Sunday 24th May
A group of us chat after this morning’s virtual church service on Zoom. One lady, a Carer, visited a client earlier this week and complimented a neighbour on the floral display in the baskets hanging along his front fence. He pointed out that he had hung baskets precisely 2m apart, to provide guidance to those queuing at the adjacent bus stop, a pleasant change from lines of sticky tape on the floor. This Carer tells us that she is visiting fewer clients now that relatives are able to visit to provide care.
My church is in a village 6 miles from home. Most church members live in the village but some, like me, have moved, but not far, and still attend the church, or at least did so in normal times. I have been asked to do a bible reading, and realise that the friend doing a reading just before mine is doing so from the village just across the fields from me. Other participants are in villages that I drive through when attending church. Most live a short walk from the church. For time being, we all have the same distance to travel to get to our church service – just a few steps.
After the church service I collect an order of flour from a local mill. The watermill, a few miles from home, is run by Spencer and Sally Craven, friends of ours, who we have known for many years through Scouting. Under normal circumstances a wide range of flour products, very popular locally, is sold on site and distributed through local shops. After lockdown the Mill was no longer able to sell directly on site, and had to adapt to circumstances. Customers e-mail an order, and receive an e-mail back with a range of times to phone and pay, and to be told a time slot when the order can be collected, left in a box at the end of the drive. Chantal arranged the order yesterday, and I am dispatched today to collect the goods at noon. I successfully complete the mission, or so I think, but receive a text as I drive home, from Spencer to say that I may have successfully collected a carrier bag full of bags of flour, but there is a second carrier bag, that I failed to notice, the other half of our order. I cannot read texts while driving, and so have to turn back after arriving home. Spencer is at the Mill gate with the second part of our order, which gives us a chance for a brief chat.
The double journey to the Mill gives a further opportunity to listen a podcast, this time “The NHS Frontline”, recorded by NHS workers dealing directly with Covid 19 patients. Patients being intubated with oxygen, in an induced coma, spend 16 hours each day on their front to aid breathing. They must be turned over twice daily. The demands on intensive care clinical staff are great, and so volunteers turn the patients regularly. A radiologist is interviewed. The demands on his specialist team is reduced since Covid 19, and his team volunteers to undertake this task, a task that seems so basic for professionals in another discipline, but is so critical for the welfare and recovery of the patient.
On the way to the Mill (twice!) I pass Ullesthorpe Scout campsite, normally busy at this time of the year, but not used for over two months. I recall my last visit there, two weeks before lockdown, joining a “working party” maintaining the site. Social Distancing was in its infancy, limited to no contact, and there were jocular suggestions that for the foreseeable future we would no longer be able to shake hands, and the new normality would involve everyone touching elbows instead. We hadn’t got a clue about what was coming.
This afternoon we give in to temptation. Well, actually, yesterday we gave in, accepting an invitation from our Richard and Chris a few doors away, to bring the dogs and share a gin and tonic or two in their garden this 
afternoon. Every precaution is taken. The back gate is unlocked, and we go straight through to the back garden. Two tables are set out on the patio, 2m apart, each with its own bowls of nibbles. We have also brought nibbles to share, in new sealed bags. Each couple is seated at least 3m from the other. We do not go in the house to use the facilities; Chantal pops home, and as for me, well let’s just say that I needed to take the dogs for a walk, accessing the fields from the bottom of the garden, after which I had no need of the facilities. Although Richard takes part in the weekly pub Zooming, and we have all exchanged pleasantries when meeting on the Lane, this was the first time that the four of us, who in normal times enjoy pub meals together, have had a face to face chat for any length of time, and it was good.
Other neighbours, who have been strictly isolating themselves for two months, have also decided that it is time to adapt. One simply decided that his car needed to be started and driven for a short distance in the interests of charging the battery, a circular route with no stops. As he said, not exciting, but it was good to be briefly out and about. Another neighbour has had difficulty keeping in touch with friends and family since her laptop failed. She drove to a local town to leave it for repair, minimising social contact. A third couple on the Lane, together with their daughter who lives some distance away, decided that it was time to hug grandchildren. Her daughter and family self-isolated for 14 days in advance, no shopping or other trips from home, and our neighbours drove to their daughters for a brief visit before returning home.
I suspect that this is partly how many people will manage relaxation of lockdown, taking sensible precautions to minimise risks, dipping toes into the new normality. Maybe I live on a lane full of rebels. Or maybe I live on a Lane full of people who have the life experiences to listen to guidance, read the rules, and adapt them, following the laid-down principles to manage their own new normality.
Or in 14 days will I be reporting the first Covid 19 cases on the Lane?
Technically we live in Oaktree House, but sadly the tree had to go.
We now have a thriving Oakstump at the front of the house.
