So many are looking forward to the end of Lockdown. People are queuing outside Five Guys. They are queuing outside B&Q. There is daily more traffic on the roads. Greggs will reopen soon, as will Timpsons.
It seems as if Britain is rebelling with its feet and turning its collective back on the sensible advice to save lives and stay at home.
Conspiracy theories swirl that this is some plot to bring in population controls. To control our minds, our data, our lives.
Throughout the whole COVID-19 crisis, it has seemed to me as though there have been two, completely separate, pandemics.
The one experienced by those of us who have had the luxury to park our ever-growing backsides on our sofas and enjoy Netflix, and those in the nightmare version, the keyworkers putting their own lives at risk every day – whether serving behind tills, cleaning, nursing, caring, delivering…
When we read about the experiences of doctors and nurses having to relay the terrible news that another loved one has died, or seeing their own colleagues pass away far too young, far too soon, it’s like watching a ghastly nightmarish film.
Who do you believe?
That’s the key question, isn’t it? Are we really ‘following the science’? Many have chosen to make this crisis political. The Government is hopeless, too slow, to disorganised. Frankly, I can’t see how a Labour government would have done any better, given that their main focus of late seems to have been infighting and backbiting.
There’s no doubt that mistakes have been made but you wouldn’t stop in the middle of a battlefield to take stock, would you? You’d wait until the battle was at least under control and the risk to those fighting was minimised.
For my own part, I have no intention of rushing back to shops, restaurants, bars or cafes. The hushed peace of the local library can wait. I’m not looking forward to the school run, nor returning to doctors, dentists or even the hairdresser.
For those of us suffering from anxiety, the effects of this crisis may linger longer than the crisis itself. The thought of getting back on a bus or a train has zero appeal, let alone a plane.
Never before has my home seemed such a sanctuary. I feel safe here and this is where I want to stay.
That sounds incredibly selfish given what our key workers must face every day but if we think that we are all going to return to life the way it was before Coronavirus appeared and with our mental health intact, then I think some of us will be unprepared for the struggle that awaits.
And, by the way, before we all hotfoot it for a vegan sausage roll, the 1918 Spanish Flu pandemic saw greater deaths when the second wave came – after about a month when restrictions were lifted.
I have a horrible feeling that we are not out of the woods yet.