Peter Fortune's Ramblings: When this is all over

I think I was dimly aware of it in mid-to-late February but it wasn’t until I landed in Africa on March 6th that I fully appreciated the scale of what was coming. I was standing in a long queue trying, with my broken French, to request a ‘Health Form’. We had been instructed to fill one of these in before we reached Passport Control but they had run out of blank forms on the aircraft so I needed to get one from an official. As me, and many other travellers with much better language skills than I, attempted to acquire the necessary paperwork before we reached the Immigration desk, I became aware of a certain…panic. I’d left Gatwick a few hours earlier and everything had seemed relatively normal. I’d overpaid for a meal, had an alcoholic beverage far too early in the day and barely retained my vision battling through the duty-free perfume display where they seemed entirely eager to smother me in expensively scented particulates.

But here, at the airport in Marrakesh, there was a far more clinical feel. Everything was being wiped down, we were kept in strictly managed lines and, for the first time, I saw officials wearing face masks. This all seems so normal now but it was almost unthinkable seven weeks ago. Having collected and filled in a ‘Health Form’ I handed it over to the chap at passport control. I knew what was coming. As he ran his eyes over the form he reached the section where it asks, ‘Any recent travel to China?’ I had, because I’m a terribly honest sort of fellow, scrawled ‘Yes’. This was on account of having indeed recently travelled to China. He stared at me with an expression I’m sure Typhoid Mary must have been familiar with from job interviews. I stared back blankly and innocently, the way one does when faced with discretionary power. All the while I was trying to repress a cough I could feel determinedly scrabbling its way up my larynx. Perhaps it was a lingering response to the Calvin Klein/Dior for Men gassing I had received earlier that day. But I suspect it was probably my irresponsible dark-psyche trying to get me into trouble again. What I call my ‘inner-Pete’.

The immigration officer quickly flipped through my passport to find the Chinese visa stamped therein. (On a side note, I have always wondered why they don’t stamp these pages in order. It would seem to make their and their colleagues’ lives easier were there to be some sort of sequential order to the stamping. Perhaps I’ll write a letter on the subject.) He seemed both pleased and baffled to find it and resumed staring at me.

I’m afraid this little anecdote gets no more exciting than this. My Chinese travel had been in October and, after explaining that that was outside of the restricted period, I was allowed in to the country with no issues at all. My meetings went well and if you get a chance to visit then do.

My point is that it was the first time I had felt that something was different due to the virus. The first time I felt a collective concern that something was wrong.

The change in the way the world operates, within two short months, has been extraordinary. The response from Key Workers has been written about elsewhere - and far more eloquently than I can ever achieve - but it would be remiss of me not to take this opportunity to express just how jaw-droppingly astonishing they have been.

But what troubles me is…what’s next? What will the world look like afterwards? Will we all simply revert back to the way we worked, travelled and socialised? I keep hearing the phrase, ‘when this is all over.’ ‘We’ll meet up for a drink,’ says an old chum via WhatsApp, ‘when this is all over’. Or, from work, ‘We’ll move forward with phase four of the restructure,’ informs a glitching figure in front of the only book shelf she has in the house, ‘when this is all over.’ ‘When this is all over,’ my children instruct me, ‘we’ll go to Disneyland.’

But what will happen when this is ‘all over’? What will the new-normal look like? I can’t quite picture a scene were, perhaps on a distant Wednesday morning some Government bod, flanked by scientists, steps forward to the official dais and says, ‘Tally-Ho folks, great news, it’s all over so back to normal. Last one to the bar is a massive Womble.’ At which point they all high-five and leg it to ‘go-Nando’s’.

Surely there will be some sort of phased approach and, I would imagine, it’ll be a world where we are a lot less tactile. The fear will linger long after and I’m sure facemasks and gloves will be around for some time. My wife (who I have gushed about in these columns previously) is a teacher and has attended school on some days to help Key Worker children. She told me a sad tale of one of the younglings who, on seeing her at school, raced up to give her a cuddle. Mrs F told me how the child, no more than five years old, slammed on the brakes just before reaching her and said, ‘we shouldn’t because of the virus.’ [Insert sad face here]. ‘It makes you realise,’ said the wise and learned Mrs F, ‘how much you take for granted.’

She is, as ever, absolutely right. ‘When this is all over’ I’ve made a little mind-note not to take things for granted. In a world where the thought of getting the car cleaned excites me beyond imagination I’m going to make sure that, when this is all over, I’ll appreciate everything as much as I can. Be not surprised my dear friends if, when we meet again, I greet you with a massive bear hug, point with excited gratitude at traffic wardens or purchase more than three items of anything. I’ll even cover myself in duty-free perfume each time I visit the airport. I’ll visit my mother, go to dinner with friends and take long walks in the country without feeling like I’ve skipped bail.

And I’ll make sure that the phrase, ‘when this is all over’ is not replaced with my previous favourite…’if only I had the time.’