Like everyone else I want this to end. I want to be out of lockdown and able to see my family and friends again. I want to hug those closest to me and to sit and talk over long leisurely meals.
I also want to go out and have a coffee, or eat breakfast at The Quarter with Mike; drive out of town; walk along the canal bank; go to the library; browse a charity shop and all the other things I currently can’t do.
At the same time, I don’t want to be able to do any of this right now.
Why? Because I, like so many others I’ve talked to, am scared that it’s too soon. Our R number isn’t low enough to be safe. The scientists, whose advice the government are said to be following, are saying that the decision to ease up is not a medical, but a political one.
And this to me is the crux of the matter; the reason for my unease.
I don’t trust the government.
Every time they praise themselves for some world breaking achievement, like their test, track and trace, a dissonant voice pops up, telling us that it isn’t what it seems, ie that the superbly, trained team of contact tracers, don’t know what they should be doing, if indeed there is anything for them to do, so they spend their time watching shows on Netflix and worrying. (Anyone who wants to check my source for this, there is an article in today’s Guardian from someone who has just resigned from being a contact tracer.)
Other countries seem to be doing better, here we lurch from one crisis to another.
Since I have no faith in the people making the decisions and fear that we will inevitably have a second spike, I have to find ways of stopping myself from feeling totally hopeless.
Which is why there is a white rose at the top of this blog. It comes from a bush Mum gave me years ago and one which, to my shame, I have neglected. It doesn’t always flower, but this year it has, its blossom merging discretely with the adjoining rhododendron which is why I didn’t notice it until it was past its best. It is however a lovely reminder of Mum and so especially cherished this year.
Another good thing to note is that the baby robins have hatched and flown. Yesterday they were snug in the nest, today the nest is empty.
Walking down the garden to check on the courgettes, I breathe in the scent of my pink roses, feel their petals against my skin. Life does go on.