Stand Up Clap Hands Shout Thank You Carers. Thank You For The NHS.

Last night across the UK the country opened its doors and windows.  Millions of our citizens, many of whom have been self-isolating, laid off from work, looking after loved ones or about to tuck children in to bed, tuned in to this mass event more eager than the opening ceremony of London 2012 (a celebrity suggested this week that the BBC should replay this to boost the mental health of the nation).  People stepped away from the dinner table, paused Netflix and put aside their Facetimes for those precious few moments which brought the nation together. The Queen didn’t parachute from a helicopter, The Spice Girls didn’t rock up in London Taxis and it wasn’t directed by Danny Boyle.  It was the brainchild of a lady called Annemarie Plas, a 36 year old living in London, who saw a similar initiative taking place in The Netherlands, where she is from.  She had named the event, ‘Clap for our Carers’ to show appreciation for those doing remarkable things in truly unprecedented times. It reminded me of a hymn we used to sing in junior school called, Stand Up Clap Hands (shout thank you Lord, thank you for the world I’m in).

Members of my own family dotted across the country sent messages in our What’s App group of how wonderful they felt and how proud they were of those working to protect us on the front line.  Twitter exploded with warming scenes from windows and balconies across our great capital city, where the streets may be barren, although the hearts of the millions living there are full of love and thanks. Clapping for our carers spread like a giant Mexican wave across our great nation.

This morning, as I dropped my son to his construction site for the final time before it closes, I listened to the health experts on Five Live, offering the best advice they could to anxious callers, these bitesize snippets, a window into the world of others.  Other humans worried about loved ones. We are all in this together.

The new reality for millions

I chatted with my son on the drive through empty streets, past solitary joggers and the conservative queues outside food stores, as people observed the two-metre apart rule.  We spoke about the reality of what is to come.  The money we make between us to keep the house going will come to an abrupt halt very soon and we will have little means until the government brings in its promised pledge for the employed and now self-employed.  The lady on the radio advising people, for the sake of their own mental health to just live one day at a time.  This has been my mantra for the past few weeks.

It seems unthinkable now that our lives used to continue day in and day out; that we used to take it for granted that we could queue up for a coffee to take on the train for our daily commute, that children would go to and return from school having been taught in the classroom all day, that regulars would prop up the local bar and chew the fat over Brexit - was Brexit even a thing?

There are of course, constants in this. Our constants who are always there for us.  Those who stand by us through thick and thin.  Those who love and care for us.  And I don't just mean family and friends.  Our healthcare staff and carers are always there for us, they stand by us and love and care for us, as though they were family. They are family.

It has taken this horror story for the general public to truly begin to understand the decisions our medical professionals have to make on a daily basis.  I've been lucky in my life so far that I have rarely had to use the NHS facilities other than to have my children.  Although last Summer my son was involved in an unprovoked incident where he sustained a serious eye injury, that he was lucky didn't blind him.  We spent a number of months in and out of hospital in Eastbourne, Hastings and London; appointments still scheduled for future of course now postponed but we are lucky to be over the worst.

My son's orbital floor fracture

I will never forget arriving at the hospital in a state of panic, totally stressed at my son's injury, not knowing which way to turn, what to do, who to see, the next steps, the new diagnosis jargon and feeling totally alone and overwhelmed as my son stood patiently by my side holding an ice pack to his face, in pain and only able to see out of one eye.  I broke down.  The steps which happened next will stay with me forever.  The compassionate actions of one woman, a nurse on shift who had been tapped on the shoulder to deal with us, in the chaos of us arriving from another hospital to be seen by one of their specialists.  She saw my distress and ushered me and Ben into a side room, telling us to sit down. We did as we were told and before anything else she told me in a soft voice, "I'm going to make you some tea" after which I let out an audible sob, at the relief that someone was looking after us, someone was going to take over this pain and make things better. Someone was going to take care of the situation and I could trust that to happen.  More than ever I did.

My eyes fill with tears even as I write this now.  These people who work on the front line to help us through really upsetting times, day after day after day.  Who do everything in their power to take away our distress and put us at ease, even sometimes when the odds are against us.  The difficult conversations they need to have, the highs and lows of their profession; bringing a new life into this world and seeing the final moments as others slip away. This is their daily reality. 

