May or maybe not. That is the question why.

May or maybe not. That is the question why.

We have now reached a very advanced point of the coronavirus pandemic. We are still nervous, still anxious, still limited and still prevented from doing the kind of things we may have thought nothing about doing in the wider scheme of things. We'd have woken up in the morning, brushed our teeth, had a wash, shower, wolfed down our breakfast, rushed out of the front door, briefcase or bag in hand, school satchel slung over our shoulders, car ready for action, bus to be caught and train to be squeezed into because we just couldn't afford to wait for the next one.

The world is still chained down, almost seemingly gagged at the moment by a sea of light blue masks and everything has been brought to a juddering halt. The world is just a mass of metal shutters over once prosperous shops, people standing in positions that would otherwise have been considered as unnatural and abnormal while the rest of society goes about its business as if time had paled into utter insignificance.

Earlier on this week some of us had genuinely thought we'd missed a day but we hadn't so we just laughed at the absurdity of this brief lapse in memory. Wednesday felt as though it had skipped a day and although Friday now feels just about right, these are the kind of mental aberrations you could have done without. Still we're literally a day away from the weekend which is neither nor there since all the days seem to be crashing into each other and the whole schedule of our lives has somehow assumed an entirely new dimension.

But hey let's enjoy this unique period in our lives because hopefully it may never come around again and besides we do need that vital human interaction sooner rather than later. At some point though, we will smile at each other again, we will play and watch sport, revelling in wonder at art, playing those longed for games of tennis and cricket that summer is always synonymous with. When we're released by these stifling constraints we may even feel like turning the music up full blast, holding a family barbecue that lasts for the rest of the year and then hurling ourselves into the local swimming pool if only because we just want to be free, wallowing in that wonderful moment of liberation, luxury and glorious recreation.

For a while the world has completely forgotten about the troubles that used to weigh down on us for so long. At the beginning of the year we were still agonising and gnashing our teeth over that very delicate subject known as Brexit. Much to the pleasure of those of us who just wanted to just get out of the European Union we did so and now it would just be a case of plain sailing. Britain could finally look across the rest of the globe and embrace life changing trading relations. Good stuff, hey? What could be better? Then February quietly passed without incident and the year was rich with amazing potentialities, boundless possibilities and a rainbow at the end of it all.

Suddenly, March came along and just put a dampener on everything. In fact the year, or so it would seem, has been ruined, nay less scuppered by the most calamitous disease. It is the most appalling contagion ever to confront the human race since the Spanish flu epidemic of 1918 and the Black Death many centuries ago. We have fallen foul of some illness over which none of us can really get our heads around.

On reflection now it hardly seems possible that 2020 has actually got going at all. All of those sporting events we followed were banished to the back of our mind, the movies we might have been anticipating with bated breath were now frustratingly hidden away from view, the musicals in theatres that had so positively mesmerised us were now just memories and the restaurants we'd gathered at for lavish dinners or lunch were just a culinary fantasy.

Of course we miss the simple pleasures of life because we could never have foreseen this happening. The pubs are now shut for whenever the time is right for them to open again. That means we can't socialise amiably with family and friends over a pint, we can't put the world to rights and we've been deprived of the right to speak our minds, conversations and discussions now some gentle whisper behind closed doors.

This week though saw a slight relaxation of the Covid 19 laws and for one brilliant moment it really looked as though things were indeed not quite so dreary and bleak as they might have been. On Wednesday we all headed perhaps simultaneously to Homebase and a million garden centres with their vast expanse of flora and fauna, potted plants and a birthday present for your much loved auntie, uncle or cousin.

Then Boris Johnson innocently encouraged people to go back to work and all hell broke loose. Or so it seemed at the time. Therein lies a statement loaded with contradictions. If you were a builder then this was the ultimate green light. But perhaps Boris hadn't bargained for the hundreds and thousands who chose to pack the trains without for a moment thinking about the general inconvenience it would cause. It didn't really look like the best idea if only because that part of the working population were quite literally rubbing shoulders and armpits with each other. Oh for the joys of social distancing.

Inevitably huge swathes of humanity flooded out of the train carriages as if it were just another working day. In other words Johnson had told Britain to go back work but wasn't quite sure about or conscious of the farcical repercussions of that plea from the heart. You were at perfect liberty to still stay at home if you wanted to but you had the option of changing your mind if you'd felt so inclined.

Now then we could finally dash out into our local parks and sit down on park benches. Whoopee! That represented real progress since the said benches were heavily infected which really does sound bizarre but you've got to be careful. We were also given permission to play sport but only with our mates or those you live with at home. Now we really are in cuckoo land or maybe not. And finally Boris also allowed us to stay all day in our parks and gardens because they were both safe. The plot thickens.

Always mindful of social distancing, we were also relieved to hear that we could visit our parents and grandparents but only at a neutral venue. This is the point when things really become sensationally funny. You can meet up with your grandparents and you can have a natter with Aunt Flo or Uncle Tom as long as they're in Greenwich and you're in Tonbridge Wells. Not that far apart if you think about it. Kent and South London are no great distance surely.

The sight of grandparents standing quite literally, in different postcodes to each other is almost beyond parody. Then there are the tiny tots blowing kisses to their loved ones on window panes, undoubtedly the most touching image of the year. Families have now been pushed farther and farther apart and geography now sounds like some essential school subject but only if you wanted to be a weather forecaster after leaving school. The world is still spinning but there are those who may well be suffering from vertigo.

There is a sense now that we are now living in our own private bubble, goldfishes in a bowl who frequently come up for air but haven't a clue what to do next. We are now cloistered, befuddled, not exactly imprisoned as such because we can get out. And yet we have been shut down, caught in a complex muddle, perhaps now absent minded and trying desperately to remember what it was like in January and February. Forgetfulness though is forgivable because time has now taken the year off.

Here we are in the middle of May and what should be a time for looking forward has now slid backwards into some mystical land where everybody stares out you blankly. Those music aficionados who were pinning their hopes on another triumphant Glastonbury or any music festival may have to get used to nothing at all. Wimbledon is strictly off limits because we know how those strawberries and cream folks love to share a bottle of Pimms on that ivy clad terrace and the Tokyo Olympics, that wondrous festival of sport, has now been postponed until next year. It would be easy to cry bitter tears but that's pretty much the way of things. Until we all hear differently.

Even the Chelsea Flower Show, that floral paradise for those who like to show off their verdant gardens, will have to take a back seat because tourists do love to flock to this annual show of regal roses, tinkling Japanese gardens and those splendid water features. Summer may be beckoning us but daily life must feel like a permanent winter now. Of course we've got each other and this should never be overlooked but when they do give us the green light to get out there, maybe it'll give us the time to express our appreciation for the here and now, the present. How did the song go? If you don't have a dream.