The Lockdown Lowdown

Wow! Just wow! New Zealand hasn’t recorded a single new case of Covid-19 in a week and there is now only one active case in the country. It does increasingly look like “we’ve knocked the bugger off” and it’s a testament to what can be achieved when we all work together. 

But it’s not over. Not yet. Level 2 of the Covid-19 restrictions will be with us a while yet. And in the words of that rapscallion smuggler Han Solo, “Don’t get cocky kid!” Get a little too relaxed and we could find ourselves back in lockdown.

But it does feel like the start of the end of the episode, so it seems like an appropriate time to share my experiences of life in lockdown....with the help of song titles obviously!

It’s the End of the World As We Know It (and I Feel Fine)

I will freely admit to anyone who cares to ask, that in the early days of the lockdown I was a little paranoid. Hands were washed numerous times in an hour, door handles were wiped down and let’s not of course forget the food washing incident. 

I’m not, by nature, a nervous person, but this virus had me spooked. It did feel like the end of days, heightened by the daily increasing number of cases. Every sniffle because a Covid-19 early onset symptom and a sore throat was just cause for a trip to the hospital.

But all was well really. The sniffles were caused by running in the cool morning weather and the sore throat by belting out ‘Champagne Supernova’ at the top of my voice the evening before after one bottle-to-many of wine. Apparently. 

If anything, it was a lesson in not letting the situation get in the way of common sense. Ah common sense, the last refuge of the ill prepared.

No Surprises

No alarms and no surprises. We were very lucky to be able to work from home. If we had a short commute before the lockdown, it got a whole lot shorter! And, not being on a particular timetable, we could turn off the 6am alarm call. Getting up with the sunrise and not some hard-wired requirement to get up at the same time regardless was a revelation. We are naturally early risers but 7am is a much more civilised time, besides who wants to be stumbling around in the dark these days?

I’m Free

I suppose it’s ironic really that despite being in lockdown, working from home brought with it a new found freedom. Unshackled from the daily timetable for having to get to the office meant that we could arrange our day around our own requirements. So whilst maintaining our commitment to giving a solid (ish) eight hours of work each day, we took in some fresh air in our morning walk, had chats in the kitchen and generally made sure that we kept on top of our mental wellbeing. And just to add some irony, and I mean real irony and not the Alanis Morissette kind, because we live so close to work our morning walk took us right past the office. 

Back from our morning walk and ready to get to work

We Can Work It Out

Being in lockdown and working from home could have been a nightmare. Without the clear break that a journey to and from the office naturally gave, the working day could quite easily have merged into free time. After all, when you’re working in the dining room when exactly does the working day end? So we came up with a routine that made sure we marked the end of the working day; computers and monitors were closed down and stored out out of sight and we stepped out of the house and did a loop around the park. 

You could argue that it was a rather circuitous commute considering we working at home but it worked. The physical act of leaving the house and returning to a living room without working equipment on display really marked the end of the working day. It also had the advantage that we had half an hour or so to whine about people who had pissed us off during the course of the day. I’m never ceased to be surprised at the ability of people to wind me up from a distance.

The home office wasn't without it's distractions

Enjoy the Silence

What the lockdown really emphasised was how noisy everyday life used to be. In the absence of noise from traffic, aircraft, factories and construction sites nature’s natural symphony took over. Birdsong filled the air, leaves on trees rustled in the breeze and a tranquil calmness replaced the hectic pace of modern life.

In the narrow garden in front of our house, we saw Tuis, Fantails and even Kingfishers. We even discovered a lime tree that we didn’t know we had. Not bad for urban Auckland.

It was great while it lasted. Only a few days after the most severe of the restrictions were lifted, mechanical noise slowly returned. 

Look carefully, but this is a shot of a Kingfisher in flight

Empty Spaces

On the first morning of the lockdown we stepped out into a new and strange world. Once bustling shopping streets were deserted and the cars that clogged to roads had disappeared. Crossing the road was no longer a test of patience and you could literally walk down the middle of the road without fear of being knocked over. Suddenly there was a lot more space for humans. Roads became an extension of the footpath and car parks became places to exercise. So this is what it would be like if people didn’t feel the need to drive everywhere! It was a revelation.

