I looked at my diary this morning and it feels like reading a novel from another age. It is filled with parties, dinners, meetings, flower shows, festivals, holidays, trips to exhibitions, plays, lectures, birthdays, weekends by the sea. They are crossed out, struck through, the abandoned notes from another life.
As the world deals with the onslaught of the coronavirus, I am made dizzy by how swiftly our old lives have been dismantled. Already, the thought of sitting in a café with a book feels as exotic as sipping cocktails on your own tropical island. Watching television, it is strangely shocking to see people on screen shaking hands and hugging. My brain automatically screams TWO METRES APART NO TOUCHING. Normal social interaction looks as alien as foot binding. My best…
