Hypothetical Companionship

 

          That casual invitation to a mate, “Let’s go for a pint”, has morphed into “Let’s go for a walk”. Such a pity. Or is it? The dynamics of the interaction are different in each case, even to the point that some friends of mine will relish the one but shy away from the other. Does that say something about the basis of our relationship, or just the preference of the individual concerned? Either way, lockdown has enforced the change and it seems we must adapt or die (in some cases, literally). But I don’t mean to be morbid even though, having recently settled in Plymouth, far away from my trusty Manchester mates, I have not had anyone to go with, either for a pint or a walk.

           So, my walks are either solo or shared with my Other Half – although the latter tend to fall into the category of “hike”, which is quite a different prospect, tinged with sportiness and imbued with the rugged ethos of the Duke of Edinburgh Awards. My solo walks may lack companionship, but they do confer the leisurely freedom to stop at will and contemplate life’s peculiarities. For example, last week I wandered a part of Devonport in search of the restored Guildhall, which now houses, among other social amenities, a sourdough bakery, recently established by refugees from covid-stricken Hackney – living proof of the benefits of immigration. The Guildhall, though currently locked down, like everything else, is a fine example of a Grade 1 listed building in the Regency style, but it was a bonus to find, in the same street and by the same architect, a house in the so-called “Egyptian” style (a short lived fad akin to that of Chinoiserie) that had once been the home of the Odd Fellows society. Whether any of this might have been of interest to a hypothetical companion is a moot point but, supposing it were, we could have taken pleasure in sharing our enthusiasm. As it was, however, I was limited to geekishly googling the facts to satisfy my curiosity and in hope of sharing them later. Such audiences as I found, however, yielded only tepid responses.

          The ways in which we are affected by lockdown depend on our circumstances – and for some, I know, they are desperately difficult. But even for the fortunate ones – like me – with a life neither complicated by responsibilities nor burdened with hardships, lockdown threatens bouts of ennui at best, mental despair at worst. And somewhere in between there is the risk of life-shrinkage, by which I mean that small things can be inflated to compensate for the absence of one’s usual busy-ness. Before you know it, the delivery of that thingy you ordered on eBay becomes the highlight of your day. Then there is the danger of slipping into the spiral of introspection, easily avoided when displacement activities abound, not so in their absence. I like to think that it’s a problem I have outgrown yet I have spotted a warning flag on the horizon. The Heatons Jazz Appreciation Society, intent as it is to soldier on, despite the failure of its application for a government arts subsidy, has come up with a format to replace physical meetings – a plagiarised version of Desert Island Discs, the only differences being the subjects are not celebrities and the discs are never rubbish. It’s been fun so far, but next week it’s my turn to be stranded and the classic dilemma of how to choose looms large. However, here is an unexpected benefit of lockdown: I’ve had plenty of time to go over old ground, reflect on the soundtrack of my life and refine it to my limited choice and – I hope – appreciative audience.

(If you want to hear the tracks, search Spotify for ‘rachelmwlspot’, where you will find the playlist ‘HJAS Desert Island Discs’.)