Traffic? What traffic?

Television, the Drug of the Nation

Well not so much television, but the broadcast of the lunchtime briefing. Everyday at 1pm New Zealand gathered around screens to see the Prime Minister and her team give an update on the progress of the virus. It became essential viewing. We’re the sacrifices that we were all making paying off? Early numbers suggested not as cases continued to rise well into the lockdown. The cool and calm Dr Ashley Bloomfield told us not to worry. This was to be expected and it wouldn’t be until ten days into the lockdown when we would see any change in the trajectory.

And change it did. Right on cue. 

Whilst a minority accused the Prime Minister of being too visible, these briefings really brought the country together and helped keep us focussed and committed to the common cause. Everyone was included in the information, and although the subject matter was serious, there were moments of light relief. The Easter Bunny might be a bit delayed the PM warned us. 

Freeze-Frame

Walking around the empty shopping streets took on a surreal feeling. The whole place resembled the set of a horror movie and I was half expecting a zombie hoard to come into view round the corner of the chemists. It was deserted. Frozen in time. Shop windows displaying offers that had long since expired, summer clothes that people increasingly didn’t need and all with the hastily handwritten written note saying they were closing and would reopen as soon as possible. 

And of all of the high street shops, the most bizarre feeling was saved for the party wares outlet, as it proudly displayed St Patrick’s Day paraphernalia. A snapshot in time from the pre-lockdown days.

Hopefully we never have to go there again. But we certainly won’t forget. Not in a hurry anyway. And who knows, maybe we can learn from the experience? The lockdown has given us a glimpse into what a new future could look like. Why go back to peak hour commuting? Do we really need to be in the office everyday? Is that flight really necessary or could you hold the meeting online? Why stop walking just because an easier alternative is available? And are electric scooters really a sensible transport choice? Remove the pressures of time and who knows where the future will take us.

They Think It's All Over.....

Thursday 14 May 2020 marked the day that New Zealand moved away from a lockdown and a managed return to normality. Actually it was 23:59 the day before but let’s not lose any sleep over one minute. Which, coincidentally that’s exactly what a number of people will have experienced whilst they were waiting for their barbers to open. Yes one such establishment wasted no time and opened their doors at exactly one minute to midnight and welcomed in the great unshaven for a trim and a tidy. Well, probably more than a trim. Hopefully they didn’t charge by the kilo of hair removed. 

Exactly how well managed our return to normality will be depends, in most part, on the good people of New Zealand. From Thursday offices reopened, restaurants invited customers back into the premises and shops opened their doors once again to people. Not bars though. They have to wait until next week. But once they’re open, the only thing that will remains closed entirely will be our border. That will remain firmly shut for the foreseeable future other than to those hardy souls who want to be quarantined for two weeks at a government managed facility. 

The odd thing is that we won’t know how well the managed return is being managed for at least another two weeks. That’s the frustrating thing with viruses - they lurk about before deciding to show their faces. But so far, everything looks encouraging. Last week New Zealand recorded three days in a row with zero new cases and this period, again due to the annoying lag of the incubation period, relates to the time we moved out of full lockdown and into Level 3. For those keeping score, our new cases for the last week have been 3, 0, 0, 0, 1, 0, and today 1.

Being allowed to roam again is a very odd feeling and I’m not sure I like it. I knew where I was with being told to stay home and save lives. Part of me wants to stay locked up and out of the way but another part, who hasn’t been seen for eight weeks, wants to get out and about and see stuff. Not that it took much persuasion to get me to the pub on Thursday night.

“Shall we go and check out The Lumsden?”

“But what if there’s too many people there?”

“Don’t you want a pint?”

“I’ll get my wallet!”

