Urban Diary During Lockdown

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Abstract

now is a repetitive pattern, altered by “hooks” that burrow deeply in our subconscious. The masked faces, the distant sound of an ambulance, the unfathomable faces of police officers. They all conspire to create a landscape of uniformity and resignation. Occasionally, I spot a couple canoodling on the South Bank, a two-human oasis amidst so much despair. Or a reggae song drifting out of an open car window on an almost empty road, announcing the arrival of spring and the promise of warmer temperatures.</p><p id="59d5">There is, however, one species in this urban desert that has survived the pandemic apocalypse and which is now conspicuous. Peel the layers of this city off, magic away the commuters and passers-by and you’re left with the runner. We (for I am one myself), have always been part of London’s fauna, but we usually get crowded out by everybody else. The Friday evening pub-crawlers, the Shoreditch-dwelling, fun-seeking, beard-boasting hipsters and the Saturday noon, brunch-munchers. You think you see us but you really don’t. What you see is us as part of a composite, a picture made up of the different urban creatures that populate this metropolis.</p><p id="f0bb">Covid-19 has scooped us out. Like a Glass sco

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re, we’re the “hooks”. The pavement-pounders who go on the street when space is tricky to negotiate. The government’s “one hour of daily physical activity” reminder.</p><p id="ca45">I see a fellow runner approaching on Stamford Street. I saddle up and cycle off. The street is bare and quiet, except for the sound of an ambulance in the distance.</p><p id="d753"><b><i>For tips on how to write during the time of Covid-19, click the link below</i></b></p><div id="2afb" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/top-tips-for-editing-your-writing-during-the-time-of-covid-19-5442845fdd44"> <div> <div> <h2>Top Tips for Editing Your Writing During the Time of COVID-19</h2> <div><h3>There’s a beautiful scene in High Fidelity, Stephen Frears’ 2000’s film adaptation of Nick Hornby’s novel, that I never…</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*8NBWZ6SvKlW6NGIcUOJyUw.jpeg)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><p id="c10a"><b><i>© 2020</i></b></p></article></body>

Urban Diary During Lockdown

The loneliness of the Covid-19-caused, empty-street runner (photo taken by the author)

The cool, orange spring sun is slowly sinking, leaving one side of Stamford Street in the shade and the other one caressed by an auburn glow. I stop on the corner of Hatfields, get off my bicycle and lean against the wall.

It has now been more than four weeks since I last saw the rush-hour crowd moving up and down this road, either on their way to or from Waterloo Underground Station. The Covid-19-caused lockdown has rendered the hustle-bustle silent.

What lies in front of me is a scene that can only be compared to a Philip Glass score. Haunting in nature, minimalist in style. The coronavirus has stripped London of its urban fauna. Gone are the early-rising, nursery-bound, pram-pushing parents, the mobile-phone-checking commuters and the braggadocio-displaying secondary school pupils. Instead, we have deserted roads and closed down cafes and bars. Like a Glass piece, the view now is a repetitive pattern, altered by “hooks” that burrow deeply in our subconscious. The masked faces, the distant sound of an ambulance, the unfathomable faces of police officers. They all conspire to create a landscape of uniformity and resignation. Occasionally, I spot a couple canoodling on the South Bank, a two-human oasis amidst so much despair. Or a reggae song drifting out of an open car window on an almost empty road, announcing the arrival of spring and the promise of warmer temperatures.

There is, however, one species in this urban desert that has survived the pandemic apocalypse and which is now conspicuous. Peel the layers of this city off, magic away the commuters and passers-by and you’re left with the runner. We (for I am one myself), have always been part of London’s fauna, but we usually get crowded out by everybody else. The Friday evening pub-crawlers, the Shoreditch-dwelling, fun-seeking, beard-boasting hipsters and the Saturday noon, brunch-munchers. You think you see us but you really don’t. What you see is us as part of a composite, a picture made up of the different urban creatures that populate this metropolis.

Covid-19 has scooped us out. Like a Glass score, we’re the “hooks”. The pavement-pounders who go on the street when space is tricky to negotiate. The government’s “one hour of daily physical activity” reminder.

I see a fellow runner approaching on Stamford Street. I saddle up and cycle off. The street is bare and quiet, except for the sound of an ambulance in the distance.

For tips on how to write during the time of Covid-19, click the link below