The world changes. But life goes on in our crusty old pie of a town.
“Self-isolate! Gosh, why didn’t I think of that years ago,” cooed my wife, as she looked across to the chair on which your perambulating pensioner was itching a bothersome patch of hard skin located behind his left foot’s big toe.
“Who should self-isolate first?” I asked, pulling up a heavy-duty sock with a cushioned sole.
“You,” replied my wife, striding purposefully towards the dreaded Hoover. “Every time I speak to you, you’re somewhere else, dreaming of doughnuts or faraway mountains.”
So I decided to have a bath. No place on Earth is better for self-isolating than a bath, deeper than a pharaoh’s tomb. There, in the soapy warmth, you can think. And I thought about this dreadful coronavirus.
For I’m nudging my 72nd birthday, placing me in the “high risk” category, advised to avoid gatherings and to cancel unnecessary business or social meetings.
It’s a hard but important way to beat the disease, testing the natural tendency of older Britons to seek refuge in bleak humour. Indeed, a few days earlier I’d entered the basement shop of Attilio Marchini, master tailor, in Hamilton Square, Birkenhead.
“Could you fit me for a spacesuit?” I asked. And we chuckled, though I was really hoping he’d mend holes in the pockets on a couple of my cherished tweed jackets - a task I feared might be beneath the dignity of a renowned tailor. But he did a splendid job.
I’d been alerted to the holes’ problem when walking to the shops. A lady of mature bearing, who had perhaps feared her sprinting days were over, came speeding up to me. “You dropped these, luv,” she panted, handing me a couple of pound coins. Well, my eyes blurred in thanks and I slipped the coins into a pocket that had not yet burst its stitching.
That’s why I love our strange old town. Yes, some people were stripping supermarket shelves of essential supplies and medicines, but others were looking out for their fellows on the street, as they always do, offering to help in their own way.
We’ll come through this problem, this disease. Spring is coming. And it’ll give bounce to our steps.
That afternoon, my wife and I linked arms in the park and admired the banks of daffodils. Beauty was all around. And soon we’ll all be together again enjoying that beauty.
