Some habits should endure

There have been a lot of big decisions to be made recently, some of them easier and more welcome than others. Of course, there are the ones that the politicians are making, supposedly on our behalf; some of which, already, have proved to be less long-lasting than others. Thank you, Leicester.

Then there are the ones we’re having to make for ourselves, like whether or not to obey the rules or even trying to decide what the rules actually are in the first place. And, of course, to whom they apply.

It’s a quandary, I can tell you, especially if you are Mrs Faffing-About of Newport. But if anything has come out of the languors of lockdown as we limp into the brave new world of “Build, Build, Build” and the notion that if you find yourself in a hole, you should start digging, it is that there are things we only started to do out of necessity that we just might want to continue to do out of choice. Here, I offer you a few thought-provoking examples.

1 Queuing. It has struck me as prettily ironic that most of us are being forced to do the very thing, cliché or not, that Britons were allegedly put on this earth to do. Up until now, we have rarely stopped beefing about how other nations trashed/ignored this great British tradition. Now, we’re beefing because we have to do it while wearing a mask and carrying industrial quantities of sanitiser and wipes – who said we couldn’t multi-task? – instead of regarding those long lines as a chance to perfect our unique talent for standing around with pursed lips and a disapproving stare. All human life is there, so I’ve actually decided that queuing isn’t so bad.

Apart, it should be said, from spending two and a half hours in a queue of cars for the coup. It comes to something when coupledom in a confined space is reduced to the adult version of I-Spy (don’t ask) or when the most exciting moment of your day (week? life?) is spotting a spotted woodpecker and chicks in the neighbouring trees and coming over all Chris Packham after a few too many ciders.

2 Deliveries. We used to do our general shopping the old-fashioned way. We tended to march cheerily up to the fridge/freezer, open the door and make something up out of what was lurking therein. Except when there was one ingredient missing.

But then, in the good old golden olden days, we used to be able to jump in the car or stroll to the nearby convenience store and avail ourselves in a trice of said ingredient, plus potter about getting familiar with the yellow label and the Reduced to Clear icon.

No longer. We have lists. We practise meal planning. Nay, we have a spreadsheet and a permanent order at one of the nation’s finest. We need never angst over finding ourselves without a jar of capers or a packet of yeast ever again. This has not obviated the need, as a barren midweek approaches, to dash out for a wine/ gin/sherry (there’s a pattern emerging here) panic-buy. It has certainly concentrated the mind on what might be referred to as the bar necessities.

Then there’s the brave new world of doorstep deliveries. It’s like being back in the heyday of Open All Hours and G-G-G-Granville on his sit-up-andbeg-bike, bringing your heart’s desire right up to the door, whether it’s a bag of frozen bridies, a restaurant-standard meal, tablet doughnuts or a tray of obscure cocktails.

(We, strange as it may seem to those who know us, drew the line at the cocktail deliveries. Cocktail shaking is one of the few skills of any worth I have managed to hone over the past many months).

And that leads to another thing I intend to pursue once the locks have been well and truly downed.

3 The huff and puff of pilates classes online. Nothing virtual about the amount of effort I have to put in to stand on one leg, ascend to double table top or try to shoulder bridge which sounds like something out of the worst excesses of Scandi noir novels and is only mildly less grimly painful. Always remembering to keep the blinds closed.

There is no need to frighten the blameless neighbours. Or any unsuspecting delivery bod.

And it has allowed me to learn the ins and outs of levels of tech of which I was hitherto happily ignorant. That brings me to:

4 Zoom chats. Or Whatsapp, or Messenger or whatever. Who knew that we could get so used, so quickly to regular quiz dates or singing sessions or housebound pub crawls with on-screen mates at unflattering angles? It has to go on, especially if we eventually manage to get back what passes for a life and actually have something to talk about apart from the heady excitement of waiting for the fish van or going to Tesco to buy a mop or sorting through decades’ worth of unworn jewellery or excising years of hair out of the carpets.

Yup. Some things, we will just not miss…

It’s like being back in the heyday of Open All Hours

Picture: Kenny Smith Photography. Fifers engaged in the Great British pastime of queuing outside the reopened Primark in Dunfermline.