It was not unexpected, taking into account hospitals reaching full capacity with Covid patients and the new, more highly contagious strain of Covid spreading rapidly throughout the country, but still it’s a bit of a bump to be told we are going back into lockdown. A proper lockdown this time, schools are closing. I guess someone finally realised that schools were where the majority of transmissions were taking place.
But seven weeks?
The lockdown is due to end on 24 February and – optimists that we are – we are booked to fly to Madeira on 26 February. (We booked this back in December, deciding to express some home in a better future.) I somehow think our Madeira holiday will not happen, and all that time I’ve spent with Drops and Duolingo practising Portuguese for the last five weeks will have been for nothing. (Well, not nothing, no language learned is ever for nothing but you know what I mean.)
And unlike the first lockdown, back in March last year, it’s not springtime, it’s not getting warmer, it’s not nice to be outside and taking long walks. It’s January. It’s grey, it’s cold, it’s raining and just miserable most of the time. It may only be seven weeks compared to the first lockdown of four months (four months!) but I’m sure it will feel longer.
Although my life won’t really change (apart from a holiday that was never 100% certain maybe being cancelled), hearing the news is disheartening. And that word really does feel true, dis-heart-en. I feel like I’m carrying a heavy burden in my heart at the news.
Or maybe it’s the SADs again. I haven’t left the house since Sunday and today is Tuesday – the day I go for my lunchtime call walk. Although I don’t want to, it looks cold and grey and windy out there.
*Sigh* Even I’m bored with my whinging now.
Tales from Tobhamhor 