A Wapping Great Pandemic Memoir
A restless night of disturbed sleep, unsurprising after yesterday’s disturbing announcements about sending more people back to work. Unsafe, unsafe. The jobs might be safe but getting there: bad at the best of times. The Tube is going to be operating at capacity again, I just know it, all breathing on each other.
Gearing myself up for the Post Office–general anxiety at going outdoors in the day, crowds, insufficient distancing, etc, and embarrassment that I haven’t shaved my legs in weeks and I feel like wearing a dress. I’m trying to decide if I should pick up the razor again on my next go in the shower or continue my brazen flauting of convention. After all, who’s around to see (when I’m not going to a shop, that is, or in my leggings so no one can see.)
I do not feel that my work achieves meaning for people who are suffering. I think it reinforces the dynamic of a ruling elite propped up by the suffering–and certainly I am one of the former even if I’m a 99% instead of a 1%. What can I say of use? And whatever I try to say gets twisted into something boring and corporate or overwritten by my colleagues. I’m tired and afraid and not feeling particularly prescient. I long for a small house by the sea with a fireplace and a garden and a quiet life but what would life look like in a few years? How would I support myself? I don’t have the capital for a life like that. And do I want, really want, to leave London for a life of fewer services and options? Less infrastructure? And where? The clock ticks on, my work beckons. So tired. Can I say anything meaningful about this pandemic? Must I? It’s so all-consuming, must it swallow my professional voice as well?
I did see the blooming chestnut trees yesterday, smelling so sweet after the rain–my favourite time, so beautiful. The blossoms won’t last long. I lingered a bit. Not as busy on the path because of the rain and then settled clouds.
Midsummer approaches–sunset not until later and later. Seems a shame to waste the long evenings by the TV. I walked along Pennington Street yesterday to avoid the crowds along the canal–certainly far less foot traffic that way & no bicycles inconsiderately whizzing past too close (already thought that before the pandemic) but I missed the beautiful chestnut trees–now is the best time when they’re in bloom & the sweet smell floats down, then the blossoms fall beneath the trees like a carpet. Maybe if I go today at dusk.
I decided to use my fountain pen to write my journal because why not. Might improve my handwriting if I work at it. I sometimes wonder if I’ve seen my parents in person for the last time; if airlines are going bankrupt and cancelling flights. Will other forms of long distance travel emerge or are we a stay-at-home planet now?
Nice catch up call with Ana & Seb & Adi & Emma. Revealing moment when they were all bragging about their robot vacuums and Adi said “You can’t do without a real vacuum entirely,” and Seb said, “We seem to be doing fine,” and Adi said “What about the stairs?” and Ana said, “I’ve vacuumed the stairs twice in the past three weeks, and Seb said, “You vacuum the stairs?” and Ana said, “Who do you think has been doing it?” Then later as we were ending the call they all asked “But Cait, are you really okay on your own, don’t you wish you had someone for company?” Honestly. Big rainstorm yesterday afternoon: glad I got out for my walk in the morning. Slightly hairy moment on the path when I thought a large German shepherd was going to be aggressive with me on the narrow bit by the old power station but his owner kept him to heel and though he wanted to lunge forward to see what was happening he didn’t bark. I left a drawing (“take care <3”) on the Thames foreshore. I thought of it getting washed away later when the rain started. Sat outside briefly with a cup of tea enjoying the quiet between video calls.
China is returning children to school–they have ‘social distancing hats’ to keep them apart. I wonder if this will work or if the worst is yet ahead of us.
Have gone off internet dating; nobody seems to interest me more than reading or baking or TV or other solo pursuits–or my friends and family. They have to be at least that compelling to make me want to make room for them in my life, no? Yet everyone seems so banal. We were told yesterday that regardless of the outcome of the lockdown review on 7 May that we wouldn’t be returning to the office until at least mid-July. I need to get in touch with Christie about our rental agreement–I’m proposing continuing as we are until the stay-at-home order is lifted, since the official government guidance is to avoid moving house. Realistically I need to face facts and think about a different life, cheaper, but the thought of dealing with trying to register at a new NHS practice and change all my addresses and everything…I hate it! But it really might be time to leave London for somewhere less densely populated if we’re going to have rolling lockdowns permanently, or if I’m not travelling for work but always focused on remote delivery, I might as well live somewhere else. But where?
I can hear a small child outside with a whistle or a recorder–foolish instrument when we’re all at home. Harassed in the street by a toothless old man yesterday on my daily walk. Harmless enough. “I wish I had a camera–you’re so beautiful–will you take a picture for me?” Then randomly trying to get me in conversation about how it’s not beach weather but I was on the beach (Thames foreshore). If there’s one thing I thought the stay at home order might stop, it’s men in the street who think they deserve my attention. He didn’t approach but ignoring him and saying “no” to all his inquiries didn’t make him go away either. He must live around Wapping (though I’d guess of no fixed address) as I’ve seen him before. Harmless enough really, but unwelcome. Which I will say more explicitly should he instigate another encounter: do what you want and say what you want as long as you stay two metres back, but your attention is unwelcome.
Pelican Stairs 