Before time began, at least that's how it feels, I did the Myers-Briggs personality test. On the Introvert - Extrovert axis I came about half way. That's probably why, a couple of months ago when I looked at our calendar for March and April I was both excited and depressed. There were lots and lots of things on, mostly enjoyable, but there were just too many. All those little enumerated squares congested with black ink. If I were a real extrovert I would be screaming by now, but I have enough of the Introvert to nourish me through the days - so far, that is.
Late one night, last week, (or was it the week before?), I slipped out to the postbox, about a hundred yards down the road. I enjoyed the utter darkness and the total emptiness and the probability that no one or no vehicle would appear. It seemed my footsteps were echoing along the road. Again, before time began, we used to study a short story for GCSE Literature, or it might even have been 'O'Level, a sci-fi piece called 'The Pedestrian' by Ray Bradbury. In the dystopic society described no one walks, and to be out walking as the hero is, is considered highly suspicious. A robotic police car with no windows draws up beside him and he is interrogated by a disembodied voice from within. This could be the next development in the drone drama of Derbyshire police - and if people keep ignoring instructions not to undertake unnecessary journeys, perhaps it should be.
I've always felt an intimacy with Philip Larkin's poetry, ever since he told me not to lean on the walls in his newly painted library at Hull University. But at the moment a question in his poetry keeps haunting me:
What are days for?
Days are where we live. Â
They come, they wake us Â
Time and time over.
Our days are beginning to flatten into a featureless, horizonless landscape with no landmarks. Crosses have gone through all the crowded days on the calendar. Holidays have been cancelled. Weekdays and weekends begin to merge and become indistinguishable unless we are disciplined and invent ways of creating occasions, just little gestures to affirm some days as being special. I say this because in our house we have a very special week coming: today is Palm Sunday and our wedding anniversary, later there's Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, My Birthday, Easter Sunday, Bank Holiday Monday. So contrary to Larkin, a lot of these days have a purpose and merit marking. But we have a very limited repertoire for celebrating with injunctions to stay indoors and keep socially distant and within about 5 minutes from home in our exercise. There will be no treats in tea shops or restaurants, pubs or parties, churches or picnics. No gathering in a raucous crowd and singing 'We Will Rock You' at the tops of our voices. For Palm Sunday we'd normally be presented with palm crosses and the kids would process and we'd sing 'Ride On, Ride On in Majesty' very loudly. Our Rev.Ian and many other clergy have been very inventive in providing us with substitutes. So for all the special days we'll have coming we need to find ways of micro-celebrating - little ceremonies, tiny special gestures that we share intently.
Our wedding in 1972 was in Northern Ireland in one of the deadliest years of the Troubles. Another very ugly and tense time. The wedding photographs were interrupted by the police entering and announcing they might need to blow up the car parked illegally on the other side of the window. (It was a drunk guest whom we'd never wanted to invite in the first place!) 48 years later we celebrated by inserting Easy Joint between the patio slabs and discovering that the recipe for conjugal harmony is: a) read the instructions together, b) agree to follow them, c) wear Wellington boots, d) demarcate the tasks - she the hose, he the broom. Deirdre woke up early (not from excitement) as she always does, brought me tea as she always does, the sun rose as it always does, I made scrambled eggs as I sometimes do. We celebrated Palm Sunday virtually, drank coffee from a flask and ate cake on our favourite bench in Alderwasley Park. Then we drank bubbly over the wall with our neighbours who were also celebrating their wedding anniversary and in the evening ate one of Jake's rump steaks. Pretty special - eh?