As we know by now, routine is important in our new, scaled-down days. Here at the schloss we rise as always, never early and one of us stumbles down to make tea. Tea is accompanied by the news and the latest round of grim statistics, peppered with small sprinklings of hope and the usual puerile online offerings of entertainment.
I dress for exercise, following my self-imposed regime of Pilates on weekdays, varied by Yoga at weekends. We have coffee. I write, bake, correspond.
After lunch there is gardening or the permitted walk. Walks have taken on a new significance since the arrival of the virus, as the area we may explore has shrunk to our own locality. Though we are near to beaches and harbours and The New Forest National Park, we stick to the streets around our small town, where domestic gardens, concealed pathways, copses and lanes provide the interest.
In one direction lies a cemetery. Given the current situation it may seem a morbid choice for walking, but it is ancient, beautiful and peaceful as well as a treasure trove of historical discovery. I like to read the names on the stones, the ages of the inhabitants of the graves, the touching eulogies. Of course it is a melancholy place, with an area allocated to infants, their tiny plots adorned with toys and memorabilia revealing a universe of pain.
Inside the cemetery it is easy to avoid others. We can veer off around the paths in any direction we choose.
Outside on the streets, avoidance is a different matter. While a quiet street wit pavements both sides offers plenty of scope for diversion, the narrow pavements on the bridge crossing the river is a virtual minefield, with walkers both sides jostling with joggers and cyclists on the narrow path. At times you get stuck, walking on one side with no escape-then I resort to turning my back, since this is no time to worry about manners.
But we are fortunate, here. We have access to large areas of marsh, or woods, or country lanes and can escape into spacious landscapes with no more than a distant sighting of others.
And when we do cross over, or pass at a distance there is a small smile, a nod or a greeting, which all mean ‘we are in this together’.
One week later and the cemetery is closed to all except the users, so any of us may get to visit at some point…
The weather is perfect, sunny and spring-like, softening the pain of lock-down for those of us who are not sufferers of the virus or key-workers. We take to the saddle for our first cycle of the year and ride around the quiet lanes where avoidance is relatively easy, although even here there is congestion in places, some understanding the new ‘rules’ and some not.
But as time goes on the neighbourhood becomes quieter, there is increased understanding. What will life be like in the great ‘After? Will we have become institutionalised? Will we continue to creep about and cross the road to avoid others? Or will we gallop, whooping into the streets and fling ourselves at all and sundry? Only time will tell…
Anecdotage 
It feels odd when people cross the road to avoid us but. so far, social distancing seems to be working. We haven’t ventured down to the beach but we do spend part of each day in the garden (until today when it’s cold) How does one get rid of ground creeping ivy? I’m not good at bending. I have been throwing away out of date letters, hoping nothing important gets destroyed but if I don’t do something creative soon I’ll explode.
I believe we should do whatever keeps us calm and as cheerful as possible, whether it’s sorting correspondence or listening to birdsong in the garden. Good luck!
It’s lucky ( and good for the environment ) that there are not too many vehicles on the road, the constant crossing back and forth could result in some nasty accidents. I love wandering round cemeteries even in good times!
Yes-I’m missing it now it’s closed for casual visitors [but not keen to go there permanently-yet!]