I needn’t have worried, the pub was following the Government’s guidelines explicitly. As we approached the bar, we were greeted and shown to our table - thankfully it was a glorious autumn Auckland evening so we could sit outside - and asked to scan the QR code on the table. This immediately brought up a web page where we could enter our details should we need to be contacted.  Menus were brought out and beer was served. Very civilised. If the result of the lockdown is that table service is finally brought to pubs in New Zealand, then I won’t be complaining. 

One of the many odd things about New Zealand is that it adopted queueing at the bar to get drinks. “Ah, but that’s what we do in the UK” I hear you mumble. Well yes, except we actually queue in New Zealand. It’s not unusual to see a long line of people snaking around the bar lounge waiting to be served. In the summer, during one of the many long weekends we have at that time of the year, we visited Russel in The Bay of Islands, and popped to the local bar for a beer or two. Unfortunately there was also a wedding party there at the same time so we were met with a huge queue - it wasn’t quite out of the door and into the street but it was close. With no other option, we joined the end of the queue and quietly waited as we inched our way towards the bar. In most part is was extremely well behaved but inevitably there were some locals who thought they deserved to be served first. As we got chatting to the people around us in the queue, the discussion took its usual turn. Where were we from? How long had we been in New Zealand? How long were we staying?Why did we live in Auckland when we could be living somewhere nicer like Russel? How on earth do we cope with the traffic congestion? Did we know that Auckland wasn’t really New Zealand? Wasn’t everything more expensive in Auckland? I was just about to launch into my usual speech about how Auckland keeps the New Zealand economy moving and without us New Zealand would struggle to function when I finally reached the front of the queue. Saved by the bell...or to be more precise the beer tap. Queuing is better than the scrum that occurs in many UK establishments but table service would be a small sliver of light in these dark times. 

I digress. Apologies. So for the first time in months we sat in the open air, sipping our beer and waiting for food to arrive. It was a great feeling to be finally out and about again. For us the lockdown hasn’t been too difficult but I know that won’t have been the case for many. Some will have lost jobs, seen their income disappear, spent each day working from their bedrooms, lived in fear of physical abuse or even lost loved ones. Its been tough on the nation but hopefully the effort has paid off. It really is now up to us. Keep to the rules, be vigilant and take care of one another. 

It is, of course, entirely possible for things to move in the wrong direction. Just as we have seen in China and Singapore, reopening the economy is a risky business and it just takes one person to trigger an outbreak. Then, as fast as you can say “well that’s disappointing” we’ll be back in our bubbles. But, fingers crossed, the lockdown is over and bubbles are bursting all over Aotearoa. for the last time

On The Way Out?

Could it really be over five weeks since we gave up normal life and entered lockdown? Is it just over a month ago when many things we took for granted would soon become a distant memory? Sitting in a bar, going to the movies or not worrying whether the washing up liquid was going to last another week. It seems like a lifetime ago.

Last Tuesday, or the 29 April 2020 if you’re reading this from the comfort of a Covid-free future, New Zealanders took a first step towards something approaching normality. If this were a Hollywood movie, I’d imagine a scene where the protagonist’s door opens slowly, light and fresh air pouring into the darkened room for the first time in a long, while a tentative step was taken into the real world. What had changed? Would you recognise anyone? Was the hairdresser on the high street still there? The camera slowly pans to show the nervousness on the individual’s face, their head turning to their family who are wondering if it’s safe to finally emerge from the safety of their home. They exchange looks. He encourages them to come take a look for themselves, and breathe fresh air. Dramatic music swells in the background and he utters these immortal words, “Fancy a Big Mac then?”

Well maybe not in a Hollywood version of this tale but absolutely in the real world. Why a meat patty in a bun and not a walk on the beach or a trip to the park? Starved of anything remotely normal it’s understandable that grabbing a take-out would be the first item on many peoples’ minds. Comfort food with a comforting message that maybe everything was going to be all right. All that, plus it saves on the washing up.

