Fifteen days of lock down against the Coronavirus began today

And in one day everything has changed

Last night President Emmanuel Macron announced that France will lock down, and that people must stay at home and avoid all social activity. This is a war, he said, and we must take it seriously, all our energy should be directed on one thing — to slow the progress of the virus.

Two days ago, all restaurants and bars were closed. Now our freedom of movement is also restricted. As from midday today (thirty minutes ago as I write), we are not allowed to make anything other than essential outings from our houses.

At the moment ‘essential outings’ include work, if our jobs cannot be done from home; shopping for food, accessing medical help; exercising our dogs or animals,(on our own, and not far from home); and taking exercise, again on our own, and close to home .

Every time we leave our house we must fill out an ‘attestation’ or certificate, with our names, date of birth, and the reason for our outing — which must fall into one of the five categories which allow us to be out. The certificate must be dated and signed, and can be checked by the police at any time. Fines of between €38 and €135 will be made for infringments of this regime.

Yesterday, early evening, one of my French friends rang me to tell me this would happen. As a medical professional, she had friends who had been warned ahead of Macrons speech. You won’t be able to go out she told me, you need to go and get food, then prepare for two weeks isolation. During the history of this world pandemic I have felt pretty cool and calm, but now I was scared. After her call, I went to the local supermarket, which had been packed full of shoppers earlier. Now, two hours early, at only 6 30 pm it was shut, as eerily quiet as the roads.

You have until midday on Tuesday my friend had told me. So this morning I went to find a very orderly queue of people outside the supermarket, each with a trolley. A tough looking but very genial security man was allowing one person in, as one left the shop. We are only allowed sixty inside altogether he told me. Inside the shop was calm, everyone seemed to be moving in a slow motion of quiet, no one spoke.

Two women were wearing masks. As I watched one of them moved hers aside to scratch her nose and mouth. Another women had a chic black and white scarf covering her face. Big plexiglass screens now seperated the cashiers from the customers and only cards were accepted, no cash. The shop was well stocked in places, and completely empty in others — no pasta, very little rice. I bought some coffee, and other essentials, safe (for the moment) in the knowledge that the supermarkets are allowed to stay open and I will be allowed to go to them as long as I carry my certificate.

Back at home, around my house everything is very still. Where there was activity, restaurants opening for lunch, other restaurants preparing for the season, people, now there is nothing. There is no sound of work, no one walking. There are no cars. Someway off a cock crows. Inside, my keyboard taps, the dog snuffles as he sleeps. Viewing the fifteen days ahead of me knowing that I will see very few people, if any, is an odd feeling. It has the feeling of a calm sanctuary, as if I am entering another world, but under the layer of calm I feel disorientated and unable to settle.

Very real fears such as how will I pay my mortgage given that my business is a summer holiday rental and a summer cafe jockey for position with a dullness, a numbness which stops me thinking too much about the future.

There is literally nothing I can do, so worrying seems pointless. There will be thousands like me. Whilst I feel a sense of calm, and whilst everyone around me seems calm, I can’t help feeling that there is also an underlying sense of fear and stress, of unease.

After I bought food, I filled my car with petrol, queuing with many others. As I went to put the fuel in, I realised I had parked my car the wrong side of the filler cap, and suddenly I was flustered and upset, the calm I thought I had disappearing fast. This is where the stress comes out, in little unimportant areas.

In a matter of weeks everything has changed.

Alongside Macrons speech last night, France’s health ministry said the country had so far recorded 6,633 confirmed coronavirus cases and 148 deaths, and also that doctors have expressed fears that France faces an Italian-style surge in infections and fatalities. Reality and speculation. The backdrop to our lives is now the incessant rolecall of numbers and projections. This is not helpful to our wellbeing or sanity.

Real numbers and figures are hidden amongst the huge outpouring of information and the unhelpful ‘not quite’ facts with which we are beseiged. A friends son has been diagnosed with the virus, in a town forty five minutes away. He is fine. This is the closest I have been to actually knowing someone who has it.

The virus seems a long way away, but is in fact ever present in our minds, and now that every day life has changed it feels, all of a sudden, very close.