Skip to main content

Our sense of mortality, speeded up

Now there are two different things going on.   For us and those we happen to meet or chat with (zoom, WhatsApp, email, phone, chance passings-by when we go to the shop for food), things have calmed down. The positives of our predicament are the main topic of conversation: how lucky WE are to live in spacious houses, with gardens, or with nice walks nearby; how lovely the weather is; how we are well (so far, touch wood), and feeling fine. Just fine.  The mad panic has subsided. There are more things on the shelves in the supermarkets, and Tesco at least has instituted a sort of chicane for going in and coming out, and they’re wiping down the handles of the trollies and baskets.  The timing of who shops when has been accepted (more or less) by the local people, according to Facebook and Twitter, though there are still outraged reactions from some who dislike the behaviour of others - standing too close, coming in to shop in family groups, being selfish……    So, it is calmer, quieter, more accepting.

At the same time, the political temperature on Twitter and FB has intensified. People are talking about how long Boris can stay in post, how tired he looks, how utterly criminally incompetent the government has been, how chaotic, confused, contradictory, and ineffective their decisions have been. Amazingly there is a noticeable tiny tiny thread in support of the Prime Minister, but others say this comes from bots.  Even the rightwing press are headlining how awful the government has been in handling this: the Daily Telegraph, Sun, Express etc full of outrage and criticism.   


It is (sort of) possible to make comparisons with other countries. I have seen people saying they regret voting for Brexit, they’ve changed their minds, they see how we need the EU now.  There are outraged comments about how some police forces have overstepped their authority… and a new set of guidelines issued to stop them being so officious… tasers at the ready in one notorious case.  Explaining and encouraging are to be their new watchwords.  

Even more frightening, we are seeing people’s accounts of how their relatives or friends have died. Some were denied access to ICU care. The dying were left alone. No family beside them. A doctor says how upset he was seeing a book with a book mark in it, a watch left ticking on the bedside.  Those dying are of all ages. Many say: ‘this was not just a statistic. It was my dad/uncle/neighbour….’.   We see see TV clips of huge spaces being arranged as hospitals, or maybe morgues.  There are angry discussions about how ‘we’ are doing compared to other similar countries. Germany seems to have a more fragrant reputation than most…  Trump in America is facing a similar wave of criticism - his hand-shaking, ‘back-to-work’ slogans, turn-arounds, emphasis on business over people - is sounding more and more sour to his people.   

The ignorance and lack of understanding at government level continues to amaze: how useful any particular test is, how many protective kits an NHS worker needs, where the kits are coming from (30? when the announced need is 30,000), and when.   More people are talking about the lies which flow from No 10, as lies.   There is some discussion about the failure of Labour to offer any opposition, and that leads inevitably to a discussion about the fitness of J Corbyn and thence to how he was royally shafted and smeared by the press for so long… so no change there.    Journalists (well, ok, Robert Peston) seem to be even more ignorant than children about what’s going on…. how is he held in such esteem when he really does not know what he’s talking about and tries to mansplain to a professor of biochemistry…? 

(NB - here in Faversham the Repair Cafe has about 15 volunteers making protective clothing for NHS workers at home…. and asking for more. They are fundraising to pay for material which is so far underwritten personally by the Repair Cafe organiser Rosemary de Vos). This is a measure of the government’s failure - that ONE ordinary (though remarkable) woman is basically organising and paying for protective clothing for hospital workers in Kent. 

So - calm on the surface, seething rage and change underneath.   

For me, this has an existential quality, where time and danger seem to coalesce in a new formation. We all HOPE we are not going to get this illness. We don’t know if we’ve already had it. We don’t CLEARLY know if getting it confers immunity. We have no access to tests to see if we’ve had it already, or have it now. We are FRIGHTENED about the dying. We are not confident that the government knows what it’s doing, or has acted soon enough, or even cares. We have underlying fears and anger about Brexit, about HS2 (cutting down ancient woodlands whether people like it or not), about the Russian Report… about Dominic Cummings the unaccountable, where he is, what’s done.   Sickening. Sartre called his novel Nausea.   And we can see why.   To me, there is a distinct feel of Auschwitz about this… we’re all in the same prison camp, and none of us knows who’s heading to that shower block.  That, of course, is not the fault of the politicians, but it’s a sort of speeded-up sense of mortality.  So few people have the structure or reassurance of religion now, but we all contemplate our deaths, individually, isolated in our houses, wondering if, and when…….   

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Ways of communicating

The days of the week melt into each other. It is hard to know when we are.   There are regular zoom meetings set up but they arrive almost unheralded because we have so little fix on anything. Last night we went out into the street at 8pm and made a charivari for the NHS. It was a strange, distributed, echoing sound. I enjoyed clashing a big saucepan lid with a wooden spoon. It felt properly medieval. I could see small clusters of people on their doorsteps, joining in. No-one wants to get close to anyone else. Ostensibly this is to be virtuous - not to pass the infection on to anyone else, but of course more powerfully, it’s because we don’t want to get the damned thing ourselves. Out for a walk just now we happened to see Harold Goodwin, chairman of the FavSoc, who has famously actually HAD the coronavirus and is now recovering. He says he picked it up in London, ‘that shit hole’, and never wants to go there again. He says, ‘it’s really nasty. You don’t want to get it!’. ...

Separation

For a long time now, long before this epidemic transfixed us and changed everything, I had been aware of a deep change in myself.   Actually, on a daily physical basis I feel brilliant - flexible, strong, energetic, positive, lucky, well, healthy in every way. I take no medicines, feel supplied with just about everything anyone could want, and surrounded by beautiful and beloved things and people.   And yet, something has been changing…   I have been aware of getting older.   It’s easier to relate this to things, possessions, than to people.   Things I have loved, owned, kept, maintained, saved up for, cherished for years, decades, have begun to look different to me.   This has been not only a logical process of thought, but a more inchoate one.. to do with feeling, response, emotion.     I can see that when I die, my management of all these things will suddenly cease. They will no longer be mine, but someone else’s.   That person or peo...

Transmutations

Things move on every day, with changes in mood, resolution, emotional temperature.   All week the wind has been blowing really strongly. The weather was originally brilliantly sunny, then we had a day or two of darkness when the cold was more insistent, and the great organ-pipe chimneys in this house roared (and are still roaring), and then today it started dark and chill, with a dash of sleet for reminder that winter is barely past,… and now we have bright sun again. But that wind - dashing the blossom-laden trees to-and-fro.   The birds are frantic to find food on the feeders in the garden. I note that the ditty I wrote on 19th, logging the blatant feeling of hostility between the uber-rich and the rest of us, is already out of date.      Oh you can’t take it with you when you go    When you drop in your hole and go below    There are worms and rot and mildew    You can think about what killed you    But...