Lockdown Slowdown

          Remember the panic buying all those months ago? I caught a mild case of it myself but, being slow off the starting blocks, came away with a pack of lentils in the absence of my preferred dietary staple, spaghetti. Of course, the shelves were soon re-stocked and the stampede subsided, but we may see another one on Saturday when England’s pubs are due to reopen.

          I shan’t be rushing to be served. I have become accustomed to the closure of pubs and all the other places we used to socialise in – restaurants, galleries and gigs. Rather than lament their absence, I have learned to live without them, taking a positive view and relishing the time freed up, putting it to use as a sort of secular, contemplative period of retreat. Those worthy tomes of social, economic and political theory that have lain in my study unopened for years have finally been read. Their once fresh theories may now be mainstream, but the reading served as a refresher course in recent history.

          Not that I have turned into a bookworm. Summer is here. Nature wears her party clothes and it is time to celebrate. Normally, we would be chasing the action in the campervan but this year we make the best of what the city can offer. And that is surprisingly rich. Last week, we picnicked with friends in the garden of their Victorian suburban house, an event that will linger in the subliminal as a rare concatenation of summer’s essences: the cycling to and from; the end of a long, hot, late-June day; the garden, bower-like and lush with colour; the food and wine savoured in relaxed company; and that feeling you sometimes get that bounteous summer is never-ending. Of course, it rained the next day, but gardens need the rain to make them lush. Meanwhile, at Wonderman Towers the courtyard has benefitted from a greater degree of attention than usual. Stay-at-home residents have augmented the number of pots, fought off the aphids and nurtured the plants to a produce a riot of foliage and flowering never before seen in Chinatown and that would – but for the health risk – have been a candidate for this year’s nationwide Open Gardens event. As it is, the main beneficiaries are the birds and bees, newcomers to the neighbourhood. This morning, I counted five species of bird, a 500% increase on last year. Mind you, that calculation does not take into account the fact that I spent most of last summer in the campervan.

          Still, other natural wonders are on the doorsteps of the city-bound. There is a large cherry tree, fully laden with fruit, that I noticed for the first time last week during my pedestrian wanderings. It’s not in a remote place but at the side of a highway, which means that most people would drive past it. Right now, stranded as it is between roadworks and a building site, it stands out as the only thing of beauty in the vicinity and, hence, a magnet for attention. Strangely though, only one other person joined me in the harvesting, despite the proximity of many newly-built apartment blocks. My theory is that the occupants are young urbanites who would recognise cherries only if they were packed, labelled and on the shelves at Tesco.

          I should qualify this little paean to lockdown slowdown with the reality that one’s choices are limited: those of us who are fortunate enough not to be suffering hardship, illness, grief or isolation ought not to grumble about the inconveniences imposed by efforts to contain the virus. We have the choice of enjoying what is available to us, developing skills, interests and learning to love lentils. On reflection, however, I do look forward to an eventual outing to the pub (one with a garden). After all, I’m not yet ready to hang that “Dunminglin” sign on the door.