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London Calling: A cautionary tale

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As Melbourne starts to recover from its months-long lockdown, HerCanberra’s London correspondent tells of the reality of life in a city that is struggling to control COVID-19.

I’ve got to say, when I moved to London from Canberra in 2018, I never thought I’d be writing this article.

Regardless of whether you’re reading this from Woden or Westminster, I think we can agree that 2020 has been one of the most overwhelming years to date.

Whilst globally there are heartening tales of people banding together to support one another, there are also alarming trends of apathy and risk normalisation when it comes to managing the threat that COVID-19 poses to every aspect of modern life as we know it.

On the day that I write this, the number of new people in the UK who have been diagnosed today with COVID-19 (approximately 25,000) is higher than the entire population of my hometown, Goulburn.

To date, more than 61,000 people have died in the UK with COVID-19 listed as the cause on the death certificate—this is the equivalent of approximately 30% of Canberra’s population disappearing in nine months.

As we descend into the darkness of winter, there are currently 1.37 million people infected with COVID-19 in the UK, a figure I find hard to quantify.

It’s easy to tune out to statistics. It’s easy to see the pandemic as happening ‘somewhere else’ – in another city, another state, another country. It’s easy to switch off to something this distressing, especially when it doesn’t directly impact on you, your livelihood or your loved ones.

Even if there is an imminent threat, it’s easy for ‘risk normalisation’ to occur. This is where small risks become gradually acceptable over time and our brains judge how likely something is to happen based on how quickly we recall an example of that risk.

Perhaps by sharing some of my personal experiences from the UK lockdowns, the risks of this global health crisis will feel more real and encourage everyone to follow the rules.

HEALTH AND MENTAL WELLBEING

The early restrictions of the first UK lockdown included a strict ‘Stay At Home’ order. The public messaging was incredibly strong—leaving the house could potentially result in you, a loved one or someone else dying.

Going outside and potentially being exposed would contribute to an insurmountable pressure on the public health system. Hearing this message every day was incredibly fear-inducing.

A friend who was classed as a high-risk pregnancy told me of her experience of giving birth to her daughter at the start of lockdown without her husband or any family by her side.

Luckily, her husband had attended some of the preliminary scans and appointments before the lockdown, but she told me that many women have had to undergo these alone – heartbreakingly, some are finding out that there are complications or that they have lost their baby without their partners in the room.

Whilst her husband could be in the delivery room when they welcomed their baby girl, he only held her briefly and had to leave immediately afterwards and wasn’t allowed to see my friend or his daughter until they were discharged.

My friend had to stay in hospital for a week, which she said was an incredibly distressing experience. Partners and family were not allowed to visit—the ward was often filled with the sound of new mothers sobbing, overwhelmed and alone.

Another friend fell ill with COVID-like symptoms, quarantined appropriately and then recovered, but was then asked by his former housemates to move out to ‘give them some space’. This was incredibly upsetting and essentially left him homeless, as rental inspections ground to a halt during the initial lockdown (he subsequently moved in with us).

I spoke to my next-door neighbour over the phone, who told me she and her family (including two girls under 12) had not left the house in more than nine weeks, because she had an underlying health condition and they were too scared to step outside. When our households couldn’t get certain groceries, we would leave them on the other’s balcony.

DAY-TO-DAY LIFE

Before our businesses were forced to close, my housemates and I all took toilet paper from our corporate workplaces because we were running low before the lockdown hit and it was impossible to buy.

Many in the UK do their grocery shopping online, including us (we don’t have a car nor do we live within easy walking distance of a fully-stocked supermarket). Most online supermarkets were able to support vulnerable customers by creating priority slots, but it became virtually impossible to order groceries online.

Many introduced a queue system just to enter the website. I remember anxiously sitting up until midnight for when the next available slots were released, frantically filling up our online basket within two minutes and submitting an order so we could get groceries.

Going outside for food shopping was exhausting and tense—most of the time when we went out and strictly followed the rules, myself or my housemates were yelled at by stressed-out strangers.

Now ordering online is much easier, but I know of some people who are leaving their groceries inside their doorway for up to 24 hours before touching and disinfecting every item, to ensure any trace of the virus has died.

Covent Garden’s famous market at lunchtime November 2020.

The pandemic has meant that I will never under-appreciate the importance of public toilets again. Whilst this might sound laughable or crass, having experienced having no public facilities available to use the loo or wash your hands (especially when you’re being constantly told how crucial this is to not get sick yourself or potentially kill others), I have so much more empathy for people whose lives are dictated by easy access to a bathroom.

My friend who has IBS accompanied me to a medical appointment in the city and urgently needed the bathroom—he walked The Strand for 30 minutes looking for a bathroom before the security guard finally allowed him to come into the doctor’s surgery with me.

WORK & UNEMPLOYMENT

The UK unemployment rate has risen to 4.8%, and it is heartbreaking to see my industry of arts and culture be one of the worst affected.

A friend who works in a major London museum told me that pre-pandemic, they would expect around 10,000 visitors per day; this number is now capped at 2,000 pre-booked tickets, of which she says around 1,400 people actually show up.

One of the bistro areas in Victoria, London in March 2020. This is one of the city’s busiest transport, business and tourism hubs.

Pre-pandemic, I’d been on the hamster wheel of job searches only to get pipped at the post in the final rounds. In April I had an interview (via Zoom, of course!) for a dream job.

I was told I’d been successful, but whilst they would love to hire me they couldn’t in the current climate—they had furloughed 80% of their staff and needed to protect their existing business structure.

I know many people in London (both in the arts and other sectors) who have been furloughed, had their days permanently reduced, not had their contracts renewed or been made redundant.

A SEMI-DESERTED CITY

In the first lockdown, everything was shut except for essential services—going into other buildings was limited to grocery stores, the pharmacy and places that did takeaway food.

As a self-proclaimed Aussie coffee snob who would go into central London every day and have a million different options when it came to coffee, I remember tearing up having my first coffee outside my house in three weeks.

Waterloo station on a Friday afternoon just before the first UK lockdown in March 2020.

Something that will stay with me for a long time is the eeriness and sadness of how quiet the city has become.

Waterloo station is the busiest in the UK—close to 100 million people enter and exit each year, with on average a quarter of a million people using the station each day. I stood on the balcony in mid-March and counted around 50 people in the main platform area.

I remember being one of eight people doing a spin class in a nightclub-style gym that has 80 people doing a class every hour. Covent Garden is disarmingly quiet. After the initial lock-down lifted in August, I went into a popular store in the market at lunchtime on a Saturday; although they’d been open for four hours, staff told me I was their first visitor of the day.

Large franchise and small businesses alike have remained closed since March, and it’s unlikely many of them will re-open.

A boarded-up cocktail bar in The Strand, London city, November 2020.

For a large part of this year, it’s been a simultaneous lifeline and somewhat alienating experience to speak to friends and family back in Australia. It sometimes feels like I’m living on another planet.

Speaking to friends in Melbourne has been a little easier to find common ground and share experiences. Whilst the second lockdown is not as intense and unfamiliar as the first, it’s still an uncertain, scary and lonely time while we wait for further news of a vaccine.

I hope that the UK’s example and hopefully avoid the restrictions and challenges that we’re currently grappling with. Until a vaccine arrives, the only way out of this is for everyone to grasp the risk this virus poses not just to themselves but to our collective society. We need everyone to follow the rules to prevent further loss of liberty, and ultimately, loss of life.

“London calling, yes, I was there, too…”

Feature image: Highgate tube station in North London deserted on a Saturday morning, November 2020. All images supplied by author.

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