Thoughts and Observations

So sang Cliff Richard, our Prince of Pop, in the same named film, in January 1963, but are we all going to do that?

 

Like most of the UK, my family and I caught Covid sometime in the past two years; luckily and thankfully, none of us was seriously ill and we all recovered. I found, however, that there were a few surprising results, not so much from Covid, but more to do with the lockdown that Covid bought with it. Before the lockdown, I would drive anywhere, I loved being behind the wheel of a car and the freedom that came with it. I have driven Route 66 across the USA; from bottom to top in Australia; right across Europe and in all the continents except the Antarctica. So, having been driving for 54 years and even at a modest 10 000 miles a year, this would mean that after driving around the Earth (24,901 miles) to get some speed up, I could have driven to the moon and back (238,854 miles one way) and I would have enjoyed every mile. 

 

When the streets became devoid of cars at the start of the lockdown, I must admit I loved the quietness, peace and feeling of openness that resulted. It reminded me of London's empty streets as a child. Then hopscotch, roller-skating, football and even cricket were played in the middle of the road. In the 1950s, cars were few and far between, the main hazard to our play being the droppings left by the milkman’s horse.

 

When we were free to move again at the end of the lockdown, I was pretty nervous about driving again, which was a shock. Initially, I did not want to drive and when I forced myself to get behind the wheel, I felt vulnerable, timid, and over-cautious. For weeks, rather than going to the shops by car, I arranged for deliveries or walked. I did not want to admit I was nervous, but I needed to drive; I did not want to isolate myself from my wider family, so drive I did, but more carefully and guardedly. Gradually, my confidence returned, perhaps not to where it was, but driving more warily is good.

 

So, this brings me back to the Prince of Pop and his summer holiday aboard a proper London bus, i.e., a Regent III RT, with none of this AEC Routemaster nonsense (apologies to non-bus nerds), which makes me think of my holiday. Yes, I am going away and driving; I am going on a bird-watching foray and staying at Lea Abbey in Devon, but am I ready to go further afield? Of that, I am not sure.

 

The thought of an airport, once a place of anticipation for an adventure to come, where my heart beats faster in excitement, no longer enthuses me. I feel that I have lost that moment. Now the thought of checking in and going through security no longer excites me but seems a chore.  One thing I will not miss is that however careful I have been; there would always be that tiny metallic item that set off the alarm and with arms aloft, I would be poked at with a metal detector. Other things I will not miss include expensive food inversely proportional to the quality, watery beer, long walks to waiting areas, the glare of the flight attendants as they check my passport and ticket and then the downward tunnel that leads us like lemmings to the flying tube. Or will I, given time, as with driving, learn to love these things again?

 

Whatever you are doing this summer, whether you are going away or not, I hope that you are safe and that when we meet again, as we stroll across the bridge over the North Pond, you have stories to tell of kindness and cheer that will keep us warm and smiling into the Autumn.