Andy Richardson: We live in curious times

Before a bat and a pangolin formed a pact to wipe out humans, I’d be treated to a crimson sunrise and mist prettily rolling across fields. That has gone.

Where once there was an armada of Astras and a battalion of buses, now there are quizzical cats trying to trip me up on the stairs.

Make no mistake: the commute may be shorter – but it is also more dangerous.

The nation has entered lock down and the streets are eerily quiet.

Supermarkets have employed the sort of security guards seen more frequently beside the moshpit at a Metallica gig.

Dressed in yellow and wearing a black armband – I think providing identity rather than in memory of a lost loved one – one glared angrily yesterday at a man who stand too close to another customer at the non-essential flower stand. Lilies can kill. What would Morrissey make of that?

Those who venture out face an eerie silence and a sense of guilt.

Lord knows what it must feel like to be a Catholic at these times: Forgive me father, for I have sinned. Today I have walked the dog twice.

The economy is shifting as former art designers stack shelves for Aldi, rock’n’roll roadies drive vans for Morrisons and barmaids who used to pull pints now deliver medicines to the elderly.

Businesses are grouping themselves into the responsible and the ones playing with matches at a filling station.

The pragmatic keep employees informed, look at furlough and practice social distancing; others incense staff to such a degree that workers petition for their closure. They are like elves imploring Santa not to go out at Christmas – and being right.

We live in curious times. It is now healthier to be a couch potato than to visit a gym.

It is better to not visit elderly relatives than to be present.

Still Covid-19 is boosting monogamy rates more quickly than a vicar at a wedding.

Those having affairs are flocking back to their spouses while discarding illicit double lives. They know only too well that this is no time to Carry On Up The Corona.