According to one dubious statistic published in the national newspaper, in one day New Zealand munched it’s way through the equivalent of a year’s worth of burgers. Whilst I find that to be hard to believe - I mean it can’t be right can it - I can imagine that we got through a lot! Fast food chains, both multinational and home-grown, were inundated from midnight the day the lockdown was eased. Huge queues formed, not all observing the social distance requirements, whilst orders were handed out.

Predictably, some commentators got all snitty about the hubbub and questioned the intelligence of those partaking. Quite how ones personal taste in fast food has any correlation to intelligence is lost on me. No doubt it’ll be these same commentators who queued up later that day for their take-out flat whites and cappuccinos. Ah, but that’s different. That’s coffee and that’s not bad for you. Besides, you get a much better kind of person at a coffee shop.

So what if the thought of a burger and fries was really the thing that kept people going through over a month of bubble isolation? In the words of the immortal bard John Lennon, “Whatever gets you through the night, it’s alright”.

So New Zealand has turned a corner, if corners are a useful measure in the fight against a virus, and we do appear to be heading back to something resembling normality. Evidence from other countries would suggest that it’s not going to be an easy route and there’s likely to be some bumps along the way. Most importantly, the low case numbers we are seeing now are a reflection of where we were two weeks ago. A message from the past to our future selves if you like. Although it might seem like all’s well, we will have to wait at least another two weeks before we see how well this phase of the recovery had gone. Yes, we can enjoy take away food again and can spread our wings a little further, but we mustn’t get ahead of ourselves. 

But the signs are good and if we play it right maybe, just maybe, we’ll get back to something that resembles normality. This coming Monday, just a couple of days from now, we’ll find out if the restrictions are being relaxed a little bit more. Another step towards a normal life. Not out of the woods but shops reopen, people can return to their offices and most importantly bars can reopen. Albeit with sone limitations, such as compulsory table service and no standing. Sounds like a win-win to me.

Yes we’re heading in the right direction, it hasn’t been without sacrifices, but if we stick with it it’ll be gone and then we can figure out what that means and New Zealand’s place in the world. I do worry about the good results and our new found freedom going to our collective heads and ....well you can imagine. We mustn’t forget that with great freedom comes great responsibility.  

 

Mind the Gap

Some people have a really odd perception of what two metres looks like. I know being an engineer gives me a little bit of an advantage but everyone knows what two metres looks like don’t they? No? How far is it? Well it’s two metres isn’t it! Like a metre but twice as far. Of if you prefer, and for the record I don’t, 200cm. Still not sure? Well let’s just say is a little bit over six foot. 

And I guess that’s the problem. Although metres are the SI base unit for distance, it can be quite hard to visualise exactly what that looks like on the ground. It shouldn’t be, but I suspect that decades of pampering by the media has made it this way. Anyone who has read the media for any length of time will know that everything has to be converted into media standard units. So distance becomes multiples of football pitches and height is either related to double decker buses, Nelson’s Column or Grey’s Monument adjusting for regional preferences. Time, incidentally, has the SI base unit of seconds - and just a few of those is typically how long I can stomach reading the news before wanting to scream.

So people are being asked to keep at least two metres apart when shopping for food, except for the owner of our local corner shop. He has decided to break from this requirement and is asking his customers to keep two meters apart. Whatever that is. Sorry I’m being pedantic. But it’s clearly a problem as nobody seems to be able to grasp what that looks like. Well it’s just a bit longer than one Arnold Swarzeneger - assuming of course that he was lying down.

The problem isn’t confined to shopping either. It’s just as problematic in open spaces such as parks. You would think that having plenty of space would make it even easier to give everyone the space required. Why not err on the side of caution and double the amount of space you think it should be? 

Runners are particularly bad at this, or at least they appear to be at the moment. I would’ve though that they would’ve been more tuned into distances - we do after all obsess about time and distance and unless you are based in the UK or the US everything running related is measured in metres. 

