Streetwise

          People are repopulating the streets, tentatively, though there is one group in particular that remains conspicuously absent: Jehova’s Witnesses. Over the last few years, they have quietly colonised every intersecting thoroughfare in the city yet presently, at this time of heightened temporal and spiritual need, there is no Watchtower on offer to provide our troubled, misguided souls with a comforting explanation of their god’s plan for us all. Are they “shielding” themselves from the virus? Or have they made a cynically tactical decision not to bother proselytising until there is more footfall?

          Actually, there has been a captive audience for proselytisers – and buskers – throughout lockdown: the queues outside supermarkets and, unexpectedly, banks. I go frequently to the shops, but I have not been into a bank since the day it became possible to transact all finance remotely. I am curious, therefore, to know why people still queue for financial services and, though I have been tempted to stop and ask some of them, I am deterred by my disposition to consider it impolite to enquire of other people’s affairs, so I just give them funny looks instead.

          The easing of lockdown restrictions has a whiff of economic expediency about it, against which it is difficult to argue. Yet those of us who are fortunate enough to have a choice in the matter need not rush out to mingle and spread. We may make our own risk assessments and act with due responsibility for the safety of others and ourselves. Reflecting on government advice to “stay home” (since downgraded to “stay alert”), I surmise there have been unforeseen consequences. Isolating and communicating only via social media is an unnatural situation for social beings like us. It is likely to induce a state of frustration which, alleviated though it may be by booze, drugs and Netflix, is fertile ground for the incubation of the kind of paranoid, curtain-twitching behaviour on which conspiracy theories thrive, the most ludicrous example of which might be that the virus is spread by 5G masts. If there is a conspiracy, however, it is not so much weird as obvious. While we are all safely tucked up at home, our sort-of-elected masters are pursuing their neo-liberal agenda on the quiet, passing legislation that will oblige us to import chlorinated chicken and sell off our few remaining publicly owned assets for the enrichment of tax-avoiding billionaires and monopolistic corporations. There, I’ve said it!

          Not that I stayed home so much, anyway. I took my daily exercise, safely, in the deserted streets, but now it is more interesting. I take the view that nothing happens unless you get out and interact. So, here’s what happened to me yesterday as I walked with a rucksack slung over my shoulder. Towards me came two large, boisterous young men. My streetwise senses told me to keep a distance from them but my way was blocked by a bloke unloading boxes from his van. As the distance between us narrowed, I sought a way to pass with correct social distancing But the others showed no signs of giving way and, as we drew near, one of the men said to me “Are you alright?” I construed this as a sort of “Why are you looking at me like that?” moment and worried that my expression had betrayed my anxiety? “Yes,” I said but, before I had chance to elaborate, he pointed at the way my hand, with its thumb looped through the rucksack strap, was resting over my heart. “I thought you might be in pain,” he said, kindly. Relived, I laughed and thanked him for his concern. It’s nice to see people back on the streets, looking out for each other. Rousseau would have said, “I told you so.”