Our reality is changing/has changed beyond all recognition.  Yes, we all face financial uncertainty and have no idea how this will play out and yes, we are being asked, in all likelihood to stay behind closed doors for a considerable period of time but we will get through this – together.  Just as last night, the country applauded those workers on the front line, together, in unison.  Those same people are coming together as a nation to fight against what is still very much unknown to us all.  And although the battle may just be beginning, together, we can and will defeat it.

Going Underground?

I wonder if you have ever seen the film Sliding Doors.  The lead character (Gwyneth Paltrow) is muddling through life, in and out of jobs and in a relationship with a man she doesn’t know is being unfaithful to her.  One day, whilst heading for the tube, she just misses it and the doors slide shut, the scene is then reversed and we start to see two stories; one which carries on from when she has just missed her tube, and the other showing her life as it would happen if she makes it just in time to get through those sliding doors.

I mention this because, during these hours where I find myself awake instead of sleeping, I look at my google calendar to see what would have been scheduled in, were it not for Covid19. It’s like I am living my own movie of Sliding Doors.

I got home from work yesterday (I promised this blog was going to be positive so I will spare you the detail of the bare shelves which awaited me at my local Coop), switched on Five Live as I unpacked the random items I’d managed to buy (who knew everyone hated tinned pink salmon?) and as one of my twins settled herself on the sofa, thumbing though YouTube via our FireStick TV (last night for the first time in three years we had to reboot it, likely due to everyone else being online at home) I told her she would have to wait as we needed to watch the now daily press conference on Sky News at 5pm. Scowl.

I poured myself a glass of wine and turned up the volume as my three children parked up next to me on the sofa, a little like the opening credits of The Simpsons; Ben cracking open a beer after a full day on the building site, wet hair and smelling soapy (yes we have some), Emmy open mouthed that she’s just made me a tea but I’m already on the wine and Lucy tutting as I shush them all so I can hear what is being said in regards to some kind of government package for people.

It’s not difficult for my children to understand what’s happening in the world, such is the information feed of their social channels; they often know what’s going on before me, although in this fake news world, I have to correct them sometimes. Of course, it’s much harder for Trump to deny Covid19 than it is to pretend climate change doesn’t exist, but that’s perhaps a debate for another post.

Has there ever been a Friday night like this one in my own lifetime, or even my parents?  The temptation to jump on Twitter was great, however, something made me stop. I put my phone back down thinking to myself, I needed to listen.  To take stock.  To breath in the enormity of what I was hearing.  The word unprecedented, repeatedly being used on TV, the reaction of news anchors in regard to the unfolding reality of the new March 2020, was heard in their voices, seen on their faces.  Mark Austin describing the scenes in London, as the place where he was born, where for a moment, to me, he felt like a family member, opening up his feelings about the enormity and shock of how in just a few short days our country is being ground to a halt. The economics editor Ed Conway, wide eyed, apologising for his words if they were sounding hyperbolic but that he had to express, nothing would ever be the same again.

So here we are.  Here I am.  Looking at my calendar for 21 March 2020.  It is a day which has been ingrained in my mind since the beginning of the year.

Postponed but not cancelled

Today I was meant to be holding a clothes swapping event in Eastbourne, known as Swish.  I had had the idea as part of an initiative called, Spring Clearing Week, which is organised by a national professional organising body of which I am a member (www.apdo.co.uk). This year’s theme was focusing on fashion or rather sustainable fashion; what could we do collectively and as individuals to offer an alternative to fast fashion.  How could any of us have known that in its own way Covid19 would do much of this for us. After all, you need planes to ship garments across to us from Asia, people need money to pop into Primark; that’s of course if they are even open.

I have said to a few close friends over the last 12-18 months that I was worried about the state of the world.  People dependent on anti-depressants, teachers seemingly stressed out beyond belief, kids self-harming at alarming rates, money and possession obsessed Instagram stars, hate fuelled Brexit conversations, Twitter wars.  I have felt a sense that somehow, the world would need to change.  And it now has.

In my own little way, I was hoping to do some of that world-changing myself. I have been so happy since the beginning of the year, with a renewed focus on my clothes swapping event.  It started from absolutely nowhere; in fact, it began by a simple Facebook post asking the local community if they would be interested in a clothes swap event in Eastbourne.  I had loads of response and people tagging friends and asking to be involved which was when I knew I was on to something.  It wasn’t a new phenomenon although I didn’t know whether there was still an appetite for it. There absolutely is.

