I’ve caught a bad case of FOGO (fear of going out)

MY new face mask arrived the other day. It’s quite stylish actually, white with a black border, complete with ‘breathable nanofiber’ filters (no, I’m not sure either) you throw away after each use.

And yet I can’t say that it’s made me massively more confident about venturing out into the world. After three months of having it drilled into us that outside is a dangerous place, I am incredibly wary. So wary, in fact, that I think I may be suffering from FOGO: Fear Of Going Out.

Next week, Nicola Sturgeon will lay out the latest steps in easing the lockdown. If we move into ‘phase two’ that could mean meeting larger groups outside, and one other household inside with social distancing.

It could mean the opening of small shops and outdoor markets, and even outdoor areas in pubs and restaurants. Public transport may be ramped up, and more businesses could reopen.

In England they are a step ahead. Some schools have already returned and from this weekend social ‘bubbles’ will be allowed, with those who live alone or are single parents mixing with another household, without social distancing.

It all sounds incredibly tantalising. What we’ve been dreaming about, in fact, for months. And yet many of us are still nervous, scared of doing the wrong thing. Outside, that place we took for granted for most of our lives, has become somewhere frightening and unknowable, where one wrong move could prove fatal.

I am desperate to hug my mum, and yet I am also terrified I might somehow give her the virus. I miss eating out, yet worry that a trip to a restaurant would merely ramp up my anxiety. I’d love to have my hair done, but the thought of the close contact involved makes my skin crawl.

During lockdown, our worlds have become small. last Sunday evening my fiancé and I took our daily perambulation along one of our usual routes (we have three, all so well-worn that I can tell you the domestic routines of an alarming number of the residents) and found ourselves earnestly discussing the following Saturday’s night’s menu options.

With not much to plan, we plan the smallest things. With nowhere to go, we flit between the same few rooms, speaking to the same person or people (if we’re lucky), trapped in our own personal microcosms. But while our worlds have become constrained, they are also safe. We are in control of our domains, setting our own rules on safety and hygiene.

In this house, for example, no outdoor shoes are allowed inside. Handwashing must occur the second one returns to the house, even after a walk that has involved no contact. Shopping is cleaned down with disinfectant wipes, and bottles of hand sanitiser sit in the kitchen and hall at all times.

I feel safe, because I am in control. But as the world opens up, and we venture into it, that will change. If I get on a train I will have to press buttons, and sit in a carriage with other people. Where have they been and with whom have been in contact, I will have no idea. If I go and sit in a beer garden, I will have to touch glasses and tables, with no sense of who touched them last. And let’s not even think about what happens if one needs to use the ladies’.

APOll last month showed that Britons, more than any other nation, are concerned about returning to normal activities following lockdown. Indeed, the Government is worried that its ‘stay at home’ message has proved too successful. We are hunkered down, even as our politicians are trying to entice us out of our bunkers.

The truth is, getting over FOGO means taking a risk. Just as we take a risk every time we step off a pavement, or into a car, or onto an aeroplane. And when there is so much contradictory information out there, so much conjecture and confusion, it is tough to calculate how big a risk there is.

This virus does not discriminate, nor is it predictable. Some people get away lightly. Others spend weeks in intensive care, struggling to breathe. While we must all follow the Government guidelines, what we do, and not do, must in the end come down to individual choice.

Me? I’ll be erring on the side of caution. I won’t be queuing up the day restaurants open, nor will I be booking an appointment with my colourist the moment hairdressers start back up.

At the same time, though, I will start pushing myself to get out more in the weeks and months ahead, doing what I feel comfortable with. Expanding my world, day by day, until it seems not just larger, but safer.

And at least I’ve got a stylish face mask to do it in.