Furlough has given many people the opportunity to catch up on sleep, take up gentle hobbies like cross-stitch and birdwatching, pick up (and put down) vast tomes, and spend long hours cooking Ottolenghi’s most convoluted recipes.
But for others, it has been a less carefree experience. I viewed it through a fog of anxiety, which grew thicker the more I grappled with days and weeks of structureless, unoccupied time. No matter how much Eckhart Tolle I read, furlough felt like the sword of Damocles hovering overhead, and my powerlessness in the situation prompted bouts of panic every few days.
Eventually I realised that catastrophising wasn’t a worthwhile use of this time, and I looked around for ways to be helpful. I live in Lewisham, south-east London, where it’s said the UK’s first coronavirus mutual aid group was set up, so I was able to join the growing army of volunteers looking to help those who were shielding. A Facebook group pointed me to my ward’s mutual aid WhatsApp group, and within minutes, my phone was pinging with messages.
I scanned the chat, where members had agreed that posting leaflets with links, advice and volunteer contact details was the best way to reach vulnerable people nearby. Someone with graphic design skills created a flyer, those with printers did the honours; and others offered to pay for ink. I picked up a stack of leaflets from a neighbour and hit the streets.
I was grateful that I could leave the house, so the thought of others confined to theirs was a strong motivation to get posting. Though I’ve lived in Lewisham for nearly four years, I’ve had little reason to explore beyond the local shopping centre and my eight-minute commute to the station.
But leafleting led me to parts I’d never seen before: broad and leafy avenues with gorgeous Georgian maisonettes; an ornate Hindu temple tucked behind a Nando’s; hidden cemeteries overgrown with wildflowers; and a host of takeaways to add to my roster, from Nepalese to Nigerian.
The first phone call came a few days later from Claire, a woman in her 80s who lives just two roads down. Geared up in mask and gloves, I set off to source her requests for Dairy Milk and cheddar, as well as a prescription for her husband who has epilepsy.
Every week now, before I run Claire’s errands, we have a socially distant chat, me at the bottom of her garden stairs, she on the step outside her back door. We talk about her son, who is experiencing the pandemic in the heart of Lombardy, and how she misses volunteering at the local library. I tell her about my botched efforts to make chutney and give her updates on my evolving employment status – I’m worried I’m going to lose my job.
Another request came from Cecil, an elderly man shielding with Crohn’s disease. “Can you get me some Rizla, please dear, and some spuds?” he asks during our first phone call. “Oh, and some bubble bath? I want to take a bath, and the bubbles make me feel nice, you see …” Cecil is a joy to shop for, and I scour the aisles each week for treats he can look forward to when he asks for “a surprise”.
I’ve also fostered a friendship with Tina, a single mum with two teenagers and a baby on the way. She tells me she’s allergic to genetically modified fruit and veg, so she gets organic produce from the Turkish grocer in Lewisham market.
She uses her PayPal app to quickly send me money for seeded cucumbers, and texts to explain the different varieties of plantain so I can make informed selections.
One day, she calls me complaining of abdominal pain, and I head over to babysit her teenagers (distantly, from the front garden) so she can make an emergency trip to see her midwife. Thankfully all’s well, and I’m glad that during such uncertain times, I can offer a smidgeon of constancy and someone she can trust.
There are few good things to come from this pandemic, but amid all the unpredictability and confusion, I’ve discovered a community that I would never have ordinarily come across, and in which I now feel rooted and invested. Furlough continues to provoke anxiety, but I’ve found an anchor in these newfound friendships that will live on well past the end of lockdown.
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