The day is coming when I must venture forth from the shtetl
the safety of Hobbiton to face Orcs and Ring Wraiths on the journey to Mordor. If he asked me to join him on his crazy quest, I’d say, “Thanks awfully but I can’t come now as I have a Madeira cake in the oven. Plus, my sourdough starter needs constant nurturing.” So, I’d be one of the hobbits you’d never heard of, one of the ones who stayed behind, eating toast by the fire and having a little schluf after lunch.
I have worked from home for 28 years. My idea of a perfect day involves a little light writing in the morning (not too much; I wouldn’t want to suffer from burnout due to excessive work), a short walk, baking, a rest on sofa with a book or the newspaper, multiple breaks for snackerei. My idea of an adventure holiday is going to France and essentially doing the same thing there, only with better patisserie.
But now things are opening up. And I realise that the longer I leave it, the more daunting the prospect of going Out There, beyond the confines of the shtetl, become. Of course, I have had to make the odd foray, but only to drop my son at a friend’s if it’s awkward to get to any other way, or to deliver chicken soup or cake to a friend. I’ve rarely even had to get out of the car. I’ve witnessed the fact that things look different in other areas, eg pavements much busier so people can’t keep distance on the street, but I haven’t had to be in it.
A friend in Kent reports that her son had become phobic about the prospect of going into a shop so, despite the injunctions asking people to shop alone, she took him to a supermarket before it started to become a major issue. I fear I’m heading the same way. I feel fine going into a small shop, but I’ve only dared enter a supermarket twice since lockdown and I’m nervous about going to a café or restaurant.
I decide to break myself in gently and meet a friend at Parliament Hill, a full 15 minutes’ drive away from home. We have a walk and even go for a cold drink afterwards, sitting outside a café (though there is an anxious moment when the waiter sets down our glasses by holding them around the rim with an ungloved hand. If I clean the glass with a sanitiser wipe, won’t it taste disgusting?). I report proudly to Larry that I’ve been further afield and even went to a café.
“Great,” he says, “I’ll book a restaurant for tomorrow night for the three of us then.”
I’d insisted on an outside table but by the time the evening comes, it’s cold so the three of us sit there with our jackets on. Still, it is actually nicer than I thought to be out. The waiters are masked but friendly. The food is delicious, and sitting at our pavement table, we can people-watch: couples, walking hand in hand; a group of four young Goths in black face masks; girls in midriff-baring tops (did they shrink in the wash?) My son spots the same people going past more than once — are they on a loop, like in the film The Truman Show?
But we realise it’s just like an Italian passeggiata – people are out strolling, just to relish the pleasure of being out and seeing other people and the bustle and buzz of diners outside restaurants.
I briefly fret that the diners by the open full length window inside the restaurant are too close to us, but after a minute, I start to relax and we eat and we drink and we argue, and our son tells us how horrible we are (we’re honestly only averagely horrible, but he’s 16, so what can you do?), and it feels almost normal.
And of course, the shtetl isn’t safe anyway. At the end of Fiddler on the Roof, the villagers leave Anatevka, no longer the safe haven they had loved. This morning, we are notified by Barnet’s Director of Public Health that there has been a spike in Covid-19 cases in our postcode. The idea that home is safe is an alluring one but it is at least partly an illusion. Life is short, and I cannot hide at home forever. Mask in position? Sanitiser in bag? It’s time to get Out There. And, looking on the bright side, at least there are no Orcs…
For me an adventure holiday is going to France and doing same thing with better patisserie
Claire Calman’s latest novel, Growing Up for Beginners, is out now. @ clairecalman