Masks, serial killers and my birthday
We're back in England, reflecting on the pandemic and celebrating my 36 years on this planet...
*This post is being published four days after its intended date due to a technical error. The piece of technology I am referring to is my brain. The error is that it’s a bit broken at the moment, sorry. More on that in the next post
Dear Jasper,
This week we’re in England, your birthplace. Today is my birthday, and the day after tomorrow you will be exactly seven months old. People say that time flies with children, but so far I have not found this to be the case. It feels like the day of your birth was a very long time ago.
But here we are, back in the same beautiful house in Essex in which we lived when you first came back from the hospital. It’s owned by your non-secular-godfather, Brooks, who all the way back in 2020 said I could stay here when I found myself suddenly homeless early on in the pandemic. I was only supposed to be here very temporarily, but the ‘one month’ lockdown that kicked it all off turned into several years and I stayed here throughout.
When I first got here, I was a bit mad. Lots of people went mad during lockdown - it was a strange era. If I had been living in London during that time, I would have gone fully, fully, insane. Luckily, though, I was out here, surrounded by trees, all by myself, writing and walking and bingeing on TV shows - mainly Nordic police detective mysteries, but also apocalypse movies (my favourite genre).
Most people, during a global crisis, would not be happy living alone in a big empty house watching shows about serial killers and doomsday, but I am an oddity.
Anyway, in slightly related news, this week saw the release of a very important scientific report on the efficacy of face masks during the Covid pandemic - the most comprehensive yet. It concluded that, as I always suspected, they were pretty useless. Certainly not proven to be a gamechanger. There was an enormous divide, you see, between the people who were absolutely evangelical about wearing them (to refuse was to be cast by them as an evil granny killer) and the people who viewed them as ineffective, and an eerie symbol of oppression. It was impossible not to have an opinion on face masks. Both your father and I fell into the latter camp. It’s one of the first things we bonded over. There are probably people who will read this and disagree, and feel furious about it. Maybe even refuse to read any more of my writing. That’s how echo chambers are created.
If I had to make one complaint about the modern mindset (my generation and younger) it would be that people just can’t seem to agree-to-disagree. Lots of people fell out - I mean literally cut friends out of their lives - over their views on the handling of the pandemic. Which is odd, when you think about it. It was a new virus and an unprecedented situation. Of course there were going to be differing opinions on what to do. You’d expect there to be debate, wouldn’t you? Debate without banishment? But many were indeed banished for engaging in it, and I find this to be morbid.
As Ricky Gervais (a very funny British comedian) points out: “How arrogant does one have to be to go through life expecting everyone to agree with them about everything? And to feel insulted when people don’t?” Another thing he likes to say is: “Just because you’re offended, doesn’t mean you’re right”.
Anyway, lots of people are offended in this day and age. I’m not sure if that's because of the internet, or whether it’s impervious to time and simply part of the human condition. I would ask my grandparents, but unfortunately they are all dead now.
As I write, you are asleep (finally!) in the snug (where I used to watch the serial killer shows), I am in the drawing room surrounded by your toys, Julius and Granny Sue are chopping vegetables in the kitchen. The sun is shining, even though it’s February, and as we took a walk earlier I could feel the molecules in my skin rearrange themselves in a favourable way. The weather back in Iceland, and the lack of daylight during the winter months, has really taken its toll on all of us, I think.
One day in the not so distant future, our plan is to move somewhere hot. I don’t think the power of sunshine can be overstated enough. I worship the stuff. The downside to this is that I’ll be wrinkly before my time, but I think, on balance, that it will be worth it. There’s always a price to pay for the best things in life.
Right now, you are the best thing in my life, and the price I’m paying is exhaustion, because you’ve decided to stop sleeping properly at night.
Anyway, I must go now. I’m going to force myself to do some exercise (which I hate, but is good for my poor mental health at the moment) and then we’re going to eat Bao Buns decorated like unicorns from Marks & Spencer, and then Granny Sue is babysitting while your father and I go to the cinema together. We’re going to watch ‘Knock at the Cabin’, which is a horror and a mystery AND is about the apocalypse so even though it only has a score of 64% on Rotten Tomatoes, I can’t see how it will fail me.
Ever your loving,
Annabel
P.S.
In the news this week: Roald Dahl’s books have been censored, the body of missing mother Nicola Bulley was found, and the UK is facing a vegetable shortage.
Fact of the week: Lemons float, but limes sink. Isn’t that weird?
Highlight of the week: Your father and I took a long walk in the countryside and felt the sun on our skin for the first time in months.
Low of the week: My health, both mental and physical, is abysmal. I’ve had blood tests, so maybe we’ll find out why next week.