operation coronavirus - Diary of a not-so-young Woman
pauline langfield
Advisory Distancing Day 1: The government has asked everyone to observe "social distancing" to try and avoid the spread of this new Coronavirus. Husband already feels stir-crazy.
Son pleased he can work from his flat and save commuting time (ie get up later).
Advisory Distancing Day 3: Church services are cancelled.
Advisory Distancing Day 5: We make up the Mothering Sunday posies although there'll be no services. Signs at each church to explain.
Advisory Distancing Day 7: Son phones to say his current girlfriend ( a doctor) has spent the day coughing all over him and has gone off to her flat with a temperature. She can return to work in 7 days. He has to quarantine himself for 14 in his room in a shared flat.
Lockdown Day 1: Husband says if I mention Anne Frank one more time he'll become violent. Well, at least we don't have the Nazis hunting for us, I say.
But that's a bit like telling a child to eat their greens because there are people starving in Africa. It's true, but it doesn't make the veg taste any better.
Lockdown Day 2: Churches to be locked so they can't even be used for private prayer. I clear the flowers from Wisley, turn off the heating, lock the door and put up signs. Can't believe this is happening. I go through the calendar crossing everything out.
Lockdown Day 3: Send son a food parcel.
Lockdown Day 5: Am offered a medical appointment I've been waiting for. Can you make that time? I'm asked. Have a think - do I have somewhere else to be?
Lockdown Day 9: I am just thinking "it was a bright cold day in April and the clocks were striking thirteen" as I venture out on my once a week supermarket shop, when the tannoy announces we should all be sure to keep two metres from staff and other customers at all times. I decide it actually sounds a bit more like The Handmaid's Tale. (Step away from that person or the troops will shoot you.....). A staff member is very slowly checking all the price labels on cheese. I wait. Eventually I lean into view. She looks round.
"Did you want to come here?"
"Only when you've finished".
"It's OK" (not moving and indicating the space next to her)
"No - we need to keep 6 feet - 2 metres - apart".
She shrugs: "I'm not fussed"
"I am! You should be!"
Another shrug. The tannoy continues to remind us of the rules.
Talk about messages falling on stony ground. (There you go, Editor - Parable link!)
I hear someone coughing enthusiastically in the next aisle. Time to wrap this up and get home, I think.
Lockdown Day 10: Private Eye has the First World War poster of two children asking their (thoughtful looking) father what he did in the war, but replaces the wording to ask what he did during the Covid 19 outbreak. He is pictured in front of a huge wall of toilet rolls.
Lockdown Day 11: Have been asked to write something for the May Parish magazine. I look at the list of parables.
Hmm. Rich man builds bigger barns not knowing he'll die that night. (Luke 12:16-21).
Relevant, I guess, if a bit of a downer.
Signs of the future from a fig tree (Luke 21:29-31) - that sounds more promising. And it is: "Look at the fig tree and when it sprouts leaves you can see summer is already near!"
Then I look to see what precedes it. Ah.......advance warning about the End of Days. "There will be on earth distress among the nations". Also "signs in the sun, moon and stars."
I bet when medieval plagues were devastating the land everyone thought it was the apocalypse. In fact an eclipse (when the moon appears to turn to blood) would be enough for that (it is a spooky sight even if you know the science). We're due a pink Supermoon this week (as I write), but if you're reading this it didn't herald anything.......
Is this the end of days? Probably not, though - as many other parables warn - best to be prepared.
Stop building those barns/buying those loo rolls. Make sure your soul is ready!
After all, we have Christ's promise (Matthew 28:20) "I am with you always, even unto the end of the world".
We may be social distancing, but we need never be alone.
-Pauline Langfield