Too close for comfort

There is only so much that can be achieved at a distance, finds Philip Howard, trying to strike a balance between solitary confinement and essential repairs

SO, coronavirus is the new Brexit. Nothing else can get a look in. And, God forbid, it might just last longer. Already two distinct camps have formed. There are those who frankly do not care a fig about catching it and just want to go back to life BC (Before COVID) – which includes Dave in the local garage. Dave is 73 and has never had a day off work in his life, other than two weeks in hospital when his young assistant inadvertently crushed him under the car jack. I had initially declined the grimy biro thrust at me by an oily paw to sign for some petrol on account. My reluctance to grasp the Covidy pen was received with a snort of derision, “Aw dear, calm yerself lad, yer not worried about catching a little sniffle, are yer?” And then there are those who are so completely terrified they huddle in their front rooms surrounded by piles of hand sanitiser and loo rolls. The division is not one of age, money or education; it is temperament.

It has been fascinating to see how people have reacted to their enforced incarceration. The inimitable Taki made me smile with “enforced isolation comes easy to me.

Remember that 36 years ago I isolated myself in a 13ft by 7ft cell for four months while doing research for a prison book.” I had a different kind of self-isolation seven years ago when my late wife Elizabeth was dying of cancer and pretty much everything went into lockdown for 18 months. It was very different to this – a sort of twilight world – but it gave me the patience, fortitude and experience to cope. And the knowledge that though you can find yourself in a very dark place, the sunlight can return.

How we all emerge from lockdown will be a true test of all our national temperaments. One of the hardest things to accomplish is to create social trust amongst diverse people with different cultural backgrounds. When times are good, those underlying conflicts can be kept hidden away. When things go wrong, then all those enmities bubble up. The European Union is a good example of the difficulties to which I allude, though what we have here is a global pandemic. Because, to excuse a rather inappropriate pun, we live in an economic world where if somebody sneezes, we all catch cold. All our futures are irretrievably linked.

One of the most difficult calls is trying to work out how to move forward in the short term. We have no idea how long coronavirus will impact on our lives. And it may well be that even if a vaccine is found within six to 12 months, a good proportion of people will not want to revert to the old norm. A painter I know has told me he is just not prepared to return to work. He is petrified of catching the virus, although he is not old and in good health. It is going to be difficult to manage the fears and expectations of a team of people, especially when some of the fears they express are irrational. I will give you an example. We have been able to continue with some of our agricultural and forestry maintenance work. Unfortunately, the dumper I was driving broke down. I returned from a coffee break to find Romeo Ridley, my keeper, who had been driving the big digger, huddled together over the engine with Nick, who drove the little digger, and a repair man called Sam. “Call this social distancing?” I exclaimed, “and last week you were refusing to let ‘them from London’ and all our neighbours walk in the park?”

“But Nick’s one of me beaters,” replied Romeo. “And Sam’s a shooting man so hee’s alrite. Mind you, I’m not ’aving Micky the builder back. His wife works at Cavvies [Cavaghan & Grey, the pie makers] and one of their lads is deeed of the virus. An’ O’neill!”

“Mmmm, that’s a terrible tragedy,” interjected Nick, “and one doesn’t want to speak ill of the dead but some of those O’neills are bad buggers. In fact, Carlisle would be a lot better if there were a few less O’neills.”

“Aye, a lot better,” they all muttered in unison, nodding their heads and continuing to fiddle about with the electrics.

Undoubtably our worlds are going to change in the short term. We are a clever, adaptable species that became dominant due to our ability to communicate and work together. I am a Luddite by inclination but have been surprised how effective the virtual meetings I have attended have been. And how quickly and efficiently we have concluded business. I will certainly make much more use of new video technology in the future but as a tool to facilitate, not to replace, face-to-face communication.

It is not, however, possible to reconstruct a mobile phone that has been squished by a four-ton dumper virtually. Not for a Luddite, anyhow. Luckily, my computer man was happy to meet me in his back garden, hand over the new phone with tongs and then send me back on my way after two hours spent trying to bypass all the passwords I had forgotten. I was discussing this with my pal Percy, who has been in lockdown with his large brood of children, The Famous Five. The poor mites have had to endure a virtual mass every Sunday.

I have even discovered that my friend The Right-wing Lord has acquired a web cam, though we are uncertain as to the exact use to which it is being put. Let us hope it does not strain the temper of The Right-wing Lady.

My reluctance to grasp the Covidy pen was received with a snort of derision. ‘Not worried about catching a little sniffle, are yer?’