Dispatches from lockdown

1.

It is a Sunday afternoon and I have been put in charge of choosing what film we will watch.

I am after something easy. A romantic comedy, perhaps. Or a starry ensemble drama. I scroll through Netflix and stumble upon The Post. A political thriller starring Meryl Streep and Tom Hanks? This is precisely what I am in the mood for.

I run upstairs to tell my boyfriend that I have figured out what film we’re going to watch.

“Yeah?” he says.

“The Post!” I reply. I am already daydreaming about wrapping myself up in a blanket on the couch, feasting on Hobnobs and watching Tom Hanks explain why journalism is important. Democracy dies in darkness and all that.

All of a sudden, my boyfriend punctures my fantasy.

“I’ve already seen that,” he says.

I don’t believe him. We have been together for over six years and I have never once heard him talk about The Post. I gently inform him that he is mistaken and probably getting mixed up with Bridge of Spies.

“No, I’ve definitely seen it,” he says.

I remain unconvinced and start firing questions at him as though I am a senior counsel trying to poke holes in the prosecution’s case.

“Don’t you agree that it’s very strange you would see a film about journalism without me, a journalist?” I say. “If you are so sure you have seen it, tell me what happens in it?”

That second question stumps him. “Eh, Tom Hanks and Meryl Streep have a lot of meetings,” he replies.

“I could have told you that!” I shriek. “That’s basically all they show in the trailer!”

Before I know it, I am sobbing and accusing him of lying about having seen The Post. I know I am being irrational, but I can’t help myself. “I just really want to watch The Post,” I wail.

My boyfriend consoles me but maintains that he did see The Post and surmises that it was probably on a plane. “I’d love to watch The Post on a plane,” I say through snotty tears. “It’s a perfect plane film.”

Instead, we watch Blockers, which at one point features John Cena “butt-chugging” beer at a high school party. By the time the credits roll, I have forgotten all about The Post.

The day after my emotional outburst, I get my period.

Are the two events related? Who can possibly say!

2.

Whenever I walk past my nearest Boots, there is a queue of at least seven or eight people outside. The store operates a one in, one out policy and you usually have to wait for around ten or fifteen minutes to gain admission.

A few months ago, queuing up outside this particular Boots would have been unthinkable. That is because it is a very unremarkable Boots. It’s small and no-nonsense. The kind you run into if you don’t fancy bumping into anyone as you ask the pharmacist for a Canesten and explain that, yes, you’re familiar with the product and how to use it. These days, however, it is the closest thing any of us have to a high-end beauty hall.

Midway through lockdown I feel an urge to buy something, nay, anything. I decide it’s time to go to Boots for a few bits.

When I arrive there is a queue of about six or seven people outside. At the door, an employee waves people in and out like a nightclub bouncer. When it’s finally my turn to step inside, I feel like I have gained entry into Berghain.

Once inside, I want to buy everything in sight. I make my way to the hair care aisle and pick up a rose gold hair dye kit. Then I grow paranoid that someone will stop me and ask if I have really come to Boots during a pandemic to buy something as frivolous as pink hair dye.

“Hardly an essential visit, is it?” they’ll say as I cry and blurt something out about self-care.

With that in mind, I grab some essentials like hand sanitiser, toothpaste and moisturiser. That way nobody can say this visit was for nothing.

At the counter, I take a deep breath and prepare an explanation on the off chance I’m quizzed about the hair dye. Exactly who I think is going to take me aside is still unclear.

As the cashier scans my items, he says something that I can’t quite hear through his protective face mask.

“Pardon?” I say.

“I said I wish they were all as quick as you,” he says, gesturing to two young women ambling aimlessly around the shop. “Some of them want to spend half the day in here.”

I let out a sigh of relief. If close human contact were permitted, I would hug the man and say something like, “So you’re saying I’m not a timewaster and that I’m actually the best and most efficient customer you’ve ever had?”

But I play it cool and say nothing. Instead I just walk out of Boots feeling something I haven’t felt in many weeks: smug.

3.

“Nature is healing” goes the Twitter meme.

The meme parodies those factually dubious tweets that claim to illustrate how nature is being restored while humans are in lockdown. It is usually accompanied by something like an upturned supermarket trolley in a river or a peacock sauntering around with a cigarette butt hanging out of its beak.

One day, I have my own “nature is healing” moment when I spot a squirrel galloping across the patch of grass in front of our flat. Where I live, encounters with wildlife are few and far between. As far as I am concerned, this sighting is the most thrilling thing to happen in weeks.

I burst into the spare room where my boyfriend is working to tell him my news.

“I just saw a squirrel out the front!” I say.

He is decidedly underwhelmed.

“I’ve seen squirrels there before,” he replies, barely looking away from his computer monitor.

“Not like this you haven’t!” I exclaim, as I show him a blurry photo of the squirrel on my iPhone.

I pinch the screen and zoom in on a grey blob darting through the grass but it doesn’t get the desired reaction. Some people just can’t appreciate the wonders of nature, unfortunately.

The squirrel isn’t the only wild animal I see. While working from my living room, I start to notice a fox strolling up and down the laneway outside. This is not strange in and of itself. Foxes have always roamed these streets. What is notable is how brazen this fox is. Instead of waiting until the dead of night to emerge from his den, he now conducts his business in broad daylight.

Sometimes his presence causes passersby to do a double take but he just looks at them like, “Do you have a staring problem?”

I worry that the fox might be going hungry until I read an article in The Irish Times, which quotes a zoologist as saying that foxes are “the ultimate opportunists” and able to adapt to almost any situation. I have read similar things about successful freelance journalists. I make a mental note to be more like the fox.

One evening, I am sitting on the step outside and thinking about what work I can rustle up during a global pandemic. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot the fox trotting nonchalantly up the laneway clutching something in his mouth. It appears to be a dead squirrel.

Nature is healing, I guess.