Polly Vernon has her say
(ie, more than a mile from your own front door)
WHO KNEW THAT
emerging into a less locked-down society would prove so complicated, and by ‘complicated’, I mean: a pile-up of newly evolved faux pas and close calls at pedestrian crossings – and that’s just for starters. Herewith, a guide to re-entry.
1. Other people
Having spent however long it is interacting only with your household/your DPD delivery person, Everyone Else might come as a bit of a shock. I mean: people! With their ideas and their physical beings and their endless capacity to grab the wrong end of the stick!
So far, I’ve: met one friend who wanted to wrap me up in a big fat hug, called me ‘square’ when I screamed ‘corona!’ and leapt two feet away from him in response – and so it was that I became reacquainted with a flavour of awkwardness I hadn’t tasted since trying to keep teenage boyfriends in check[1]; met another, wept because I’d missed her so, remembered too late she and I don’t do emotional outbursts, not in the olden days, and clearly, not now[2], met another who’d spent the last months embracing the adage ‘on Zoom, no one can smell your farts’, and hadn’t yet adjusted to off-zoom life, and had assorted conversations with people who revealed themselves to be rabid anti-vaxxers, at which point I realised I’d lost all ability to politely disagree with utter idiots. This: all within three days of the relaxings! Heaven knows what’ll go down when Zara reopens! My advice: tread carefully, as if all humanity were a feral kitten: enchanting if treated gently, likely to scratch your arm to bloody ribbons if you make too sudden a move.
2. Dressing when venturing into other neighbourhoods
While it has become acceptable for the inhabitants of specific postcodes to adopt a dishabille vibe when scooting round their coin – I myself peaked with a silk kimono tied loosely around a python print crop top and matching leggings to take out the recycling – turns out: it does not travel to other districts. Remember: if they don’t know your face, they don’t want to see your PJS.
3. Crossing the road
Is it only me now incapable of judging how long I’ve got to scoot 12 feet over warm tarmac before that speeding Kia hits me? Who trembles like a tourist on the brink of every zebra crossing, because her basic city skills have diminished to nowt, after all that time indoors? Thought not. Three months ago, we knew this shiz like we knew the beat of our own hearts. Now? Roundabouts seem like unfathomable, treacherous mysteries, overrun by legions of incompetent, eager, born-again cyclists. Take care out there – possibly in a reflective gilet.
[1] I was a teenager too at the time. In case that wasn’t clear. [2] ‘OH MY GOD I MISSED YOUR FACE!’ I screamed. ‘Yes,’ she replied, then changed the subject.