Locked down in France, but so far it’s not all bad
The doc was spot on. Twelve days after my eldest boy presented with chicken pox, the other two are now Itchy and Scratchy. We’re dealing with a micro virus crisis within a macro one. What are the chances?
The French don’t call it ‘chicken pox’, it’s varicelle over here as derived from the varicella zoster virus (VZV). As long as we keep the other one from our door, the one I’m trying not to think about but that’s no longer an option since President Macron appeared on the TV on Monday night to repeatedly declare ‘we’re at war’ but ‘keep calm’.
We’re in lockdown chez moi, for at least 15 days, trips to the shop our only excuse to hop in the car. Thankfully self-isolation is one of my specialities so we’re in a house in the middle of nowhere. The boys can misbehave all they like. No one’s judging.
We were on our way back from Lidl during the week, after the clampdown had been announced with Macron warning: ‘All infractions will be punished. There will be checks and controls in place’. There was a Twilight Zone air about the place.
I spotted an old man I regularly see in the village making his way home, bent over his walking stick, making slow but steady progress uphill. I hopped out of the car to see if he was all right. He opened his shopping bag to reveal his wallet and a phone. Nothing else. Poor devil. We split my haul. He didn’t seem too impressed with my quinoa and lentils (high in protein).
This vulnerable man needs minding but also protection... from me and my germ carriers. It’s so sad. All this division. The final day of school for the foreseeable future was so strange last Friday, no more bisous to say hello to the other parents. OK I made an exception for one hot daddy who’s worth the risk but for everyone else it was a solemn nod. Weird. What is this?
At least there’s rosé. And sunshine. And daily WhatsApp video chats with the family in Éire. And that ungodly ego fest, the Met Gala has been postponed indefinitely.
It’s not all bad. Venice can breathe again after being released from the suffocation of hyper tourism. Unsocial types don’t have to come up with excuses like Viktor and Rolf’s ‘Sorry I’m late I didn’t want to come’. The skies are peaceful.
You (me) can finally tackle that pongy coagulated milk stain in your refrigerator before moving on to the animal fat situation in the oven. You can mooch around all day in your jimmy jams and take regular naps, easier when the children are at school, admittedly.
The food shops are certainly benefiting from this crisis. They can’t restock the shelves fast enough. There was a security guard at the door of Lidl on my last visit, allowing one trolley in while another left to prevent a mad rush at the tills where workmen were fixing plastic covers to protect staff who must be questioning their jobs.
The atmosphere outside as we queued was jovial. Let’s hope it stays that way.
If the chicken pox can teach us anything it’s that viruses have a pattern. We just have to wait and see how this Covid-19 one plays out, and in the meantime, stay happy.
Chicken pox has hit my house so we have a virus within a virus