Zoe STRIMPEL

Right at the start of the coronavirus era, I admit, I was blasé. I thought we were probably freaking out for no good reason, and that it would all be fine. I even wrote a column in these very pages about how unworried I was. Life is full of risks! What’s so special about this? And so on.

Now we know a bit more about the risks and they aren’t pretty: hence the Government’s panicked approach to quarantining those returning from summering abroad. Late last week, to the fury and deep inconvenience of hundreds of thousands of holidaymakers, France was one of several new countries to be added to a growing “red list” of destinations to which non-essential travel is not advised.

These measures may smack of tinkering too late, of fiddling while Rome burns, but broadly I agree with the cautious approach. Indeed, as the voice of lockdown sceptics has grown louder over the course of the pandemic,

I have become increasingly horrified by those who keep preaching that we ought to throw caution to the wind.

Their like might have no time for face coverings and social distancing. Good for them. But does that give them the right to spread the virus freely, or decide what risk is appropriate for others? Not in my book.

And yet. And yet. Here I am in Denmark, where it’s been 26C (79F) and clear blue skies, with plenty of lovely water around for swimming, both in and outside cities, no pre-booking necessary, or manic lifeguards or police breathing down one’s neck. Just polite notices to be careful, with smiley face emoji.

The truth is that being away from Blighty in a country of amazing equanimity, as well as one of Europe’s best track records where the virus is concerned, has made me think a bit harder about our attitude to risk.

I only noticed the climate of fear I’d grown so used to in

England when I finally got out. Being away from the UK has felt like a great unclenching.

I have not become a lockdown sceptic, or a mask-benefit denier, but experiencing a culture that is relaxed, out and about spending money, eating and drinking, museum-going and attending concerts, has been extraordinary.

Here, children went back to school on Monday. As far as I know, there has been no fight to the death with unions – as there has been in the UK – about the safety of this step. Parents seem happy; kids seem happy. The end.

Yet being in such a chilled nation has not been without anxiety. Since I arrived, Denmark has seen its Covid rates shoot up, from almost no new cases to hundreds a day, in part because of the relaxed attitude. I began my trip in Aarhus, Denmark’s second city, which has a beautiful sandy shoreline where I bathed merrily in the Baltic. The day after I arrived, the city became a hotspot. With impressively nimble but light-touch government response, masks instantly became mandatory on public transport in the city, and testing centres became rammed with the conscientious.

Even so, widespread adoption of masks is nowhere near happening. Things could go pearshaped. In the meantime, though, there has been no nail-biting, no national rictus grin of fear. It still feels like summer, and normal summer at that. People politely keep a neighbourly distance on the beach, but pack in anyway. There is a universal sense of relaxation and resignation. And lots and lots of hand sanitiser.

My next destination, the small town of Sorø an hour outside Copenhagen, has a beautiful lake, forest and 12th-century academy that still functions as an elite school. As I swam and sunbathed, I found out that the town had also become the centre of an outbreak as a meat factory outside had a cluster of infected people. Covid was following me (or I was bringing it…).

And yet, as infection rates have risen, the government has responded with a soft touch. Nightclubs will not yet open. Other than that, it feels like business as usual.

I am not about to become a lockdown sceptic, but I have tasted the fruits of a different attitude, one that says let’s live with Covid-19, not against it.

I have been to museums, some of them crowded. I have stayed in Airbnbs, with lovely and welcoming hosts, all single women with children, none of whom batted an eyelid at having a Brit in their homes, breathing on everything. On the contrary. I have dined in restaurants, sat in cafés, and enjoyed swimming off the packed harbourfront in Copenhagen.

I have not seen one police officer or one person trying to stop people from jumping off the crowded docks. It’s lovely, especially in comparison with London, where you have to book a timed slot a week in advance if you want a shot at a swim in a pond on Hampstead Heath.

We talk about a return to normal life in Britain. But the nasty state we’ve got ourselves in – our dismal track record with Covid deaths; the strange, often nonsensical rhythm to our precautions, the general atmosphere of panic – has meant we’ve lost sight of what “normal” actually means.

Being in Denmark has given me a real taste of what life used to be like. The risks do feel higher, but then so is the pleasure quotient, the sense of being human again.

We must continue to take the utmost care, but having had a taste for normal life again, I confess I want more. It’s time we in Britain learnt to live with the virus, not clenched against it.

I only noticed the climate of fear in England when I finally got out