The women I have met since starting to organise this event has been like a hidden box of treasure.  People coming forward with offers of help to organise the swap, advice given to me about grants I can apply for, props I can use on the day, information about venues to hold the event, introductions to people within the Eastbourne Eco Action group, who shared a blog I wrote about the event and countless other goodwill gestures to assist in facilitating the event going ahead.  I even managed to get myself in the Eastbourne Herald!

My Eastbourne Herald Write Up

So today was the day it was going ahead, which I postponed earlier in the week, when I knew, from what was happening in Italy, Spain and France, what was coming. But postponed isn’t cancelled.  These are two very different words.  We are currently on hold.

My swish event, for me personally has assisted in helping me to focus on things other than my own mind; in other words, it has been doing wonders for my mental health.  I have inadvertently mended a lot which has been wrong in my head; thinking about the planet, how we can work together for the greater good, how there are people in your local community you wouldn’t otherwise realise existed if you kept yourself closed off from the world (ironic at this point, granted), how face to face conversation is so much better than text or emails, how there are millions of good initiatives going on across the world by others who wish to help to make a difference, how clothes is just a tiny fraction of what it is all about.

Never has this message seemed as important as right now.  In this digital age we can spread so much goodness between one another just by the click of a button.  Esther Rantzen, who at 79 years old herself, was on TV earlier in the week, explaining how her and her daughter were self-isolating, maintained that people need contact more than ever.  She was encouraging as many people as possible to jump online and get involved in joint initiatives.

For me personally, today I will be heading into my tiny patio garden to get it ready for the warmer weather; I job I do at this time of year anyway.  I’ll make a video out of it to put on my YouTube channel, which hopefully others can get some inspiration from, if they are struggling for things to do at home.

These are uncertain times.  My twin daughters not able to sit their GCSEs this year, anxious about college and their longer terms plans, people losing jobs, panic buyers and of course the worst of it being the unnecessary deaths of potentially thousands, if people don’t do the right thing, to ease the pressure on our vital frontline NHS staff.

This is a Sliding Doors film like no other, of which is yet to be written.

A Message of Kindness

A Message of Kindness

Whilst sitting at my kitchen table this morning, half blinded by the sun creeping through the blinds and partially obscuring my laptop screen, I was listening to Five Live’s Nicky Campbell and Rachel Burden.  Mr. Motivator had been invited onto the programme to encourage those who have been told to remain indoors due to Covid19, to stay active.

Trying to concentrate on my inbox, where I was blind copying email addresses into a message cancelling a sustainable fashion event which was due to be held this Saturday, I glanced over at the radio, marvelling how, in just a few short days, the radio output had changed beyond all recognition.

The morning’s output had been one continuous flow of Coronavirus information, experts, opinions, those caught up in it, those concerned about it, those broadcasters working from home as a result of health problems themselves and Mr. Motivator rallying the people into staying positive and keeping moving.  It was one of those freeze-frame moments you see in an action movie.  A very tiny part of me wanted the normality of the Brexit debate as opposed to this.

However, our public broadcasters step up in this instance, pulling out all the stops to ensure the general public can be as informed as possible about the ever-changing landscape.  Some people have said to me they switch off the news now because they find it depressing. As a person who listens to the radio, if possible, all day, every day, I would say my intake of information has increased more than ever, such is my appetite for being as informed as possible to enable me to make the right decisions for myself and my family.

Like millions of others across the world, this morning I received news that one of my contracts was to end with immediate effect, as my company supplies a service to a hospitality venue, which will remain closed now for the foreseeable future.  Yes, this is worrying for me when I think about the financial knock-on effect of how I will balance the financial books as a single parent of three teenagers and what that means in terms of my priorities, although I am also a realist and appreciate I am not alone in this.

There have been messages of hope though, intertwined with the manic videos popping up on my feed of people grabbing the last of the loo rolls, or urgent local Facebook pleas for formula milk and nappies for babies. I have tried not to let the worst of humanity appear like a What’s App notification from the group you wish to unfollow. Because for all the negative, there is far more positive happening in the world, but in times like these – a global pandemic – it is always the bad news which spreads the fastest.