But alas no. Just the other day I was running around Auckland Domain and on my umpteenth lap of the 1.5km circuit when I passed another running doing the same thing but in the opposite direction. Being very wary of keeping my distance - nobody wants to get too close to a sweaty runner - I kept well inside my half of the road whilst the other runner was running right next to the kerb on the opposite side. Plenty of space.

“TWO METRES!,” the other runner shouted angrily, gesturing at the ground. 

I was a bit shocked I must say. Not only was the outburst pretty unusual, but I was well away from the other runner and had definitely left more than a two metre gap. How do I know? You had to ask an engineer. Well, I know that the road on which we were running was at least 6m wide, so each half of the road is 3m wide. For the sake of argument, let’s say I was in the middle of my side of the road. That means that I was about 1.5m off the centre line of the road. The other runner was tucked towards the kerb on the opposite side, so approximately 3m from the centreline on their side of the road. But it’s not practical to run right next to the kerb so let’s say they were 2.5m from the kerb line. In that case, I make the distance of separation 4m and well in excess of the 2m recommended and certainly further away than they thought. I did contemplate stopping to have the debate but thought better of it. Besides, I was pushing for a decent pace so could ill afford to stop and discuss the finer points of spacial awareness. Maybe I’ll carry a tape measure next time.

Perhaps part of the problem lies with the gyms being closed and the streets being inundated with  people more accustomed to the treadmill. Judging by the increase in poor footwear this seems to be the case. Ah well, at least the physios will have plenty to do one we get ourselves out of this situation.

But that’s for later. In the meantime if we can stick to giving each other the required space it would be appreciated. And at the end of the day it’s the space that’s important and it doesn’t really matter how you measure it; two metres, two hundred centimetres, six foot something, or an Arnie and a bit. 

A Holiday Distraction

I don’t know about you but I could do with a break from virus related talk. I know it’s important to talk this stuff through, but after nearly a month of being in lockdown it’s time for a distraction. So here’s a little story from a holiday we had last year.

Since arriving in New Zealand we’d talked about heading up to the cape - as far north as you can travel in New Zealand without getting your feet wet. But, even starting from Auckand it’s no mean feat. You’ve got to really want to go. It’s not the distance, although it’s far enough especially for a long weekend, it’s the roads. They aren’t all that and definitely weren’t built with efficient travelling in mind. They’re mostly single carriageway for the 400km trip with lots of bends and one-way bridges to contend with. Add to that several bottlenecks in the form of scattered townships and you have the ingredients for a fairly testy journey. You see although Northland is not that populated, being the Winterless North^TM it’s a popular spot for Aucklanders so traffic can be a nightmare. And that’s just getting out of Auckland. By the time the platoon gets to Warkworth, the first town on the way up, huge queues are inevitable.

There is, of course, always the option to take the route up ninety mile beach but it’s not a whole lot quicker and, being a beach, you’d better time it right. Might be a tad tricky if the tides not out - get it wrong and it’ll put a real damper on your weekend. 

I’ll be honest, this is all a lengthy preamble to try and excuse the fact that after nearly five years of talking about it, we finally plucked up the courage to head to the cape. Except we flew. I know, embarrassing really. I think it stems from a particularly horrendous journey back in the UK many years ago when it took us nine hours to get home from Cornwall. Up until then, I didn’t even know it was possible to travel for so long in the UK. Surely it wasn’t long enough?

Anyway, I digress, so last summer with a long weekend we ditched the car at Auckland airport and flew up a far as we could. It did seem counterintuitive to drive south when we should’ve been heading north, but it would be worth it. In fact, the 45 minute drive to the airport was just a little shorter than the flight and would’ve been a lot quicker had it not been Friday night. 

In fact there was hardly anytime for the crew to sit down after the briefing when we started to make our descent into Kerikeri. It’s a shame there wasn’t an inflight service - not because I was desperate for a glass of wine but because I was looking forward to seeing how quickly the cabin crew could serve it and tidy up again. I’d imagined they’d have to do most of it running. Anyway I was denied that spectacle and didn’t even get a decent view because we hardly gained any height. In fact, I’m pretty sure that the pilot didn’t even need to use any navigation equipment and instead just followed SH1 up the country. Probably had a road map in the glove box.

