short shopping list to me this morning, which includes bread and a cabbage. “What sort of cabbage?” “The football looking one!” I have promised to collect a prescription for a neighbour this afternoon, and so agree to shop this afterwards, when I can conveniently pop into a Co-op close to the pharmacy, where I can also buy fresh produce for another neighbour. Chantal dictates otherwise – she has a long shopping list, which must be purchased from Aldi. At the pharmacy I am dismayed to see a queue snaking down the steps to the door and along the road, and the car park is full. I park two streets away and join the queue, reaching the pharmacy door after 20 minutes. The pharmacy “sales area” is separated from the outer door by plastic sheeting, creating a lobby. The pharmacist serves from a table in front of the sheet, going behind it to retrieve prescriptions. Despite being ordered last Monday “Mine” is not yet ready for collection, and I am asked to wait outside while it is dispensed and packaged, joining several other people in the same situation. We all dodge and weave to maintain 2 metres separation as new customers enter, or are called in to collect drugs.
After a further 20 minutes I am called to collect my package, and I drive to Aldi, 5 miles away. Another queue wraps around the car park, and as I approach the queue, I phone Chantal to ask how desperate she is for the items on the list. Apparently needs them all. A man at the end of the queue is on the phone. “The queue stretches around the car park. How desperate are you for these things?” He also loses. Having joined the queue I realise that I do not have my shopping list. My shopping bag reserves my place in the queue as I return to the car – no list. I call Chantal with a request to WhatsApp new lists. She takes it well. 20 minutes later I enter the store. 20 minutes seems to be the British Standard length for a queue of people each 2 metres apart. I am now shopping from four separate images of lists – Mum-in-Law, neighbour and Chantal parts 1 & 2. It is initially stressful, but with customers being “trickled in” 5 at a time, and most shelves full or being filled, the atmosphere was quite relaxed, with customers Do-Si-Do-ing around each other, barn-dance style, to maintain social distance. Like other men in the store I spend some time on the phone seeking clarification of details.
After 50 minutes I successfully emerge triumphant with almost everything on the lists. I have even located toilet rolls. I am so confident that I visit the nearby Co-op to mop up the missing items – just a 5-minute queue. Still no flour, but a friend has pointed out that bags can be ordered and collected from Claybrook Mill, just a few minutes away, and, more importantly, run by friends of ours.
Earlier in the day stepson Steven visited another self-isolating neighbour to install a recently purchased “PVR” hard drive for her TV. She unlocks the front door and retreats to the kitchen while he sets up the technology. He now has to demonstrate how to operate the recorder – not possible when he is in the living room and neighbour Ann is in the kitchen. Ann goes outside and the demonstration is done from the living room through closed patio doors to. What odd times we live in.
Saturday 28th March 2020 – Virtually socialising.
My birthday! Chantal and I traditionally celebrate my birthday with a dog walk, usually in the Peak District, with a pub meal at some point in the day. This year we had planned to be in Wales, staying at a friend’s cottage, and no doubt having dinner in the local pub, renowned for its extensive menu. We also have a family gathering on a weekend close to my birthday. None of this is happening this year. Derbyshire Police are using a drone to monitor and “publicise and shame” groups of walkers who decide to meet and walk together on remote Peak paths. In Bala, close to the cottage where we stay, there are large hand-painted signs “Go Home, Idiots”. The signs are located in Welsh-speaking Wales, but are written in English. Enough said.
But I still have a social birthday. I have a facetime call from one “drinking buddy”, and phone call from another, and more facetimes calls, from my sister in Yorkshire and from and family in Hampshire. The Hampshire call starts as a WhatsApp video-call, but this doesn’t seem as reliable as Facetime. This afternoon I meet with sons and wife/partner using “Zoom”, where we each see and chat to each other. Zoom has dropped its limit of 40 minutes for free, and we chat for almost an hour and a half. I am on Zoom again this evening – a trial with friends from Church in preparation for an online service tomorrow. I have only recently come across Zoom. Scouts have been using it for virtual meetings, my sister Ros has virtual choir practice via Zoom, and a colleague has used it for a Campaign for Real Ale meeting. At the moment they can only dream of Real Ale festivals. I can feel a trial coming on for a Zoom Tuesday night virtual pub session coming on, now that we cannot all stroll down to the pub together for our weekly gatherings. The pandemic has encouraged exploration of virtual-socialising technology. Maybe, once the crisis is over, we will be in visual contact more often with distant friends and relatives.
This morning, while we are walking the dogs, a group of runners pass in a stretched-out line, carefully paced to be over 2 metres apart.
Sunday 29th March 2020 – We are all instructed.
Our first virtual church service this morning, using “Zoom”. Of 40 or so regulars I suspect about half are sufficiently internet-confident to join try something new, and so I am little disappointed that only nine of us join in. Maybe it’s a combination of clocks going forward last night, and the “service” starting an hour earlier than usual. The service goes reasonably well, with just a few glitches to iron out before the next attempt – microphones need to be muted to avoid “noises off” (in my case dogs playing noisily) and singing hymns most definitely does not work.