Independent Cinema where contract was lost due to Covid19

I had scheduled a call with a colleague, who is Italian, with family in lock down in Italy. She’s based in London and we had arranged a phone call to catch up on work-related topics. The mood started low as we caught up on respective situations, the Covid19 fallout etc.  But then I was assured that the Italian government were pulling out the stops for their countryfolk and that they would not let the economy take a total nosedive. At this point I said to myself that I would need to remain positive, to get through these very unsteady waters, unscathed. 

I’d heard my phone send a notification through while I was on the phone with my colleague.  When the phone call finished, I looked at the message, which was from my upstairs neighbour. She simply stated that her and her partner were there for me if I needed anything at all. That was it. A simple, straight to the point, message of kindness.  I read the message a couple of times and it pinged again.  It was my neighbour’s partner, reiterating the message. 

I frantically replied to both, gushing with heart emojis at their selfless messages, enthusiastically jumping at the opportunity to create a “Neighbours” What’s App group, by adding the numbers of other neighbours and (shamelessly) adding a profile photo of the opening theme tune of Neighbours circa 1989.

I sat back down at the table, poised with my fingers above the keyboard as though a pianist about to begin a concerto, when I sat back in the chair and considered how quickly people get things done when they need to.  

I thought back to the day when I moved into this property; a Victorian conversion of four flats.  We all more-or-less moved in at the same time, once the owners had renovated each flat. We have all lived separate lives under the same roof since 2017.  We get by in our own way, liaising over parking spaces on the drive, of which there are three although we have five cars between us.  Sometimes we buzz each other’s flats and ask if we can move cars around. 

Bin collection and recycling is usually a little more haphazard.  We don’t have a rota for putting them out or bringing them back in (although I’ve thought about it at times when it feels as though it’s always me) but somehow between all of us we manage to get it done. 

There was the time we all congregated late at night when cooking set off the fire alarm and none of us knew exactly what to do and after much flapping and faffing, we found the big sign in bold writing on how to reset the fire alarm in the event of an accident.

And I got home from work the other day to find my son, who’d forgotten his keys, sipping tea in the communal hallway from a mug I didn’t recognise, after my opposite neighbour made him a brew while he waited for us to get back.

There have also been tragedies; my above neighbour losing her daughter on a family holiday last year after she was knocked down. A head girl and A* student who died just weeks before her A level results.  My opposite neighbour’s father died a few months ago and my children lost their grandfather only two weeks ago.

Walking past your neighbours in the hallway, snippets of conversations about it being impossible to park on the road during the busy Summer season, taking in parcels for them while they are out, borrowing ingredients you’ve run out of, are very normal things for most neighbours.  But there was something so different about the message from my top floor neighbours today.  They were reaching out in such a genuinely profound way I could not help but sit back and marvel at the fact that despite the fact we live in the same building, the Covid19 outbreak will undoubtedly cement our relationships for life, if we are to face the coming months in potential isolation and lockdown together.

After I had created the “Neighbours” What’s App group my phone sent through a Facebook notification saying someone had recommended I add myself to a local group; this is where I saw posts from people appealing for where they can buy nappies and milk, toilet roll and the like.  I scrolled down the thread and saw countless people offering to be delivery drivers, saying they were DBS checked, with transport and willing to help.

Tonight, I saw the other side, after visiting my local shop, the usually bulging shelf of varying types of toilet roll lay empty with just a solitary sign stating, “only one pack per person” therefore reiterating to me that there will always be a fraction of our society who panic buy; who don’t think about the consequences of their actions. However, the purpose for beginning The Covidiaries is so I can reflect back at the trends and behaviours but more importantly to dissect those stories which surprise us, which reaffirm to us that human beings are, by and large, wonderful and that we all have an important role to play in this life and how by working together we can be a real force of good.

Strong communication and leadership are what we will need now and if the government keeps its promise to hold daily updates, this should ease the uncertainty many of us have over our future.  I heard on the radio weddings and funerals will go ahead as planned, so we can lay the children’s grandfather to rest next week, thankfully in peace and away from what can feel like the beginning of chaos in our hospitals and care homes.

My neighbours, who are ten years younger than me, really surprised me today.  Perhaps they overheard me during several frantic phone calls to family and colleagues, perhaps they feel sorry for me as a single parent, but perhaps, they were just being genuinely decent neighbours and human beings.  I do believe the latter to be true.