Social ‘bubbles’ may be on the horizon, but I’m happy alone in mine

Every day I play two rounds of “would you rather”. The first round – over morning coffee – goes: “Blitz or coronavirus lockdown?” The answer varies by the day but is usually guided by my gratitude at being free from worry about imminent shelling by Germans. In the era of corona, I can at least drink that coffee, and crunch my cereal, in relative peace. So can my family and friends.

The second round goes as follows: would I rather live through the pandemic in my present state – eg, alone and in splendid, sometimes gloomy isolation – or in physical contact with others, complete with spittle-emitting laughter, hugs, kisses and cuddles?

As much as I like cuddles and giggling, my answer tends to be that I prefer things as they are. There is a comforting assurance that when it comes to a deadly pandemic, you’ve got a better shot at warding it off, as well as not spreading it to others, if you stick to yourself.

In the past week my second round of “would you rather” has become far more pressing, amid rumours about how the UK’s exit from lockdown may take shape, and the concept of social bubbles.

The Government is considering allowing households to widen the number of people they can see, forming a close-knit “bubble” of 10. These bubbles would be comprised of mergers between households in the same family and/or closest friends.

Would I rather live in a bubble or keep going as is? The answer, still, is that I’d rather keep going as is. The reasons for this are nothing to be proud of. Rather, they speak to a rather terrifying side-effect of the corona era: we have come to see other people not as dearly cherished friends but as lethal vectors of contagion, guilty until proven innocent. We have been rewired to see physical human contact as dangerous.

The transformation is shocking: less than two months ago, I was on the Tube, in offices, at parties, and even setting off on long-haul flights, albeit with some wariness. Before March, I never gave a single thought to the risk of viral infection. I embraced crowds. I rarely washed my hands after being outside, kissed and hugged with abandon, took planes without scrubbing the folding tables or flinching when my neighbours coughed. I never, ever washed my keys, phone or bank card. And when I got ill – rarely – I didn’t question how.

Now I feel so anxious just going into an enclosed space with other people that a trip to the supermarket is enough to fatigue me. Then there’s the grim wait for signs of infection over the following five days.

What’s mind-boggling about all this is that we have always lived with risk – from bugs, calamities and medical tragedies – but now we’re obsessed with crushing that risk to zero, and it will be debilitating. If we had been even a fraction as riskaverse in the past, we’d never have done anything – not driven, not taken the Tube, gone on dates, travelled widely, or flown after 9/11. This virus is new and unfamiliar, extremely contagious, kills people in alarming numbers and has left tragedy and grief in its wake. Our extreme response is therefore totally understandable, but that doesn’t make its longerlasting social and psychological effects any less sad.

So no, I don’t want to widen my bubble of one. I can’t be sure that other people have been as careful as me. What if their routines are less rigorous, or they don’t wash their keys or shopping?

I don’t want to – you guessed it – take the risk. Corona scar tissue will last a long time. For the conscientious, it’s going to be a long road back to feeling comfortable around other people.

But the “bubble” idea is unsettling for another reason, too. It reminds me of school and being left out of the cool group. I can see it now: “Hey, Rob, can I be in your bubble?” To which Rob might reply: “Sorry, babe, my bubble’s full.”

The bubble-less – having previously been secure from shame at being solo because they were following the law – must now feel self-conscious and ashamed. Not everyone has a close-knit coven of 10 people they can’t live without, ready to envelop them as soon as the Government gives the green light. And now that fact is only going to be highlighted.

In truth, the best day-to-day aspect of lockdown has been the ratcheting down of social pressure. This has been an extended period where it’s OK to have zero plans, to have all the nights in you ever dreamed of, all without worrying you’re missing out. The bubble idea will ruin that, making those who have taken pleasure in self-sufficiency suddenly feel left out and stressed out about whether they’re loved or not. And for those who do find one, their joy in communing with others will have been gravely tarnished by fear of contagion. Sorry to burst the bubble.

We have come to see people not as cherished friends, but lethal vectors of contagion