We landed, and after a very short taxi back along the runway we picked up our bags off the tarmac, sorted out the hire car and we’re on our way.

There isn’t much in the way of facilities at the cape so our chosen base for the long weekend was Mangonui. Not only was this close enough to the top of the peninsula to make it a sensible starting point, it also boasted that it had the best fish and chips in New Zealand. How could we not stay here?

It was quite late when we finally rolled into the small hotel’s car park but we were relatively fresh as the journey couldn’t have been any easier. We left the luggage in the boot and went into the reception.

“Ahh, you must be Graeme?” the owner asked as we opened the sliding door into the small office. Without waiting for an answer he added “Thought so because you’re the last of my bookings to arrive! It’s okay, I’m not a mind reader. Just let get your room details.” 

And with that he disappeared into a small room to one side, no doubt chuckling to himself about his cutting wit. To pass the time I started looking at a map of Northland that hung on the wall, partly to get my bearings but mainly to check out the location of the world famous famous fish and chip shop. World famous in New Zealand anyway.

“Have you driven far today?” He was back and was motioning towards the map on the wall that I was now studying with great interest.

“Oh, no. Just from the local airport,” I answered, pointing vaguely in the direction of Kerikeri on the map.

“Oh, so you’ve just arrived?” he enquired with some surprise.

“Yes, we landed and came straight here. Not had time for much else really.” 

“Wow, you must be exhausted. Glad you didn’t fall asleep at the wheel. So how long are you staying?” he asked as the questioning continued.

“Oh, we’re just for the weekend and then we fly home.” I replied, thinking it wasn’t that far but starting to wonder if it’s been a harder week than I imagined. Maybe I looked more tired than I felt.

“Straight back?” he asked, “you’re not stopping off anywhere on the way home?”

“Errr, no we’re back in work next week,” I replied, wondering where on earth he thought we should stop off on a 40 minute flight back to Auckland. 

“Well you are keen I must say!” he exclaimed looking genuinely surprised, “Wouldn’t have thought it was worth the effort though!”

Well this was a bit much I thought to myself. You really would think he’d have a bit more of a positive attitude toward the area than that. Especially when you’re in the hospitality business. Hardly encouraging.

“Well if you’re not too jet-lagged, I could arrange a trip to the cape for you tomorrow. Weather‘a supposed to be nice!”

Jet-lagged? What was the loon talking about? The flight was so short we hardly got off the ground........ahh and then the penny began to drop....

“At least you’ll get to see a little bit of New Zealand before you head home,” he added and in doing so confirmed my suspicion.

“Oh sorry,” I said, although not quite sure why I was apologising, “but we live in Auckland.”

“Really. You sound British.....”

There really was no answer to that and so I just smiled and made a mental note that I wasn’t in Auckland anymore and would have to get used to people thinking I’m on holiday. Which of course I was but not in the way they thought. No wonder he looked surprised. Who on earth would fly from the UK to rural New Zealand for the weekend? 

Thankfully the trip was a huge success. Cape Reinga was worth ever ounce of effort, the beaches were golden and practically empty, the late January weather prefect. And yes, the fish and chips were every bit as good as they said they were.

A Night Out

After over two weeks of isolation, and staying home and saving lives, we decided that we deserved a break and were due a night out. A small reward for the effort that we had put in over the past fourteen days. Besides, it had been a while since we’d worn anything other than t-shirts and shorts - even that was an improvement over the first few days where we never ventured far from pyjamas. It would be nice to dress up for a change and have a change of scene.

Even the process of putting on a shirt felt like an occasion. Gone were the old work branded t-shirts and in came a collar and long sleeves. No more could I claim that I was smartly dressed because the t-shirt I had on was relatively clean and didn’t have that many stains down the front. 

