A much-loved pet of ours died this week. Kandy, or KKK as she was known (any resemblance to similarly-named groups that look down and persecute what they consider to be inferior creatures is purely intentional), had been with us for 15 years, since we made a mercy dash to Oldham where she'd been found, cold and skeletal, presumed abandoned, by friends in a supermarket car park. She was scared of her own shadow for weeks after, hiding constantly behind furniture, but gradually, after hours of coaxing and conversation from Mrs K, she emerged to become quite a character. I won't bore you too much about her, save to say her most remarkable characteristic was to not need gradually introducing to a new environment; we could take her anywhere - holiday, friends - let her out the back door, knowing that she'd be back in half an hour or so, in contrast to many cats, who'd simply disappear for a few days.
This trait was particularly handy when it came to the lifestyle we've lived for the last 10 years - splitting our time between the UK and Brittany in France. She'd go into semi-hibernation in the winter. By contrast, when she was grumblingly let out of her basket when we arrived in France for the summer, she'd transform. She'd live outside much of the time, stalking and hunting anything in our acre of garden. In recent years she'd go further - it wasn't uncommon to see her in an adjacent field, wandering round dairy cattle. She loved her summers out there, you could just tell. Coming and going as she pleased, killing when she fancied, a mate (Hodin the dog) that she'd send out first thing in the morning to chase off our feline rivals, she was in her element.
I mention all this why? Well, apart from the fact that we're sad she couldn't have had at least one more of those summers in France, though frankly it's looking doubtful we're going to get out there, she lived for her mini-adventures. Those times when she'd disappear out of the door at 10.30pm and not return till the early hours. Or spend the day stock still in the long grass at the end of the garden waiting for prey to pass. And in that, it seems, she was like the rest of us; we might need routine and banality, but life becomes pretty unbearable without the ability to plan and have our little adventures. For some people those might be nothing more exciting than following their football team to an away fixture. Others have mini-breaks, or longer holidays in more exotic locations; some get wasted at music festivals and others climb up or plunge down mountains on ropes, bikes or skis. Whatever - most of us have something, from which we get pleasure both in the planning and the experience. Actually, I suspect it's more than pleasure, it's part of our 'hierarchy of needs'. These things keep us sane, give us something to look forward to, to talk about, and to bond with friends over.
And right now, we've lost all that. Most of it anyway. The room for manoeuvre to plan mini-adventures is pretty limited at the moment, and is set to stay that way for a while. And that, in my humble opinion, is a completely disproportionate reaction to the scale of the Covid problem.
I know I'm not going to change any minds with what I'm about to write. If you think lockdowns, school closures, mandatory mask wearing, and fining people for driving their car six miles to go for a walk at their nearest beach are sensible measures to take in the face of Covid-19, then you're going to disagree with every sentence that follows.
I don't think they're sensible measures. I think they're disproportionate, irrational, punitive, discriminatory, profligate, divisive, destructive and frankly, catastrophic. I can't believe that a government I voted for has introduced them. The only saving grace is that the other lot would have been even worse bedwetters, and that our MP is one of a very small number who are actually resisting the madness.
However, what's even more disturbing to me than the introduction of these unprecedented restrictions on our freedom is the degree of public support they seem to enjoy. What has become of us? What's happened to our resilience, our desire to make our own choices around risk and reward, to be masters of our own destiny, that so many of us seem to be going along with the current ludicrous state of affairs?
I know it's no different in many other countries. In others, however, it is - there are stirrings of rebellion, not that you'd ever know from the mainstream media, across Europe and beyond. Maybe their furlough schemes aren't as generous. (Furlough - ensuring future generations have to repay the massive debt we chalked up because we couldn't manage a virus that has a 99% survival rate). It does give me hope, however, that maybe the minority - for we do seem to be the minority - can make themselves heard at some point. Perhaps the minority will become the majority when all the olds are vaccinated and people still can't go to the pub or on holiday.
Maybe they'll realise at that point that life is for living, for taking calculated but informed chances, and certainly not for hiding away for months on end from something that is essentially harmless to the vast majority of the young (under 60s) and healthy. They'll want their little adventures back, the things that made KKK's life a great one for a cat; the things that we'll remember fondly and reminisce about in our dotage. We can hope.
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