Dream Sequence

          Last night, I awoke in terror from a nightmare involving claustrophobia – my only phobia, as far as I am aware, though I don’t dwell on it and rarely have truly terrifying dreams about anything. Perhaps it was just one of those weirdly enhanced dreams that so many people have been experiencing since the pandemic took hold. If so, it was intense beyond the actuality: I have been locked down, but I have not been locked-in or locked-up.

          From the beginning, back in March, the weather was spring-like and the outdoors beckoned. Bicycles became a thing in our lives and picnics replaced dinner parties as the urge to socialise re-established itself. Now, with guest place-settings redundant and stowed in sideboards across the nation, picnic gear has come into its own and sales are booming. (I have just acquired a dedicated backpack – so much more convenient than the cumbersome old hamper that one strapped to the boot of one’s imaginary convertible MG.) I know, winter will come and social gatherings outside will lose much of their appeal but the urge to mingle is a powerful force and, because virtual meet-ups are second-best, I am sure the next retail boom will be in warm, waterproof clothing.

          Meanwhile, there is much that can be achieved – and more efficiently – via video calls. For example, our block has just established a Leaseholders Association using Zoom, to which purpose the medium is well suited. When properly mediated by a “chair”, everyone gets a chance to speak and interrupters, ramblers and inveterate moaners can be muted at the touch of a button. Plus, there is the bonus of being allowed to peer into neighbours’ apartments, since none of them has mastered the technique of setting a virtual background. Mind you, I do miss the opportunity to slope off to the pub afterwards for a session of private bitching.

          Video calls are also useful in easing the burden on doctors. Fortunately, I have not been ill, though I did have need of medical advice about a sudden swelling on a finger joint, so I called the doc accordingly. Unfortunately, the dedicated, “world-beating” app that is used by the NHS did not work on my phone and, despite the fact that I have three other apps that would do the job, the doc declined to use them and insisted that I attend in person, which I did, despite my misgivings about overburdening him. He appeared clad head-to-toe in heavy duty PPE and I apologised for having put him to so much trouble for so trivial a complaint. But he shrugged it off, saying that it was easy to “gown up” and that, as soon as I left, he would throw it all in the bin and don a fresh set. Which made me feel bad about being responsible for adding so much plastic waste to the oceans.

          Some of the adaptations we have made may end up becoming ‘normal’, though, in that process, it is apparent just how transient ‘normality’ actually is – which affords us an opportunity to question some of the things that are currently embedded in our cultures. Conventions, such as shaking the hand of a stranger, which no longer seems a sensible thing to do, could be abandoned at last (I never was comfortable with its forced intimacy anyway). And on a bigger scale, international rivalry that tips into hostility might be called into question by common consent and a new era of cooperation, such as prevailed for a while after 1945, might be established. Dream on, you say? Well, it is apparent that covid has meant anxious dreams for some and living nightmares for others, so perhaps it is all the more imperative we should focus on dreaming in that hopeful, future sense.