Day two of family lockdown and the existential crises are queuing up. It didn’t take long. And as the unknowns flooded through my mind they gradually formed a shit version of John Lennon’s masterpiece…
Imagine there’s no breakfast
The college where I would normally teach on a Tuesday is a good hour’s drive away, so it’s usually an early start, but as corona-geddon has hit I didn’t have to set my alarm. Unfortunately, my body clock didn’t get the memo so I pinged awake at 5.30 am.
I sat downstairs with my coffee, irritated to be awake, then it hit me. When we don’t have to be anywhere, when we can’t be anywhere, work patterns constructed around day and night are irrelevant if we want them to be. Time is a number on a clock face. If I want to, I can start work at 3 am or settle down to watch a horror film with breakfast.
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Just as I dragged myself back from slipping down my own brain hole, my husband wandered in. I shared my time thoughts and, mildly concerned, he suggested I plan some projects for the next couple of weeks. This would have been sensible guidance had he not immediately shown off about his first project: an intricately scored theme tune for our most recent rescue dog, Big Walter. He’d composed it, laid down a multi-track recording and was working on lyrics. It’s pretty good.
I decided on a more hands-on project: turning the neglected scrap of land at the side of the house - known first as “Dog Shit Corridor”, then “The Upside Down” - into a stunning Mediterranean garden. I was aiming to capture the essence of that island off Mamma Mia. It turns out Meryl Streep’s design team may have done more than slap Beach Blue Cuprinol on a couple of fences. At the moment, the transformation looks like someone’s spite-vandalised our property with a primary school mural.
It took my mind off more pressing stuff for a bit - y’know, end times ‘n that - but as the paint dried, the worries re-emerged.
Imagine there’s no GCSEs
My lad’s keeping up with his GCSE revision, in between working on his YouTube channel. But it’s hard to retain motivation when we don’t even know if the exams will be happening. I don’t think it’d be fair to wrangle ‘em through those exam halls in a few weeks when the final push is so disrupted. That’s if it would be safe to do so, what with the virus seemingly on a steep upwards trajectory.
But what are the alternatives? Predicted grades could be used but what if the system to determine them isn’t robust enough? Surely grades that have such an impact on kids’ futures shouldn’t be guesswork. Maybe the exams will be moved to later in the year? But what would that mean for colleges and universities who’d usually expect an influx in autumn? Would the construct of an academic year still exist?
Imagine there’s no money
Then it was telly on for Tea Time with Boris and that knocked me giddy, I can tell you…
Is it just me, or is that new chancellor a bit… let’s say statesmanly? My train of thought hurtled out of control from “he seems competent” to “he’d be a good prime minister” before plunging into deep, deep shame for having the glad-eye for a Tory minister. Strange times.
It does seem surprising that Handsome McFinance knows the location of the entire Forest of Magic Money Trees, though. I’m not knocking it. We need all the help we can get. And I have the lightest of grasp on my own current account let alone the nation’s economic status. But can we borrow a bit more cash and sort and the NHS and education while we’re at it? And if there’s any going begging, I could do with a bung for my garden make-over.
I’ve got time on my hands. Who do I email?