But where could we go? Thankfully we happened to know that there was a neighbourhood bar that was open and it had a very cosy courtyard. It was settled.

This bar has a very select clientele and have been known to be quite fussy over who they let in. You won’t find listed in any guides so entry is on a need to know basis. Luckily, we know the owners so admission was never going to be a problem. We walked through the reception area and found a small table out the back and settled down.

It is a very informal establishment - they even let you help yourselves to the drinks behind the bar. Admittedly it wasn’t a huge beer selection - the owner explained that since the lockdown, it’s been much harder to get the selection that we had become accustomed to - but the quality of the selection made up for the lack of range. I picked up two Moa Southern Alps beers and returned to the table.

It was really nice to sit surrounded by candles, sipping cold beers whilst the early autumn light slowly faded. And for a moment it felt almost normal. Gosh was that really only two weeks ago? How much we had taken for granted. Best not to dwell on it too much - this was supposed to be a celebration.

Beer and wine drunk, it was time to find somewhere to eat. Ordinarily Newmarket is awash with places to eat on a Friday night; pizza places, Mexican restaurants, mediterranean tapas and good pub fare are all within walking distance. But the lockdown means that they’re off limits. We’d heard a rumour that there was a place serving greek food not far from the bar so decided to give it a go. Well what other options were there? 

By the time we arrived the smell of mediterranean spices was already filling the evening air. A complimentary greek salad had been placed on the table and a few bowls of snacks had been laid out. It was almost as we’d been expected! Again, because of the current situation, options were limited to one dish. The chef explained that whilst there was only one dish on the menu, the chicken had been marinating all afternoon in a lime and coriander dressing and he promised that it would be mouthwatering. It sounded perfect.

We chatted and drank a glass of the house sauvignon blanc whilst remarking how quiet it was but how lucky we were to find this place. Even the music choice we excellent - it was almost as if we’d picked it ourselves. We’d definitely have to tell others about this place - once the restrictions were lifted of course!

The food was ready quickly and, as promised, delicious. The marinated chicken was zingy from the lime and it was served with a yoghurt and humus dressing and came with pita breads. With food this good, only having one choice on the menu was no problem.

Food eaten and wine drunk, it was time to meander home. We wanted to stay longer, not for more food or wine, but to savour the feeling of normality for as long as possible. Begrudgingly we got up from the table, thanked the chef for a lovely meal and headed to the comfort of our lounge. At least we didn’t have far to walk to get home. I guess that’s the advantage of staying local. Very local!

Bubble Troubles

How on earth did it come to this? Spending my Friday morning washing recently bought vegetables. Yes, I know there’s nothing wrong with that. But in soapy water? It’s really quite odd seeing cherry tomatoes bobbing around in soapy bubbles. Soapy bubble are, ironically, now recommended to keep your bubble intact. Unblemished and unburst.

We’re now into day 14 of our housebound way of life and it’s fair to say things got very odd very quickly. Sure sometimes, especially when I first wake up, I forget what’s going on, momentarily at least, and start to think about the day and what lies ahead. Ahh, and then I remember. What lies ahead is exactly like yesterday. Which in turn is exactly like the day before. And the one before that. And.....well I guess you get the picture. Not because you can imagined my predicament but because I'm sure it’s the same for you.

The most important thing in life is now not worrying about whether your tie goes with the shirt or stressing about whether you’re prepared enough for a meeting but “can I keep my bubble intact?” Suddenly other problems seem somewhat insignificant.

My daily government sanctioned exercise of choice is a run in the neighbourhood park. It just so happens that the largest city centre park is on our doorstep so it’s totally within the rules to take some exercise in Auckland Domain. Admittedly running has taken on a surreal tone. I no longer worry about splits or pace but whether I can see a clear people-free path ahead. It’s a big park so usually it’s not a problem, but when two runners do approach each other on a footpath things can get a little dicey.

