Coronavirus diaries: From loo roll to lockdown, three weeks that changed the world
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WAS there an exact moment you can pinpoint when the coronavirus crisis changed from stories about strangers in foreign lands to an invisible threat lurking on the other side of your front door?
For me, the penny really dropped when I first encountered vast, empty shelves while trying to do a family shop in a Tesco normally packed floor to ceiling with everything you could ever want (and a lot more besides).
At the height of the panic, I witnessed a 24-roll Andrex multipack change hands in a quiet corner of a B&Q car park, the wordless, super-swift switch from one car boot to another reminiscent of a shady drug drop.
Shocked shoppers trundled trolleys through aisles suddenly devoid of everyday essentials previously taken for granted. While the growing sense of panic went unspoken between strangers, it was almost palpable.
Toilet paper, of all things, became a topic of intense interest overnight, a sure-fire conversation starter. We posted pictures of empty shelves on Facebook and voiced outrage over panic buying. In a world turned upside down, bog roll became a new currency. At the height of the panic, I witnessed a 24-roll Andrex multipack change hands in a quiet corner of a B&Q car park, the wordless, super-swift switch from one car boot to another reminiscent of a shady drug drop.
When distilleries switched from producing the liquid gold worth over £5 billion a year to the economy and turned over production lines to hand sanitiser, you knew for sure you were lurching into uncharted territory.
That was – what? – just over three weeks ago?
With a grim death toll mounting by the day, and now officially put at over 10,000 in the UK alone, it feels more like a year. It's no laughing matter and yet somehow we must go on.
Self-isolation, furlough and lockdown have entered the lexicon of our everyday lives.
The issue came even closer to home when my sixteen-year-old daughter found out that the exams she had studied so hard for had been cancelled as a precaution – for the first time in history. She discovered the same day she had been made redundant from the minimum wage weekend waitressing job she had been working to save for a school World Challenge trip. And on top of that, she would no longer be able to volunteer on the hospital ward, for obvious health risk reasons. Talk about a bad day at the office.
Those still in jobs and able to work from home – tricky if you're a supermarket cashier, doctor, nurse or bin man – have had to find a new routine.
Part of that routine is showing appreciation for the health staff on the front line. With five relatives working in the National Health Service – two of whom have already contracted coronavirus; one already back at work after recovering at home – I'm immensely appreciative of the job they are doing. The hassles of working from home rather pale into insignificance when you see what those at the sharp end are going through.
My wife and most of her colleagues have been furloughed. But she wasn't about to leave the plants in her soon-to-be empty office to their uncertain fate so enlisted my help bringing them home.
"How many are there?" I asked a little suspiciously, mentally picturing the three flights of stairs to her office.
"Just a few."
A few turned out to be 28.
Varying in size from tiddlers in wee plastic pots to giant cheese plants in outsized, back-breaking ceramic numbers, I haven't been that breathless since I opened the last gas bill. My wee working space at home now resembles a botanic garden. Others workmates are surrounded by Lego and dolls so I count myself lucky. Have you ever stepped on a Lego brick with a bare foot?
While it might be tempting to "go to work" in pyjamas, I simply can't get into the zone – or, indeed, anywhere near it – that way. No question, it's a whole different ball game.
Minutes later, it was the strains of Mamma Mia wafting down the hall.
I was in the midst of a serious work-related interview on my mobile phone last week, walking quickly away from my son's piano practice to try and find a quiet spot when the chap I was speaking to stopped me mid-question.
"Is that The White Stripes I'm hearing?" he asked.
Taken aback, I paused for a moment, caught his drift and padded back to the piano, mouthing the question to my son, who responded with a thumbs up. It was indeed.
Squinting at the sheet music he had discovered on the iPad propped against the knackered old second-hand piano, I could see that he was teaching himself the opening lines of Seven Nation Army. I felt a small surge of pride, both for his resourcefulness and developing taste in music. The phone interview took a fresh turn as we discussed music for a while. Minutes later, it was the strains of Mamma Mia wafting down the hall. From The White Stripes to Abba in the space of 60 seconds. I made a mental note to ask my son to put together a playlist for me before going back to the interview. The enforced absence from the office – and other people – is, strangely, lending a fresh sense of intimacy to telephone interviews as we temporarily share our homes and whatever situations we find ourselves in with those we are talking to. Far apart we may be but we're still all in the same boat.
And speaking of sound, have you rediscovered an ear for morning birdsong? Our lives may be on hold but that's of little concern to our feathered friends who can be heard more clearly than ever thanks to the lockdown and a near absence of traffic. Look at the flowers and trees outside and you'll see the seasons carrying on regardless. Some speak of the earth starting to heal itself during this brief respite from man-made pollution.
Amid anger over how this could happen, finger-pointing over who is to blame and recriminations over the political response, stories of the kindness of ordinary people moved to make a difference to those around them abound. People who have never given it a second thought before are pondering their mortality for the first time. And yet they are also finding the strength of character to stretch out a helping hand to others at their time of need.
The words of one 84-year-old woman I recently spoke with who is living on her own and to a large extent dependent on the kindness of strangers come back to me: "You have to take what life throws at you and meet it with a smile."
How are you coping with lockdown? Share your stories and photographs by emailing hector.mackenzie@hnmedia.co.uk Follow him on Twitter @HecMackenzie
