Saturday morning, 7.30 am. Melbourne Airport - Terminal Three. The place is not empty, but it's not busy either. There are no queues at the security. I'm through in two minutes. It feels like there are more screening staff on.
There are also a lot of people wearing masks. Material masks, paper masks, the occasional mask you wear when you're using painting, but masks are in abundance, not that you can buy a mask as the moment. I try not to laugh at the two older people in front of me whose masks make them look like a duck. Jay is a GP. She said her practice will be out of masks by the end of the week the way things are going. She's also in an age bracket where she won't see anybody presenting with what looks like COVID-19 - she says it's not worth the risk.
Boarding the plane 15 minutes later, the atmosphere was strange. The 8 AM Qantas flight to Sydney is normally packed. I take this flight regularly. Today, it was about 60% full. People tried not to sit next to each other.
Anybody who knows me knows I will have a lingering cough for half of the year. Thanks part to inheriting my mother's crappy lungs and part the luck of the draw, I cough and blow my nose a lot all year round. I'm not sick. I had a chest infection a fortnight ago. I went to the doctor, was told to suck on a Ventolin and take some antibiotics. I was cleared for Coronavirus then and there. But the cough, which is nearly better, still lingers. It's made worse by changing environments. Air conditioning sets me off too.
So I was something of a pariah on the flight. The woman who was sitting two seats away, after wiping down with antibacterial wipes, the tray table, arm rests, seat belts and anything else in arms reach, her phone, her hands, then demanded to be moved. Her prerogative.
A few minutes into the flight, the guy in front of me turned and asked me if I was sick. I assured him I wasn't (and I'm not - no fever, no sore throat and I feel really well - the cough is just me getting better, two weeks on). He didn't look convinced. I don't feel bad about travelling.
Sydney airport was also a bit of a dead zone - made worse by the lack of music in the departure hall. There's normally some gentle but daggy muzak going there - it was deadly silent today.
The train, again, normally busy, was carrying few people.
The hotel in which I'm staying, once again, normally heaving at about 10.30 am, was silent. The concierge looked like he was doing the crossword. There were fewer staff in the foyer.
Sydney feels strange. There are few people on the streets. Circular Quay train station
The streets are noticeably quieter - except if you are in a suburban shopping centre or at a supermarket. They appear to be in Christmas Eve on drugs mode.
Stopping in at the supermarket at Wyndham station to stock up on a few supplies (mainly tonic water - absolutely necessary) I went down the toilet paper aisle. There were two six packs of Quilton on the shelves. I took one of them. I'll bring it back from Sydney. There's room in my luggage. I'll give it away if anybody I know gets desperate. But I feel like I won the lottery.
Arriving in my hotel room, the first thing I did was wash my hands. Thoroughly - and with intent.
This is another behavioural change. In the public bathrooms, any public bathrooms, what used to be a cursory washing of the hands is now more akin to surgery preparation. Some sing under their breath to make the time - 20-30 seconds, go faster. For me, today's handwashing song is Elvis Costello's Oliver's Army. Two rounds of the chorus.
Oliver's Army is here to stay
Oliver's Army is on their way
And I would rather be anywhere else
Than here today...
These are strange times indeed.
Later in the afternoon, my friend and I were talking. We made the best of today, but both of us are exhausted by the constant news. I'm booked to come up next month - I don't know if we'll be in lockdown by then. There is know way of knowing what will happen.
My gut feeling will be that by the end of the week, schools will be shut for a few weeks, I'll be working from home full time and all but food shops, pharmacies and petrol stations will be closed. Travelling will not be an option for a while.
I hope they don't make it so they close down school. My Tuesday night class, with nine others. Talking about writing novels. It brings me joy. Maybe class could be held virtually? I don't want to think about it.
I hope we don't have to cancel book group on Wednesday.
I really hope they don't shut the gym down.
But you never know. For these are strange times
Today's Song:
There are also a lot of people wearing masks. Material masks, paper masks, the occasional mask you wear when you're using painting, but masks are in abundance, not that you can buy a mask as the moment. I try not to laugh at the two older people in front of me whose masks make them look like a duck. Jay is a GP. She said her practice will be out of masks by the end of the week the way things are going. She's also in an age bracket where she won't see anybody presenting with what looks like COVID-19 - she says it's not worth the risk.
Boarding the plane 15 minutes later, the atmosphere was strange. The 8 AM Qantas flight to Sydney is normally packed. I take this flight regularly. Today, it was about 60% full. People tried not to sit next to each other.
Anybody who knows me knows I will have a lingering cough for half of the year. Thanks part to inheriting my mother's crappy lungs and part the luck of the draw, I cough and blow my nose a lot all year round. I'm not sick. I had a chest infection a fortnight ago. I went to the doctor, was told to suck on a Ventolin and take some antibiotics. I was cleared for Coronavirus then and there. But the cough, which is nearly better, still lingers. It's made worse by changing environments. Air conditioning sets me off too.
So I was something of a pariah on the flight. The woman who was sitting two seats away, after wiping down with antibacterial wipes, the tray table, arm rests, seat belts and anything else in arms reach, her phone, her hands, then demanded to be moved. Her prerogative.
A few minutes into the flight, the guy in front of me turned and asked me if I was sick. I assured him I wasn't (and I'm not - no fever, no sore throat and I feel really well - the cough is just me getting better, two weeks on). He didn't look convinced. I don't feel bad about travelling.
Sydney airport was also a bit of a dead zone - made worse by the lack of music in the departure hall. There's normally some gentle but daggy muzak going there - it was deadly silent today.
The train, again, normally busy, was carrying few people.
The hotel in which I'm staying, once again, normally heaving at about 10.30 am, was silent. The concierge looked like he was doing the crossword. There were fewer staff in the foyer.
Sydney feels strange. There are few people on the streets. Circular Quay train station
The streets are noticeably quieter - except if you are in a suburban shopping centre or at a supermarket. They appear to be in Christmas Eve on drugs mode.
Stopping in at the supermarket at Wyndham station to stock up on a few supplies (mainly tonic water - absolutely necessary) I went down the toilet paper aisle. There were two six packs of Quilton on the shelves. I took one of them. I'll bring it back from Sydney. There's room in my luggage. I'll give it away if anybody I know gets desperate. But I feel like I won the lottery.
Arriving in my hotel room, the first thing I did was wash my hands. Thoroughly - and with intent.
This is another behavioural change. In the public bathrooms, any public bathrooms, what used to be a cursory washing of the hands is now more akin to surgery preparation. Some sing under their breath to make the time - 20-30 seconds, go faster. For me, today's handwashing song is Elvis Costello's Oliver's Army. Two rounds of the chorus.
Oliver's Army is here to stay
Oliver's Army is on their way
And I would rather be anywhere else
Than here today...
These are strange times indeed.
Later in the afternoon, my friend and I were talking. We made the best of today, but both of us are exhausted by the constant news. I'm booked to come up next month - I don't know if we'll be in lockdown by then. There is know way of knowing what will happen.
My gut feeling will be that by the end of the week, schools will be shut for a few weeks, I'll be working from home full time and all but food shops, pharmacies and petrol stations will be closed. Travelling will not be an option for a while.
I hope they don't make it so they close down school. My Tuesday night class, with nine others. Talking about writing novels. It brings me joy. Maybe class could be held virtually? I don't want to think about it.
I hope we don't have to cancel book group on Wednesday.
I really hope they don't shut the gym down.
But you never know. For these are strange times
Today's Song:
