Oh, great. A power cut. That’s all we need.
I’m slumped on the sofa watching The Great British Sewing Bee and, with a ‘whoomp’ sound, everything has gone dark. Well, not completely dark.
It’s not yet nine and outside the sun has set but the sky still has a cool blue glow after an ice clear, sunny day. The room has turned monochrome, with only the embers of the stove providing a reassuring glow. The house seems cotton wool quiet as we muster candles.
“Better keep the stove going,” my husband says, bending to the log basket with the sort of heroic intent that would have kept Shackleton’s men alive during all those months awaiting rescue in the Antarctic.
It’s daft, but every time we have a power cut, which is quite often here on the breezy Black Isle, my first instinct is to attempt to do things which require electricity. With no TV, I may as well put a wash on. The stair carpet looks atrocious by candlelight, I’ll run the hoover over it. Cup of tea, anyone? I’ll put the kett…
Everyone is running on empty
After a moderate hold, the electricity company answers the phone. Yes, there is a fault in our area. It has been identified and an engineer is on the way. Hopefully, we will have power restored by midnight. We are very grateful, for even though the candles and the revived stove cast a dreamy, golden light across our sitting room, we have nothing to do.
I know it’s part of their job but I dislike the idea of anyone having to do anything beyond the basics right now
We can’t read as our ageing eyes will throb, can’t have a sing-song round the piano because despite years of lessons undertaken by our children, we never bothered to learn how to play the thing ourselves. We could simply talk to each other, but after a year of lockdown we’re critically low on repartee. Or we could go to bed. Great idea! I’ll nip upstairs and switch on the electric blan…
It’s properly dark outside now. I stare out of the window into the old-fashioned blackness and think that out there, on a Friday night in lockdown, an engineer is saying goodnight to their family, climbing into a van and driving off to rejoin some wires for a bunch of strangers.
I know it’s part of their job but I dislike the idea of anyone having to do anything beyond the basics right now. The engineer will have been through the same amount of stress and uncertainty as all of us over the last 12 months. They may well be running on empty. I wish we’d gone to bed after all, instead of making the call and ruining someone’s Friday night.
Feigning normal life in a world that was anything but
A few days ago I was in the supermarket, blethering to my old schoolmate who was working the checkout. She’s a sweetheart who always has a nice word to say about my writing, so I asked her what sort of topics she’d like to see in the papers.
She swept an arm out wide: “It’s just… all of us in here,” she said, her voice catching.
“No one has said anything, and it’s been really hard.”
I remembered dreading trips to the supermarket at the height of lockdown last year. Queueing right around the car park, then inching round the store’s one-way system with my trolley, fearful of everyone, touching nothing I wasn’t going to buy, doing loops and extra laps to avoid logjams of shoppers. Terrified of contact, conflict, Covid.
I remembered watching the staff with admiration and pity, because I certainly didn’t want to be there one second longer than necessary. Back then, we didn’t know how hard the wave of Covid-19 was going to hit, or when, or where, or who among us might fall victim. We were prey.
Yet supermarket staff went in and did their jobs every day, just like butchers, ironmongers, bus drivers, electricity engineers and countless others, feigning normal life in a world that was anything but.
We should still say thank you
I don’t think my friend wants us to stand on our doorsteps and clap. That moment has passed. We’re too tired for gestures and too keen to put all this behind us. Even so, I believe many, many people are deeply scarred by what they have gone through – and are still going through – even those who have escaped Covid. They will take a long time to recover.
With a ‘pop’, the lights are back on – an hour earlier than promised. Thank you, engineer. Thank you, everyone who has worked through the pandemic to keep everyday life rolling on.
Erica Munro is a novelist, playwright, screenwriter and freelance editor