One million hours of solitude

Neighbourhood watch. Photo by conespider.

It was a tough period of isolation. Lonely, forgotten about, no friends to speak of. Don’t let anyone tell you the pandemic hasn’t brought about a great surge of empathy between us all. I can now finally understand what it must have been like to be on the Labour left before 2015. And from 2020 onwards.

To be honest, I haven’t found it that bad. At the start of the crisis, the government selected several ‘key workers’ that it knew would always look after them in any circumstances – ‘columnists’, as they are also called. I was provided with an unlimited supply of PPE (pens, pencils and eggs) and responded instantly to the scene of any respiratory emergency, like when someone from the cabinet was desperately gasping to explain the latest policy change.

Doing a U-turn every few days isn’t a bad thing. The reason why the prime minister is always changing strategy is that each action plan has been so successful and efficient that he kept on having to come up with a completely different one.

Another common criticism has been that the government’s advice lacks clarity but this is simply a misunderstanding. When Boris Johnson first mentioned ‘herd immunity’ what he actually meant was ‘have you heard of immunity?’ – a very simple request to make sure we had read up on eating enough vitamins and minerals.

Easy. It’s so crystal clear, a home-schooled child could understand it, even if you’d just sat them in front of YouTube for days on end and typed ‘science’ in the search bar. I don’t care what anyone says, that still counts as a lesson.

Next door is only a footstep away

Many people are getting extremely anxious about how their neighbours have been coping. To make sure everyone on my street is safe and well, I have kept a daily diary of all their comings and goings. And any overheard conversations. The arguments and love-making sessions. The time and frequency of all walks and runs. And drone footage of their gardens.

And shopping deliveries. I note down what groceries they are buying too, but my binoculars can’t always pick out the brand names. My notes are all packaged up and handed over to the police at the end of the day.

You may think this is slightly too much, but sorry, I just can’t help caring. If having a beating, bleeding heart makes me guilty then put me away for 20 years, your honour! But also make sure you arrest James and Joanna at Number 58 who had at least three Sainsbury’s deliveries one week and went on four walks over a 72-hour period. Unbelievable. And their son came around with his girlfriend – a new girlfriend, I might add.

I’m trying to look out for these people and all they do is shove their personal lives in my face. Thankfully, I have not had to debase myself with panic-buying during the pandemic. I did all that last year with the threat of a no-deal Brexit and a Labour government. There is enough pasta here to last me until the next election. I’ve also started to write down my fantasy cabinet on the toilet paper. Don’t worry, it will be put to good use.

Simon Hedges tells us he’s an ‘Award-winning Quality Journalist.’ This article is from our Climate Revolutions Summer 2020 issue – out now! Subscribe here