I live on my own and I do love my own company, but the thought of forced isolation fills me with dread.

I consider myself an introvert but the thought of not being around people in real life for 14 days is utterly depressing.

 

I’m not worried about running out of loo roll, rice or baked beans, I’m worried about the silence. Not hearing cars, or children or neighbours chatting in the street, and although it may be quiet outside, my head won’t be silent, the internal chatter will be noiser than ever and that scares me, my mental health scares me. 

 

I inherited the worry gene from my mother. She was an Irish Catholic and hence worry was and is part of our DNA. My dad, Fred, is 88 and not a worrier. He’s going on a coach trip to Cornwall on Monday and delighted that the hotel where he’s staying has a heated pool, his only concern is whether or not he should pack an extra towel. Every time I think of the possibility of him getting ill and being at the other end of the country, I cry. 

 

He’s one of the vulnerable demographic, I’m not, I’m a fit and healthy 49 year old. But where I may have the physical advantage, he’s defiantly got the mental advantage. He’s of the generation that kept calm and carried on. They didn’t print it on t-towels and mugs, they just did it. He grew up during WWII and saw active service in Korea in the 50s where he contracted and survived malaria. He doesn’t see what all the current fuss is about and he’s not going to let it ruin his fun.

 

As we prepare for the unknown let’s make sure we keep in touch with each other and spread the virus of care and compassion and not the virus of fear and dread. Who knows what the next few weeks will bring? The only survival tactic I have is to just try and be a bit more Fred 🙏🏻