Isolation XXIV:We're All Going To The Zoo Tomorrow

It's Sunday 14th June 2020, the 92nd day of my (now partial) lockdown, and I should, if the world hadn't changed so dramatically three months back, be on the final day of my three day holiday in Abersoch on the Llyn Peninsula. I'd imagine the day would have been spent mostly on the beach (despite the fact it's raining up there), building sandcastles, paddling in the sea, having an ice cream, and then, this evening, having a nice meal and a few beers or glasses of wine.

But of course I'm not in Abersoch. I am, for the ninety-second night in a row, sat at home staring at a screen. I'm not even complaining. It's the right thing to be doing. It's what's required. I'd love to have gone to Abersoch, I'd still love to go to Abersoch, and I fully intend, eventually, to go to Abersoch but, for now, staying in staring at screens is just fine and dandy. Interestingly though, or perhaps insanely, I would be able to go to, of all places, the zoo tomorrow (zoo tomorrow, zoo tomorrow) or even Chessington World of Adventures.

So while I still can't see any of my family (I don't have a car and none of them live within fifty miles of me) I could, in theory, go on a rollercoaster or look at some elephants. Like most people I love elephants but I must admit during these thirteen weeks of lockdown they have not been one the things I've been most missing. I've been missing walks, friends, and family and I've been missing, even more, getting together with those friends, drinking and laughing, and, most of all, I've been missing the physical contact of other humans. Hugging. Touching. Being close.

All things I'm looking forward to doing again far more than I am visiting zoos (which, despite a lovely visit to London Zoo with Valia last year, are morally ambiguous for me at the best of times). I'm not complaining. I've had a great week. I've chatted with Mum, Dad, Adam, Shep, Vicki Michelle, and Evie (who drew pictures of fish, dogs, me, her, and 'teddy cobra' for me). I've walked in Peckham Rye, Peckham Rye Park, and, today, I've had a socially distanced meet up in the Horniman Gardens (where the outdoor market is tentatively reopening) with Dan, Misa, Pam, and Poppy the alpaca.

Both Gwen and Ian have set Kahoot quizzes that proved to be great fun. Owen won them both (accompanied, for Ian's film quiz, by Annasivia who I suspect did some of the heavy lifting) and, following the lovely, touching, letter (accompanied by two fridge magnets he'd made celebrating CND rallies in Tadley including a gig that featured Hawkwind, Roy Harper, and John Peel) I received from him in Los Angeles I couldn't even begrudge his victory.

The fridge magnets are now in pride of place on my Siemens alongside an earlier CND rally one he'd (made and) sent me, a Massey Ferguson one, and an Orchestra Baobab sticker. The outside of my fridge is now more impressive than the inside. It's quite a collection but, more importantly, every time I look at them (as well as Valia and Jackie's postcards and the photos Michelle sent me) I'm reminded of what a wonderful, creative, and supportive group of friends I have. It's probably a cliche to say 'best friends in the world' but sometimes it really feels like it.

Other little gestures, like Dan's daily music choice (texted personally to me) and Ian F's daily YouTube posting of a tune on mine (and many other's) Facebook wall just go to underline that when it comes to rolling deep we do it both in terms of quality and quantity. It's also this kindness that has contributed to me making this blog more of a personal one, more upbeat, and more hopeful.

I've written enough about the failing of our government, of Trump, and of Bolsonaro (Brazil have now overtaken the UK with the second highest coronavirus death toll in the world, Mexico is the next nation to join the big league with, now, over 16,000 deaths) and I've written enough about common or garden racists, Twitter and Facebook trolls, and the complicity in their rise by those who claim they seek to oppose them but, due to their own intractability, simply aid them. Useful idiots to borrow a phrase.

If Sesame Street can explain Black Lives Matter to kids in about five minutes flat than we have to assume that those adults that still don't, or choose not to, get it are doing so on purpose. Actively choosing not to. "Not all streets are like Sesame Street" Louie tells his son Elmo in a touching clip from the wonderfully warm, inclusive, and funny children's show before Big Bird comes on to learn why Black Lives Matter.

Elsewhere, far right protestors descend on London and other major cities to sing "we're racist", Sieg Heil and give Nazi salutes in front of the boarded up statue of their hero Winston Churchill (as many observers have pointed out, the most WTF/2020 thing ever) and the Cenotaph, to violently break up harmless picnics, and to urinate over the memorial to a policeman, Keith Palmer who died in 2017 protecting the Houses of Parliament from an Islamist terrorist attack. In one instance an injured racist was protected by an anti-racist Black Lives Matter campaigner. Can't help wondering how that may have played out if the roles had been reversed.

If Big Bird and Elmo can get their head round it then so can you. If you're still writing All Lives Matter, you're still defending Tommy Robinson, and you still think Donald Trump, Jair Bolsonaro, and Boris Johnson are handling this pandemic well it's not so much that you're unfortunately stupid. It's that you're so full of hate, so consumed with impotent rage, that you choose to be stupid.

There's been a lot of nonsense written about people living in their own 'echo chambers' and their own 'bubbles' in recent years but the trouble is when you let these transgressive, racist, violent, and divisive voices in it's never a dialogue. They shout you down, they scream all over you, and, if that doesn't work, they soon, and this train's never late, resort to violence.

The latest initiative in easing lockdown (apart from opening up zoos) is for people to form 'bubbles'. Yes, the once derided bubbles we should be breaking out from are now the things we should be keeping ourselves safe in. I'm keeping my physical bubble small for now but I'm making my social bubble as large and inclusive as possible. Everyone's allowed in except for racists, Trump supporters, Johnson supporters, and those who seek both to divide and to use violence as a tool to frighten progressives into submission. The idea of the bubble to keep us safe in groups can work in more than one way and my friends and family are a curious and exotic enough mixture of creatures that I, for one, won't be feeling any need to go to the zoo tomorrow and anyway, I've got an alpaca just down the road.