My COVID year

This was the last day of normal. Taken at the services on the M6 Toll heading south back home from North Wales, taken on the 13th March last year.

Even then, it wasn't normal.

I mean the roads weren't busy. Especially on a Friday. I cruised down the M6, then along the A14 to Cambridge and down the M11 to the M25, round to Dartford and home. No jams.

It was spooky.

The night before it seemed if the world was going to shit, which it was, as footballers and other famous people were announced as being infected, and matches were cancelled. And yet all the while the Cheltenham Festival carried on.

Back home, I don't know really how we spent the next few days, I could read my blog, but it seemed that a darkness was falling across Europe as one country after another announced lockdowns, with the UK one of the last to follow.

A year today, my old department began the morning virtual coffee mornings to start the day, and we learned to support each other.

That helped.

Those first few weeks, without the usual rituals that mark the passing of time; football matches, going shopping, going out was odd. I read a lot at first, when there was no football to watch, then when that started I stopped reading and watched game after game, though I forgot about it as soon as the final whistle went.

Radio kept me sane. We listened to, and still do, to Radio 6: Steve Lamacq, Marc Riley, Huey, Craig Charles, Radcliffe and Maconie. They are still what I listen to now, familiar voices, though mostly broadcasting from home now, but some normaility.

We did watch some stuff on TV; The Expanse, Picard but that soon waned, and ayway, spring and summer came.

We began to go out. A lot. To woods, downs and wherever looking for orchids or butterflies. That felt normal. Although there was no churchcrawling at least until September when Heritage Weekend happened, even then only half the churches I went to were open.

In terms of mental wellbeing, I have done better than most I think. Being an only child means that I am happy with my own company, and not having the regular contact modern lived usually brings. The lack of travel was nice in a way too. Some years it has got too much, 38 trips in one year. And justone last year since March up to today, a four day trip to Southampton and the Isle of Wight.

That was a real eye-opener, seeing how those in cities have to live, no space to get out and just be themselves and safe. It was in the middle of "eat out to help out", and everywhere was jammed with people. It was, quite frankly, scary. I was so glad to leave and drive home, and when I did I isolated for two weeks just to be safe.

I survived.

We have formed a support "bubble" with Jen, so we have someone out of the house to meet and hug when we meet.

And there is always Teams and Zoom, but its not the same, is it.

My friends and colleagues in Denmark like to hug, and they go into the office, or used to, every day. To talk, to work, to hug. Must be harder for them.

We did a good year at work, acheived all our goals, and then in November came the bombshell that we were being bought out.

Jobs were at risk, though we thought we were all safe. My fellow auditors and I were right, but our old boss, and our new one, were both laid off, as were Charlotte's two support staff, Tina and Anette. I didn't realise how stressful that time was.

I was relieved to get a job in the new/old company, but new manager, new colleagues, so much is different, it doesn't feel like home.

Even now.

Maybe the light is lifting, we have both had our vaccine, or the first dose. There is a path to normal, whatever than means now.

In the past year, we paid off the mortgage, meaning we work for ourselves now, and saving like crazy as there is nothing really to spend money on; no holidys, no eating out. We hope that at the end of the year we will go to NZ, but are prepared for it to be delayed a year.

I am ready for normal: going to the pub, going for a curry, playing cards with Jen and John, as John can't join us for the time being. Travelling to London or around Kent.

The winter has been hard, harder than need be thanks to our Dear Leader, Boris JOhnson who put celebrating Christmas over the health of the nation, ensuring that 30,000 dies in January and February. I knew it would be, but some days were dark indeed.

Lets hope for light, and friendship and normal.

126,000 have died, lies told, money wasted and stupidity has been on the streets and on social media.

Its not been pretty, and might yet get worse.

Stay safe, hold those who are dear to you close, and tell them how you feel.

We can get through this, as hard as it may seem.

Goodnight, and Good Luck.