To mark the 5 year anniversary of the ongoing pandemic, I've been posting my lockdown diaries.
My grandparents used to buy the Connacht Tribune every week to read about the cattle marts, who was fined for not contributing to the "voluntary" collections at mass, who was shortlisted for the Rose of Tralee at the ballroom of (no)romance. And the death notices.
As a child, I read the letters section (granny didn't have a tele). I was fascinated by the things that made ordinary people, mostly men, mostly farmers, so impassioned to come in after milking the cows, between the angelus & the boiled bacon & cabbage & take pen to paper. It started my love affair with words & helped me appreciate that the most interesting stories are told by authentic voices. In sentences constructed to fit their words & meaning, Zero rules. Zero fecks given.
When SARS-CoV-2 struck, I was ensconced in a little cottage by the sea in Galway & began writing lockdown chronicles for the Tribune. A satirical column intended to give light relief during that early, terrifying lockdown phase (all of 6 weeks). It was a great privilege & career highlight. Sad that my mam & dad weren't alive to read the column which I secretly dedicated to them & my grandparents. I hope I did them proud. Ar dheis dé go raibh a n-anamacha.
Mastering the art of walking and cutting in straight lines
TESS FINCH-LEES
Sinking sourdough and DIY haircuts aside, TESS FINCH-LEES is viewing lockdown in a positive light.
“Who’s that?” says Gobnait (not her real name) whose house I used to pass on my pre-lockdown walk. “It’s me,” I’d say, lifting my oversized red framed sunglasses to prove I’m not Lady Gaga incognito.
It’s her way of telling me I should catch myself on for wearing sunglasses in the middle of January. I could tell her I have light sensitive eyes but she doesn’t suffer fools gladly and I admire her astuteness.
I’ve changed my route since lockdown because the road isn’t wide enough to accommodate my ego and social distancing. That’s what Gobnait would say and I miss our daily dalliance.
Despite that, and with the easing of lockdown imminent, I find myself reluctant to relinquish my newfound bubble, for various reasons.
My DIY haircut with blunt scissors didn’t go as planned. Just cut in a straight line, what could possibly go wrong?
Everything.
One side was shorter than the other and in a scene reminiscent of Father Ted’s dented car sketch (I’ll just give it one more tap), I kept cutting until one side was aligned with my upper ear while the other hovered in follicular limbo just below the chin.
Panicking ahead of a Zoom meeting, my options included the following: a bandana (a la Duran Duran), a balaclava (a la bank robber) or a baseball cap (a la who’s that eejit?). I went with the latter and kept my head down until someone said: “who’s that in the baseball cap”?
I also haven’t mastered the art of making sourdough bread (my heart’s not really in it) and, while the rest of the country has been spring cleaning since March, I haven’t even started.
I’m not ready to stop listening to the sound of the cuckoo, carried in the wind from the Burren across the bay and the butterflies of giddiness it unleashes, leaving endorphin infused contrails in their wake.
Whilst I cling to lockdown like Paschal Donohoe clings to his ministerial salary, many are chomping at the bit for "freedom".
A vexed psychologist on RTE, warned of the psychological impact of children not being able to hug their grannies.
If there’s a second wave, as already seen in Germany and China, what about the psychological impact on the child if granny dies of Coronavirus?
What about the psychological impact on the doctor working with dwindling resources who has to decide who gets the last ICU bed and/or ventilator?
And what about the psychological impact on the nurse who has to tell the family that their loved one has died?
At time of writing, 30% of the people diagnosed with Coronavirus are previously healthy Health Care Workers. What of the psychological impact on them and their families who risk their lives to save ours?
The shortage of PPE is an ongoing worry for healthcare staff with reports of post-traumatic stress disorder emerging, unsurprisingly. If there is a second wave, our capacity to respond could be significantly depleted.
Meanwhile, having spent six weeks in lockdown, leaving many financially destitute, it emerged that people continued to enter Ireland and the safeguards, such as self-isolating and filling in contact tracing forms, weren’t actually mandatory and therefore as effective as a chocolate tea pot.
Data from one week alone revealed that more than a third of passengers arriving at Dublin Airport and a quarter of those coming in at Dublin Port who were asked to self-isolate did not respond to follow-up calls, many were untraceable.
When confronted with this revelation in the Dáil last week, Leo Varadkar said that mandatory quarantine might be forthcoming but warned about the impact on tourism.
The elephant in the room of course is Britain. Our nearest neighbour, which has the second highest death rate from Coronavirus in the world.
In non-lockdown conditions, one contagious person can infect, on average three people, who will then potentially infect another three.
By the time you multiply that variable ten times, exponentially the original person could have infected over 88,000 people.
That’s why New Zealand’s premier, Jacinda Ardern locked down early, quarantining everyone entering the country and rolling out rigorous contact tracing and testing regimes.
After one month and twenty deaths, she reduced the infection rate to zero enabling the safe easing of lockdown.
As long as Ireland’s border strategy against Coronavirus remains that of voluntary quarantining, I’ll be maintaining a social distance.
Gobnait and I have started a Zoom Book Club and our first book is, “Who’s that” by D.U. Lally.
It’s about a girl with lopsided hair who wears dark glasses in January and goes cuckoo trying to make sourdough bread in a ramshackled kitchen, somewhere in County Galway (recommended reading age 0-3 mths).
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