ISOLATION DIARIES PART 99: JADED

Everything feels a bit weird at the moment. I don’t mean just me, I think I mean everything.

The Prime Minister has said that Freedom Day can go ahead (week after next) and the taste of it is certainly in the air. But... what’s also in the air, unfortunately, is more of the virus. Rates in Oxford (just up the road from here) have quintupled among the 18-24 year olds. Schools are struggling, with whole cohorts plunging into self-isolation over the last couple of weeks, and even the Duchess of Cambridge has had to isolate, due to contact with someone who tested positive. (I can’t imagine how that person must have felt making that phone call, by the way.)

What makes the difference though is the vaccines. Case numbers skyrocket, but the vaccination rate keeps the disease from sending millions of people to hospital. Hence our tousle-haired leader proclaims freedom as planned. Well, sort of. He’s cautious. And he’s not the only one.

The legal obligation to wear a face mask, the one metre plus rule, the cap on venue capacity and the rule of six will all be gone, apparently. But I get the strong feeling that there will be some significant guidance still in place. And plenty of people, including me, will probably still wear face masks, and will probably still rub hands in sanitiser in pretty much every indoor venue we dare to enter.

It doesn’t feel like the runway to freedom. It feels like the end of the worst overnight flight imaginable. We ought to be elated that we’re coming in to land, but it would not surprise us at all if the landing gear breaks, or the runway lights go out, and the plane has to circle yet again in the world’s most depressing holding pattern. We’re just all so jaded.

Either that, or we’ve realised that landing is one thing, but getting out of the airport with all our stuff is quite the other, if you’ll allow me to stretch a very tired metaphor.

It is me that feels weird too. I’m in my last week at work and I’m very much fading into obscurity - no longer needed and steadily drifting off, though not quite gone yet. It’s the strangest feeling after nine years. Nine long years. I don’t want to think about how many hours that is. I’m already jaded quite enough, thanks.