Normal running etiquette dictates that you wave or nod hello as you pass the other runner. But not anymore. Space is now the aim of the game so rather than pass close by, runners veer off to one side as if we both were being repelled by invisible force fields. Which in a way we are, because invisible to the naked eye is our protective bubble. A 4m wide ball of safeness and it needs to be guarded with your life. 

But, I hear you say, what if there isn't enough space to run into? It's all well an good to veer off to one side but surely there's no guarantee space will be there? There's always a way - you just need my handy cut-out-and-keep guide to safe bubble running.

The Mountain Climber
Obviously flat space is preferable for evasive manoeuvres but this is not always available. It's sod's law that just when you need it there's no flat space available but just a grassy bank. That's where The Mountain Climber comes in handy.

Simply slow to a jog, glance up at the precipitous slope and power up it like you meant to do it all along. But make sure you've got enough in the legs to make it to the top. The next worst thing to bubble breaking is being seen to fail at a hill, and the sheer embarrassment of having to walk! Runners don't walk. Mostly anyway.

The Forgotten Appliance
To really avoid breaking your bubble it's important to plan a route where there will be plenty of room to get out of the way if the need arises. But this is not always possible so there may be a point in the route where there's simply no space other than on the path you're running along. Should you encounter traffic in the opposite direction. No fear, The Forgotten Appliance is there to help you get out of a potentially sticky situation.

When you're sure that there really is no escape, stop running. Then, and this is important, make an obvious move and look at your watch (you're a runner so there's no doubt you'll be wearing one), then say something like "Crap, I've left the iron on!", turn around and run quickly in the opposite direction. Sticky situation avoided.

The Road Runner
Were not all blessed with green, car free spaces available in which to run. And even if we are, more often than not our route will involve running on a footpath next to a road. If you find yourself needing to make a sudden movement away from on an oncoming entourage, just engage The Road Runner and hop into the road.

Ordinarily, I wouldn't recommend running in the road if there was a perfectly serviceable footpath but these are not ordinary times. Sure there's a chance you might get hit by a car, but that's much better than breaking your bubble. Oh, who am I kidding? There almost no chance of getting hit by a car because everyone's in lockdown and there's no cars on the roads. Isn't it nice! But please don't forget that you are now running in the road and you need to plan to get back to the footpath as soon as possible - don't make the mistake I made by continuing along the road into a signalised junction. I may have had the green light but it didn't stop people giving me a strange look as I sailed through the junction whilst pedestrians waited patiently to cross.

The Forester
Maybe you are blessed with green spaces and parks with trails to run in. Lucky you. If you are, there's a good chance that the paths are not wide enough to maintain the prescribed 2m safe distance. And if you're in the park trails, there's a good chance that others have had the same idea. Maybe you shouldn't go into the park in the first place? Nonsense. Just remember The Forester.

When there's no space on the trail don't let that stop you in your tracks. Make your own. As soon as you're sure that the trail is blocked ahead, dive off into the trees. Yes it will slow you down, and you may get a bit scratched and tangled up in greenery, but hey you're still out and your bubble is intact. Just remember not to get carried away - make sure you know where you are and can get back to a trail at some point. Having to be rescued from your local park would defeat the purpose of protecting your bubble as well as being hugely embarassing. If in doubt take a map and a compass on you're next run!

The Triathlete
Hopefully the manoeuvres covered above will help you out in most situations. But there's still a chance, albeit a slim one, that none of these can be applied because solid ground is in short supply and the only escape route involves water. Well, that's where The Triathlete comes in. Route blocked? No problem - just dive into the water like you intended to all along! But only if you can swim. Not only is swimming necessary to stay alive, thrashing around would totally destroy the illusion that you are a triathlete in training.

So there you go, you're now equipped to cope with anything that might come your way. So what are you waiting for? Get out there and get running. Just remember to keep a weather eye out for other potential bubble breakers; uncontrolled dogs, wayward balls, kids on bikes and less then considerate other runner. Phew it’s a minefield but better then the alternative..... nor running!

Happy bubble running!

Above: Veg - post bubble wash!