Day 11/14 in self isolation begins. I miss running. Before the craziness of this kicked in, I was struggling with my running, half heartedly training for a marathon that has now been cancelled. I chose not to run more often than not when I had a choice. Now when I don’t have a choice, all I want to do is run. Run slowly, but run. You only appreciate what you take for granted when it is snatched away from you.
Our family is strong. We have rallied round and stuck together. Routines have been established and memories created. Memories which we can take with us into an uncertain future. I spot Adam in our garage gym and Fionnuala and I watch a movie every night; Rebecca decides to dye her hair purple with hilarious consequences; Hannah meditates with her musical heroes on Instagram. Little things but precious all the same. We are together and safe.
The news is cloyingly addictive, car crash television from which we cannot look away. The figures rise as we powerlessly watch. 13 dead now in Northern Ireland and over 750 in the United Kingdom as a whole. Nothing compared to the likes of Italy and Spain yet massive and monumental all the same. They say the surge is coming and we are not prepared. There seems no light at the end of this toxic tunnel. All we can do is look on helplessly.
It is unstoppable. Man can’t stop it, God can’t stop it or doesn’t care to. Our Prime Minister is sick, our Health Secretary is sick, the heir to the throne is sick. Nobody is safe. And all we can do is watch, car crash television that slowly sucks the last dregs of hope from your marrow. I’m reading a lot, working on the book, diving into fantasy in order to escape the horrific, bizarre, reality of today, tomorrow, of now. This is 2020 and this is all we know now.