Amongst all the confusion, one thing is clear.
It’s going to be a really long time before we can touch people again.
Minds out of the gutter please – not touch in that way... although, well, yes, actually, in that way, but also in all other ways, too.
Not being able to cuddle loved ones is what we miss the most at the moment says a new survey – along with a pint down the pub.
Don’t know about you, but I’d never have predicted it would matter so much (the cuddling, not the pint).
If asked a few months ago, I’d probably have said keeping my mitts to myself wouldn’t bother me, or maybe even that it would be a relief.
Apart from with my immediate family, and all cats, I’m not really a hugger. I never know whether to do one cheek kiss or two.
Shaking hands makes me feel simultaneously like a businessman, and ridiculous.
I never would have dreamt I’d miss any of it. But that was then.
Since lockdown began, one of my friends’ dad died. I rang him, texted, everything you’d expect. Nothing else I could offer right now.
But over the weekend his wife messaged, saying they were on a bike ride for exercise near our house, and would stop to say hello from across the road if we were in. Spoiler: we were in.
Seeing my friend in real life was very different. Not being able to give him a massive hug felt wrong, cold, verging on cruel.
It also added pressure to find the perfect words to provide some comfort, which – as anyone who has lost someone important can attest – don’t exist. It was the only time
I’ve been tempted to break the rules.
But as everybody knows, the best way to show someone you care right now is to stay as far away from them as you can. Ignore all natural instinct. Don’t kill anyone with kindness.
Being able to meet someone from another household in a park, as long as we stay two metres away, is no good. Seeing them is not enough.
Like grandparents the world over, my mum is aching to hug my son. I genuinely think them being in the same place but not being able to touch would be torture, even worse than now. So near, but yet far too far.
And how would you even ensure it didn’t happen?
A friend dropped some shopping off to her parents recently, and had to physically, forcibly hold her children back when they tried to run into their grandparents’ arms.
Knowing the rules can’t cancel out second nature.
And yet Matt Hancock has now said we won’t be able to hug until there’s a vaccine, which could be next year, at the earliest – or never.
It’s not even just the hugs. Turns out the little things matter more than we knew, too.
The seemingly inconsequential, every day touches – before, we probably didn’t notice them, almost definitely didn’t appreciate them. The light touch of an arm mid-conversation, the squeeze of a shoulder, a pat on the back.
Tiny, imperceptible reassurances that someone’s there, that you’re being heard, that you’re not alone in whatever you’re going through.
We need them more than ever at precisely the time they are forbidden.
There is so much we have no choice but to deal with at the moment.
Rules to decipher, sacrifices to make, upheaval to endure.
We will learn not to touch each other – we have to. But get used to it?
Nope. Never.
