Readying ourselves for precedented times

THERE we are now, that’s what we get for not listening. Like the child who’s told over and over again not to go near the cookie jar, we refused to take the threats seriously, gorging ourselves on Kimberleys, Mikados and Coconut Creams, testing mammy’s patience until finally she snapped.

And snapped she has. New restrictions mean more job losses, more businesses closing, and more misery and hardship for each and every one of us.

But it’s not like we didn’t know this was coming. As far back as July there were rumblings of discontent, warnings we weren’t safe yet. Although numbers were low we were told to look at the rate of reproduction, told a second wave was likely unless we continued to adhere to guidelines.

We might have adhered to said guidelines, if we’d been listening. Because after four months of unprecedented deprivation, the last thing anyone wanted to hear was boring old men, in boring old suits, telling us to take it easy, to pace ourselves for what lay ahead.

No, instead we threw another shrimp on the barbie, whipped off our swimming togs and ran headlong into the nearest vat of cider.

So here we are, back where it all began, readying ourselves for precedented times. Many are blaming ‘ the young people’ for our current predicament, many more are pointing an accusing finger in the direction of the GAA.

Maybe it is their fault, maybe it’s not, that’s not really the point. Because we were always going to end up here, always going to be bracing ourselves for another lockdown, it had to be this way.

It may feel like the coronavirus has been with us for millennia but we’re still novices when it comes to dealing with a pandemic. It was only natural we’d go a bit mad when we were finally left out the house, natural we’d want to consign that most difficult of times to history, natural we’d presume it was over and there was no longer any need to worry.

Now we know different. Where once we were pandemic novices, we are now at intermediate level. Lockdown two will be different. There’ll be no fighting over toilet roll, no stockpiling rice, no supermarket sweeps. Instead we’ll just buy our groceries like normal human beings, queuing in an orderly fashion, respecting one another’s space, masking up and sanitising like the good little boys and girls we are.

Our previous experiences will stand to us; the family quizzes will return, another Netflix series will capture the Zeitgeist, and we’ll all be back out walking round in circles, smiling at people we haven’t laid eyes on since June.

There’s no questioning our behaviour during a lockdown, we’ve proved we’re good at those. It’s what happens afterwards that matters. Will we, as we did in the summer, cast off the shackles and demand a return to the old days? Or will we be more circumspect second time around, tread carefully even when we appear to be out of danger?

Well, first we’re going to have to accept the old days are gone; until there’s a vaccine they are as distant and out-of-reach as your father’s childhood stories.

All those things we’ve lost will have to stay lost; holidays abroad, nights on the town, the drive up to Croker; they’re gone, forget about them.

Only by moving on from the past can we hope to recapture it. Only by accepting the fun we had prior to the pandemic was of a different era, another time, can we move a little bit closer to it.

But I think we know that now, I think we’ve learned our lesson.

Another six weeks, maybe more, in lockdown, will put proper manners on us. There’ll be no green-list next time around, no sneaky holidays to the Algarve, no clamour to open the pubs, to let us into the matches.

There’ll probably still be house parties, there’s probably some going on right now - but that’s young people for you. But most of us, more of us than the last time, will stay well away from that cookie jar, won’t attempt to go near it until we’re certain it’s safe, until mammy says it’s okay.

And who knows? By the time we get to lockdown three the house parties might even have died out.