Down in the Easy Chair

A strange thing happened this morning. I got up early from a night of deep, deep sleep (thankfully Coronavirus hasn't impacted on my sleep yet) to drive into the studio to collect my work chair. I never really felt much affinity for it before. It's a chair. I've been sitting on it every day for a couple of years now. What can you say about a work chair? Well, quite a lot if you suddenly start sitting on a dining room chair for ten hours a day. You can say that I miss it, that my back's screaming at me, that I have to have it. I said all those things - which is why I drove across the city at 8 am to sneak into work to get it.

But here's what's weird. When I was driving through the back of the liberties, I missed the turn that takes me across Cork St and down to Blackpitts—like, completely missed it. I was 100 yards down the road halfway to Marrowbone Lane when I realised. Now here's what's interesting: I used to work on Marrowbone Lane. In fact, the job I mentioned yesterday that had the fire when I was 26 is on Marrowbone Lane. I worked there for eight years. And I've worked in Blackpitts for fourteen years. But I've never missed the turn before. What does it mean? Nothing probably. Or maybe something inside me wanted to go back there. I knew there was nothing there anymore. The place I worked was levelled years ago and replaced by apartments, natch, so I just drove past it and got into the office to collect my precious chair. Maybe it meant nothing. Fourteen years, never missed the turn.

I got home and met Helen, who'd taken our dog to the park for a runaround. We got talking to one of our neighbours who was heading off to a bakery to buy a break making starter kit. He's got time on his hands and kneads to make some dough. That's a joke. We weren't laughing though when he talked about the mortgage protection we've been promised. He's an artist, maybe he has other sources of income too, I don't know, but his wife is in the arts too, and she's out of a gig for now. For a while. So he's making bread. And she's not. She's not the only one. More job layoffs today. Aer Lingus slicing its workforce for a while. Oh and more cases of Coronavirus. Another death too. Everyone's grounded.

Helen's started coughing. She's been sitting beside me while we work. Today was a busy day. Lots of calls, lots of dialling in and punching in your 9 digit code followed by the hash or pound sign. Busy, Busy. And then she's coughing. Maybe it's just a cough. A lot of coughing. The kind of cough that when someone suddenly gets in the first half of a movie means they won't be there at the end of the second. It's probably nothing. One hundred and ninety-one new cases today. Will she be one of the thousands expected in the next two weeks? Will I? I'm feeling fine, right now. Long may I run. You spend all your time thinking about staying well. Then you wonder what life will be like when this is all over. Will it be worth staying well for?

We're all starting to get in line with the whole distancing thing. Shops limiting entry, signs keeping us apart. People ordering bread on the phone and queuing up to get it the next day. Artisan sourdough, of course. We’re not barbarians! That’ll come. It’s wild though - things that were unthinkable two weeks ago are becoming very normal very quickly. Then, in the USA, spring breakers are partying on the beaches without a care in the world. And in the UK, the bars are still full. Or fullish. They'll get the message. Eventually.

I took a walk at lunchtime with the dog. Arlo, the currently bewildered dog, who comes to work with me every day and sleeps beside me is very confused indeed. I feel bad for him. Feel bad for everyone. As I wandered down the canal I was listening to Van Morrison. And I was thinking about my work chair. You know, the way you do. And then, as Van's latest record faded away, The Byrds started playing automatically:

Whoo-ee ride me high
Tomorrow's the day My bride's gonna come
Oh, oh, are we gonna fly
Down in the easy chair

'There you go'. I thought, 'everybody's just looking for an easy chair!'. I sang along with Roger McGuinn:

I don't care
How many letters they sent
The morning came and morning went
Pack up your money
And pick up your tent
You ain't goin' nowhere

I kept singing and then it hit me. You ain't goin' nowhere.

Ain't that the truth?