Command and Control

Photo by Oladimeji Ajegbile from Pexels

I've just been to the pharmacy to collect my heart drugs. I wore a face mask in the shop for the first time since Covid19 struck. On my walk home, I was pondering why.

It's not to protect me, it's to protect others from me (in case I've got it and don't know it). 

Having exercised pretty strict social and physical distancing from everyone except Mandy, including our grown-up children, I'm fairly sure that I'm not infectious. But I felt the need to reassure the hard-working - and similarly masked - pharmacy staff, that I was being careful on their behalf; that it mattered to me.

Because it does. In the face of what I see as an unseemly and ill-judged race to lift restrictions, I am genuinely concerned that we will soon experience a second wave of the pandemic in the UK.

And I am fearful (that word again) that many others think that it's worth taking the risk of that possibility, to regain some semblance of 'normal' life and freedom of movement and association. To take back control. 

Sound familiar? I'm not judging (well, I'm trying not to).

In the early days of Lockdown, the Government instruction was unambiguous: Stay Home - Protect the NHS - Save Lives. Who wouldn't want to get behind that? It mattered to everyone. So the instruction was pretty universally followed. And the numbers started to go down.

Now it's all gone a bit wooly, a bit less directive, a bit more discretionary. It's introduced an optional element into how we can behave. And we're seeing people respond according to what matters more to them now than it did initially - social interaction, being physically closer, shopping. Their own needs have superseded their willingness to recognise the continuing greater risks of taking the brakes off.

So I'm sticking with it. I'm continuing to maintain 2 metres distancing, to cross the road when someone comes towards me, to use click and collect for the weekly shop rather than go into the store, to wear a facemask if and when I absolutely have to be in a 'confined' environment, to sanitise and/or wash my hands, to work from home.

In my small way, I'm trying to keep you safe from me, just in case.

Footnote: There's a training analogy that could be made here about one of the reasons why people do or don't buy into different kinds of learning - whether it matters to them, whether there's a benefit for them or for others. Compliance training springs to mind. But that feels a bit contrived, so I won't go there. You could probably write that bit yourself anyway.

Totes Emosh

Image by MasterTux from Pixabay 

I've been very much living in the moment for the last 10 weeks of the Covid-19 pandemic lockdown. Like most people, I've taken it on the chin that lockdown was for the best, for me, for my family, our friends and society, and that this was the best available way to do my bit for 'flattening the curve'.

In that respect, no different from millions of others in the UK and across the world.

To be able to manage that, I've tried to stay positive and count my blessings. I have work I can do from home, we live in a lovely part of the world, which is not too busy, we have a small garden, our grown-up children are living their own lives elsewhere, are safe and either have work or are furloughed. My wife and I have both been working from home for a few years now and both have the space to be able to do that and have established a way of living and working around and with each other lovingly and effectively.

Throughout all this, I have tried to be conscious of just how lucky I am/we are, and that millions of others are dealing with very different and incredibly difficult living and work situations.

I've put my emotions on the back-burner. I've tried not to get too wrapped up in the pain of physical separation from family, from our friends, from my professional colleagues and wider network.

But recently, I have found myself emotionally triggered, by events and by people. I have been surprised at the depth and passion of the emotions which have arisen in me - principally anger and fear.

I have been fearful of contact with other people since lockdown started. The experience of unavoidable supermarket shopping and failure of some people to maintain physical distancing; even walking at the local seafront, trying to second guess where others were going to walk, having to constantly zig-zag or step aside, even to have to be looking over one's shoulder constantly, was stressful. So we stopped doing those things. It was necessary to maintain distance from others, but I was - and remain - uncharacteristically fearful of the proximity of others now. This is not normal. And I resent it as much as I need to do it.

Those with whom I interact in social media may be aware of my anger and disgust, about which I posted loudly, with the revealed behaviour of a government advisor, close to our Prime Minister, who unrepentantly broke the lockdown rules, and the craven apoligistia of the rest of the Cabinet. We have never been so disregarded, so taken for fools, and I have never felt less respected, less seen, or my opinions less considered than now. I wrote to our MP, who replied in a thoughtful and carefully considered reply. But he wasn't for demanding sackings or resignations, or making any gestures himself in that direction. So far, so normal, eh? 

Up until a couple of weeks ago, the Government messaging was crystal clear. Since then, it's got progressively more muddled and confusing. It feels as though we are being rushed into an early and uninformed easing of restrictions (Why now, I wonder). If we're being led by the science, why are so many scientists warning that it's too soon? 

Supposedly, we can travel, visit, interact with more people. Some schooling will re-start. But look at the parks, beaches, car parks and motorways already this weekend. Social distancing has already ceased to be a thing we do. R will rise again.

I can't be too angry about people wanting social contact, wanting to be out and about, wanting to be visit lovely places. I'd like to do that myself.

I've spent my anger elsewhere (see above). But I'm still scared. 

And I know that sometimes, that makes Niall a very dull boy.