It was the last of times. It was the first of times. This, actually is the longest time. The longest time, I have stayed still. I am still. I am still here. I am still, here. And here we are in Corona Nation Street.
As a boy, I knew my neighbours well. Intimately. I knew their underwear. It was strung across the entry on wash day. I knew their grievances, frustrations, delights and petty jealousies; they were aired every Saturday night after one too many ales. Today we get to know our neighbours briefly, furtively, sporadically, through a glass darkly. Through a window.
On Thursdays at 8, we rendezvous. We stand and meet, not for dinner, but to clap, and show support, to share in our ‘all in togetherness’, ‘some are more equal than otherness’. A pause now for applause; friends now to our family and family now for friends.
And then comes a prison riot of pots and pans, each ‘doing their bit’, by staying home. Loose lips sink hips, we assault the fridge. Then we order more. Lockdown and reload. Glancing here and there at neighbours in their Sunday best, a brief showing out. Each in their doorway, sentry boxed and clocked.
We are masked, from near and yet so far, we wave; like a pound-shop Venetian Mardi Gras isolated but not alone. We sit apart but stand together. And here we are in Corona Nation Street
We think about the new heroes, on the new frontline, but try not to think about the new heroes on the new frontline. And outside nature is still nature, writ large. A constant reminder as the earth breathes and high above me a battery of rooks squabble, and whirl ,corvids against Covid; a fat ‘fuck you’ to testing, tempting times.