I got up early to get the Sunday morning papers before they sell out, and obviously essential food supplies to justify me venturing out into the world.
Everything is so strange, people queueing 2 metres apart outside the store, no one really meeting each other’s eye. Even couples seemed to be talking less, maybe it is the blue surgical masks that seem to be the latest anti-coronavirus accessory along with the blue gloves and worried looks.
When I finally do get my newspaper’s home, making sure I have washed my hands so much that my knuckles have now gone red and dry, I flip through endless stories about the apocalyptic world we are living in, the financial disaster that will befall us all as soon as the virus is over, pages of headlines full of panic, isolation, pandemic, massive letters spelling a world of disaster.
As I sit here away from a world that I am starting to miss, it is my job to turn these letters into dreams, these words into possibilities, these moments into something more creative.…