Deep breath, folks… we’re going back in the water.
From tomorrow, we can go swimming in the big pond of life again. Except those stuck in Moray or Glasgow who are left watching enviously as the rest of us take the plunge.
Truth be told, how many of us are really ready to jump, even if we’re free to do so?
Will you be wiggling your tail like a cheery wee tadpole flittering between equally enthusiastic chums?
Or will you linger on the bank, more like a cautious mummy frog, torn between the desire to leap into the fun and the comforting safety of hiding in the mud.
Personally, I’m the mummy frog.
Watching the wildlife at the pond in our local park has become a calming pastime during periods of lockdown, when nerves were frayed and there was nothing else to do.
I’m going to miss those moments of peace. The tadpoles are coming on great, wee souls.
This is the confusing fallout of lockdowns. They were forced upon us, we hated being separated from friends and loved ones and loathed the curtailment of our freedom. An Ipsos MORI poll found that 60 per cent of Brits found it hard to stay positive. Anxiety levels soared.
We had no option but to adapt our lives, finding ways to cope, seeking out small local solutions for our own sanity.
Now, as most of us stand on the edge of normality again, we realise parts of lockdown weren’t all bad. Some of it was good. Not cultivating sourdough bread or doing Zoom quizzes or making face masks out of grannie’s baggy bloomers.
But spending less money on clothes and make-up and hair products has meant those of us lucky enough to remain in employment could spend a bit of cash doing all those jobs around the house we’d been putting off for years.
The daily commute required no more exertion or pollution than hauling your carcass from bed to kitchen/dining table/shoogly-desk-in-the-corner and yet the work still got done.
Teenage offspring deprived of their social lives had no option but to snuggle up on the couch of an evening watching Netflix with their families.
Honestly, this was time to treasure for parents who know they’ll be empty-nesters before too long.
Younger kids found their after-school clubs and weekend activities were cancelled, which was a shame, of course, but also meant that parents didn’t spend every minute of their waking lives ferrying children from Brownies to gymnastics to swimming to dance class to football…
No more were we plagued by that millennial torment – the FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out) – because no one else was doing anything either.
The strict, exhausting, judgmental timetable of 21st century life was torn up and replaced with an altogether more relaxed version and I’m not sure we’re all ready to let it go.
Plus, it’s clear that Covid hasn’t done with us yet, as the good people of Glasgow and Moray will testify. One false move, or new variant, and we’ll ALL rocket back up through the levels.
The First Minister got teary last week as she announced the freedom to hug loved ones again so long as we “stay within permitted limits” – that’s six people from three different households if indoors for us Level 2-ers.
We mustn’t breathe on each other mid-hug, though, for fear of transferring droplets of contaminant, so pretend you’re embracing a tree, or an auntie you don’t like very much.
Some of us might not be ready to hug at all ’cause it’s still a bit stressful. It’s OK to stay out of the hubbub.
As the days, weeks and months wear on, we might say “no” to a night out ’cause we’d rather snuggle up and watch Netflix. We might ditch some of the kids’ clubs. We might continue working from home.
Some of us will choose to remain “mummy frogs”, content to sit by the pondside a bit longer. And that’s OK too.
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