The Field|July 2020
SO, coronavirus is the new Brexit. Nothing else can get a look in. And, God forbid, it might just last longer. Already two distinct camps have formed. There are those who frankly do not care a fig about catching it and just want to go back to life BC (Before COVID) – which includes Dave in the local garage. Dave is 73 and has never had a day off work in his life, other than two weeks in hospital when his young assistant inadvertently crushed him under the car jack. I had initially declined the grimy biro thrust at me by an oily paw to sign for some petrol on the account. My reluctance to grasp the Covidy pen was received with a snort of derision, “Aw dear, calm yourself lad, yer not worried about catching a little sniffle, are yer?” And then there are those who are so completely terrified they huddle in their front rooms surrounded by piles of hand sanitizer and loo rolls. The division is not one of age, money or education; it is temperament.
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