My first post-lockdown outing was going so well – and then this happened

It’s been a week since England began to tip-toe out of lockdown two or is it three? Who cares, the entire lockdown franchise, unlike Toy Story, is exceedingly dull.

Typically, on 12 April, as I predicted in a psychic tweet posted a year ago, the day dawned with some pretty inclement weather, featuring snow in many counties up and down the land. Go us, this was such a typically English thing to happen, it really made me laugh.

Regardless of the conditions, some people couldn’t wait to get out of the house. Driving through central London, I noticed queues outside Primark on Oxford Street, while closer to home, the streets of East Dulwich were less frenetic but still pleasingly atmospheric. The nicky-nacky-noo shops were open and in a fit of optimism and well-being, I bought some fresh flowers, breathing in deeply the scent of blue hyacinths.

Oh, and apparently the gym had opened its doors. Yes, well, that can wait. While I’d love to book in a swim, I’m not yet ready to share sweat with strangers quite yet. Like a lot of middle-aged neurotics, there are some things I’m not prepared to do until I’m safely double jabbed, which is why I’m yet to use the over-60s travel pass which has lain dormant in my purse since March 2020.

For many people, their first post 12 April priority was grooming and a wardrobe update. Sadly, I’m still on a waiting list for my hairdresser and won’t get “done” until the end of the month. As for the other stuff, personally, I attend to my own whiskers and nails, always have, always will. I was brought up by a northern mother who instilled in me a life-long distrust of beauty treatments, to the point where the word “pamper” sends a deep shudder down my spine.

The idea of flocking to the shops to buy new clothes didn’t even cross my mind, because until my income picks up, any unnecessary extravagant purchases are off-limits. For the time being, those with proper jobs and salaried incomes are going to have to fuel the fashion industry, while we freelancers may need a little longer before we start splurging.

As for sitting outside in order to drink alcohol, no way. I dislike pubs at the best of times, mostly because as a 60-year-old woman, I struggle to get served by staff who can’t imagine why I should require a nice glass of chilled Chardonnay when surely I should be at home worming the dog? I am more than happy to continue drinking at home, where I can be as fussy as I like about the quality of grape and the shape of glass I drink out of. Yes, I’m a nightmare, but at least I have the decency to be a nightmare mostly behind closed doors.

My choice of first post lockdown treat therefore was a visit to an exhibition at The White Cube in Bermondsey, a small, much-loved art gallery not far from home. Precisely three other people shared our pre-booked lunchtime 30-minute browsing slot, each individual footstep echoing around the shiny polished concrete floors. We couldn’t have been safer, though in accordance with government guidelines, the loos were shut. This annoyed me slightly. We can’t have people leaving their homes unless there is somewhere for them to relieve themselves. It’s asking for local backstreets to become dumping grounds, literally. Not everyone has a cast-iron bladder or bowel and for many people this is a deal breaker, so possibly it’s best to check before you set off.

While it was great to be back in a gallery, the exhibition, which featured two unfamiliar artists, was subtle to the point of being a tad underwhelming. I don’t know what I was expecting? I think I wanted to be completely blown away, moved to tears, invigorated, shocked and even awed. I was asking for the impossible.

Being slightly disappointed in your first post-lockdown experience is possibly something many of us are sharing. We’ve been waiting so long, our expectations are impossibly high, but in reality, your hairdresser can’t work miracles, that perfect dress/top/pair of shoes remains elusive, your outdoor pub drinks bench is covered in bird s*** and the mates you’ve been desperate to meet up with are a tiny bit annoying, especially after that second drink. Such is life.

Nevertheless, just being out and about in a different area of London was enormously satisfying and the sights and sounds out on the street were as interesting as anything the gallery had to offer, even if most of it came in the guise of stunningly filled sandwiches and fancy buns in various shop windows. Food is affordable art, so we bought some and ate it. Across the road, a flower stall was selling yellow pepper plants and a miniature schnauzer sniffed our ankles.

Coming out, we decided, was great, but right now we needed to go home because one of us needed the bathroom, quite urgently.