Dog walk after the service. With a bitingly cold wind we meet (at a distance) only other dog walkers, no couples or families exercising, although during a later walk we meet one family on the fields behind us, and we hug the footpath edges as we approach each other, maintaining the prescribed 2 metres of social distancing, each of us then returning to the centre of the path after passing.
This afternoon my sister Pauline WhatsApp’s a quiz to the family, identifying contagious diseases from “emoji” symbols. We get 9/10. I note that no youngsters do well – for once it is a quiz with no questions about popular films and personalities.
I have subscribed to e-mailed updates of Government “Coronavirus guidance”, several a day, although most are of limited interest and promptly deleted. An update on Social Distancing dictates who can travel where and for what purpose, stating “Every citizen is instructed to comply with these measures”, very reminiscent of historic wartime propaganda. I put the wheelie-bin out tonight, ready for tomorrows collection, and as requested by the District Council I carefully clean the handles. Not sure how effective this is against lurking viruses since I use antibacterial kitchen cleaner, reserving scarce alcohol-based hand gel for personal use.
Almost at the end of the first week of lockdown, and, thanks to our employment situation and where we live, it is a relaxed lifestyle. We may feel differently after a few weeks. We have great sympathy for those living in a small city flat or single room. As Stepson Steven said “I am so glad that I am no longer in my London shared House”
Monday 30th March 2020 – The sound of silence.
Lying in bed reading last night with the window open, all was silent – no noise from M69 motorway, no vehicles on the Lane or from the busier road around Croft Hill, no aircraft, no trains. There will be goods trains later in the night, but road and air traffic has noticeably reduced as people stay at home.
I am on annual leave this week, for a break in Wales, now cancelled thank to the pandemic. I have decided not to cancel the annual leave – lock-down is an opportunity to sort out a disorganised garden, and this keeps me busy for most of the day.
My Junior Doctor niece Megan WhatsApps to the family group – “Next” clothing company have teamed up with the hospital to provide “work clothes” – white T-shirts. As she says, it is nice that big companies are offering to help out.
Fetching in the recycling bin from the drive I meet sister in law Sally walking past with her dog, and we chat. She has a part time job maintaining a golf course, and lock-down occurred at the beginning of the ground maintenance season. Her boss is concerned that the course will be unmanageably overgrown by the time ground staff are allowed back to work. There will be many consequences of social isolation that most of us will not realise until life returns to normal.
Dog Training Club meets tonight, and some of us upload a video of exercises that we have been practicing with our dogs – virtual dog training. Tia does a commendable “send away”. Ellie weaves between my legs as I walk. Like kids, dogs need home-schooling during social isolation.
This morning BBC news reports that Jenny Harries, Deputy Chief Medical Officer, has stated that it will be 6 months before things returned to normal. I note that she does not say that we will be housebound for 6 months. Why the negative spin? We need positive news, such as the number of people surviving the virus who are now immune, to balance the daily death and infection count.
Tuesday 31st March 2020 – A virtual pub
I keep a small bottle of spectacles cleaning fluid by my desk the the study. This is now accompanied by a small bottle of moisturiser. Regular and prolonged hand-washing is playing havoc with my skin.
I collect a bag of dog food from our dog trainer (left safely in their yard). Our dog trainer came out of her door for a brief chat across the yard. She wondered if chatting online instead of face-to-face would become the new norm? While out and about I note two separate runners who suddenly veer into the road to socially-distance themselves from others on the pavement, and see the first local person wearing a face mask – common in cities and large stores, but not in local villages.
This afternoon I pop into a local Co-op, since I am passing, in a vain attempt to see if any crusty loaves are left on the shelves. Bread shelves are empty, as are shelves for tinned goods. I had thought that retailers were now recovering from panic buying. Neighbour Richard launches his drone from his garden further up the Lane and photographs the immediate area – early afternoon roads with no vehicles.
This afternoon we meet some younger neighbours also out with their dog, recently back from visiting family in Australia. They were concerned about being stranded, and so spent £1500 on a flight home three days earlier than planned. They subsequently discovered that had they taken their originally booked flights they would have been stranded in Dubai.
This evening our first virtual pub meet-up went well – six of us connecting via Zoom, and one, unable to download Zoom, joined us via Facetime on an i-pad, which was balanced on another participants knee so we could all see each other. We caught up and chatted over a couple of beers or glasses of wine for well over an hour. It is not quite the same as chatting in a pub, the conversation not quite flowing smoothly, and we had to remember that our respective ladies were present in the background. I think our dog-trainer’s concern that face-to-face socialising will cease is unfounded.
CLICK IMAGE TO GO TO APRIL 2020 DIARY
The weekly shop becomes a major event. The grief of a Covid death.
CLICK IMAGE TO GO TO LOCKDOWN DIARY HOME PAGE
Life in the UK changed for everyone in March 2020.