Passacaglia and Fugue

Last week I ventured into London on the train for the first time since March 2020. The trigger was social: some former colleagues were hoping to arrange a get-together to celebrate (another) new job. It is striking that none of us has had particularly happy experiences since parting company in 2018-2019, though it seems the second jobs after moving on are more stable.

I had dithered over whether this was a good idea or not. On the one hand, new covid cases are flat-lining at the rather high level of around 30,000 a day and it's not as if deaths or long covid have gone away; but on the other, this might be as good as it gets for the next few months, so it might make sense to do things while you can. In the end, I put it to my current team-mates that I might be heading in to London for an evening event, and did they feel like joining me in the office that day? My potential selfishness was countered by knowing that I had made full disclosure of my motives, and that the company is encouraging people to try the office once or twice over the summer, while still maintaining a mostly work from home policy. (We have shed a lot of office space, and the medium to long term plan is for hybrid working). They both said yes, so we booked desks.

Nerves were not helped by car parking fiasco in Reading. The card machine at King's Meadow wasn't talking to the Internet, a common problem from years ago that had, in recent years, been mostly resolved. But I hadn't accounted for the possibility that my RingGo account might also not work. It unhelpfully gave me vague messages about incorrect credentials and promised to text me an access code "if I had an account" - which it failed to do in a timely manner, so I ended up in the station car park. For a one-off, I decided I had saved rather more money over the past year plus, and I could afford it. (Later, I realised the probability was that the account had been deleted through dormancy, confirmed by my ability to re-register.)

I'd had to make a seat reservation the night before when I booked my train ticket, but on closer inspection it turned out to be "optional" and as an earlier train arrived on the platform, it was in fact mostly empty, so I got on. I'd noticed that face coverings seemed to be distinctly optional on the station concourse, but observance was better on the platform and on the train, though there were only a handful of people in each carriage. Say what you like about rail nationalisation, but at least the trains run on time.

I didn't know what I would face in the way of one-way systems at Paddington, but it turned out to be as "normal", only much quieter. Navigating from the footbridge to the eastbound Circle Line / H&C platforms, I noticed the smell of cigarette smoke as I passed the smoking area, which tells you something about the effectiveness of face coverings (although I suppose they are more intended to stop water vapour droplets which would be much larger). Despite being mandatory on the tube, a remarkable number of people appeared to be exempt, and one was compliant only if no air circulated in either direction through his nose. But anyway, I got to the office for about 9am, which was my plan.

It was good to meet my team-mates - one for the first time - and although the office was largely deserted, we felt we had "done our bit" and I think it was a useful day, not so much for productive work but more for getting to know people and sharing conversation, though that has a value to the company too, and indeed is one of the stated reasons for going to the office. We had lunch from Pilpel, sitting outside to eat in a much quieter than normal Paternoster Square.

Google reckoned it was a half-hour walk from the office to my evening rendezvous location, which suited me fine. London did seem quiet, less hectic and more relaxed, than I remember it. Perhaps this is Blitz Spirit - making do with what you can, recognising the futility of being too demanding in such circumstances. Flat Iron Square was busy and we did well to avoid it in the end; a late cancellation meant that we did in fact get to eat outside at O'Ver, a favourite location from past times. It was good to see my friends again; and the food was as good as ever. We did move on to another pub, outside, but still busy, and I only stayed for a short while, because of the long trip home.

The tube back to Paddington was a little busier than in the morning, and although my heart sank seeing the number of people moving to join the train to Reading, in fact I have obviously become less good at judging numbers, as we were all very well spaced out in the carriages again.

Although I had my unease about the whole venture, it was certainly good to see people again and for my mental health, and I haven't been pinged so far. Even if I am, the new rules mean I won't have to self-isolate, which sums up the government's attitude: we're all on our own now.

A few weeks ago a friend without symptoms tested positive for covid-19 while being checked out for something unrelated. Over the last week, it's started to get closer, as another friend had a parent fall ill with potential symptoms, been hospitalised for a couple of days, but tested negative and been discharged; yesterday, a former colleague shared that a school friend of theirs (with, in the phrase du jour, "underlying conditions") - someone within a few years of my own age - had died from the virus; and today, news at work revealed that five colleagues have died of covid-19 (apparently in total we employ about 0.5% of the UK workforce, presumably many in part-time jobs).

In the last seven days, I've been to the local Co-op once, and that's it; I'm not sure R has been out at all. The food supply is improving and there's enough to get by, but you can't be fussy. In a random scramble three weeks ago (which seems like in the Before Time now), we managed to get a Tesco delivery slot, for yesterday afternoon, so on Saturday we went through and amended the cart at the last minute. Most of what we ordered was delivered. In fact due to a substitution we have more pasta than we'd ordered, and as I'd been able to get potatoes at the Co-op we have a momentary surfeit, but we didn't hit the fridge or freezer event horizon. Flour is still difficult, and UHT milk and hand wash are impossible. We will manage fine so long as we can stick to a one-in-one-out policy on household items.

We joined a local Facebook group, mainly for information but also in case something happened where we were able to offer help, or ended up needing help ourselves. It's a well-meaning but predictably scary combination of hang-em-and-flog-em types, Mumsnet users, and the Illiterati. There has been a stream of low-level information on stock levels and crowd control procedures at the various local supermarkets.

It is as if the world doesn't really exist any more. We're living each day at a time and I barely look beyond the end of my laptop screen. Johnson has just been moved into intensive care and the Queen is channelling her inner Vera Lynn. (God knows what they'll do about the kissing of hands, even if it's no longer literal, if she has to appoint a new PM in a time of social distancing.)

We'll get through this; I admit pleasant surprise at the results of the Lahti Symphony Orchestra's remote Finlandia (I presume they were all playing to the conductor's pre-transmitted direction, otherwise the synchronization just wouldn't work); Eric Coates can always be relied on to provide cheer, and Victoria Wood as reworked by Tom Self shows that great music always adapts to the circumstances.

By chance, I've had two weeks away from work, as I finished one job at the end of February and start the new one on Monday. Some good things have happened - the fence damaged in Storm Dennis has been repaired, and the pump has been adjusted for the heating, which should prevent it overflowing.

But on the whole I could have done without the stream of covid-19 news. I'm in good health, so far as I know, and although it would be unpleasant to catch it, there is little likelihood of it being more serious; but R has asthma, and is therefore more concerned. I fear there has been an anxiety feedback loop between us, and although optimistically I've bought a monthly season ticket, now I've found out I will have to take several tube trips on Monday, going back and forth between offices.

The various medieval plagues had an estimated mortality rate of around 80-100% and even with modern medicine it's estimated to be 11%. For covid-19 it's probably less than the raw 3% figure derived from the number of known cases: both because there are likely untested cases with mild symptons, and because lung health in Wuhan is poor. All reported deaths in the UK so far are of elderly patients, with underlying medical conditions; of course that's of no comfort to those affected.

The UK government is, for now, following a contrarian approach to that of most other countries. It seems to me that it's a scientifically plausible approach; but the baseline in recent memory for the government handling major incidents of this type is the foot-and-mouth epidemic of 2001, in which a somewhat more competent government nonetheless produced less than stellar results for a moderately harmful disease in animals. The strategy this time is high risk and, even if it does produce herd immunity, the government will be blamed for the casualties. A particular danger of going it alone in this way is that the strategy might work intrinsically, yet still be defeated because other countries taking more hard-line measures induce faster mutations of the virus. Never mind the Yes Minister clip that has (ahem) gone viral, some might go so far as to describe the policy as "bold and imaginative". At least I won't have to navigate the US health system.