6 Ways British People Ruined My Lockdown

Sure, people wearing masks under their noses is ridiculous. But, there was nothing more annoying than hordes of families acting like Joe Wickes was the first person in history ever to do a remote gym session.

By acting like video conferencing was a brand-new invention

It’s April 2020, and you’re calling a friend. You suggest that you both have a Skype call, and silence descends. “Skype?” A timid voice whispers. “It’s a video conferencing tool,” you say proudly, “I use it for work.” You hear a short, sharp gasp on the phone. “But how do you use it?!” They cry.

Both Zoom and Skype have existed for a while, more specifically, nine and seventeen years. How did people think businesses were run? How do they think people working remotely communicated? At its peak in 2020, Zoom went from 10m daily users to 300m. Cries of “we’ll have a Zoom catch up” were heard, muffled under handmade Etsy masks in local shops. Alas, catch-up they would not, as they were always stuck on mute.

By seeking validation and showcasing smugness

Celebrities were talking frankly about how difficult the lockdown had been for them and how it’s made them appreciate the small things in life whilst sitting on plush leather sofas in their mid-century seven bedroomed second homes in Cambridgeshire. No, Ella, you have not had the chance to be at one with nature. It’s just that the rest of your house is so sickly, you’ve had to start taking your self-timed “candids” in your acreage.

The over the top fancy dress quizzes that could have stayed between a group of friends but found their way onto Instagram and Facebook. Even when we had to isolate ourselves from everyone, we still found a way to make sure everyone knew we were doing just that.

By incessantly baking bread

Aside from the question of why everyone’s minds went straight to banana bread, which clearly has more of a cult following than I had given it credit for, why did people insist on posting photos of their efforts everywhere? Two, three, four attempts at pastry. “My last attempt now, I know I am no Mary Berry.’

How many versions of an olive loaf do I have to bear witness to? You always burn the edges, Janet. You have the last four times you have made this. No, it won’t matter if you add a bit less flour next time. There won’t be the next time, because you bought all the flour.

By pretending to be keeping fit

Joe Wicks wanted to take his PE lessons online and do some basic activity for kids to do his part to make sure they didn’t turn into bedroom-dwelling screen goblins with controller shaped claws for hands. What happened was that he did one or two lessons, and then the middle-aged women decided he was a fine-looking gent. The pervert parade then preceded to sit with glasses of red and gawp, kicking their stupid, good-for-nothing screen goblins in the face if they wandered near the living room. Joe Wicks time was their time, and no kids were going to ruin that.

Everyone bought gym equipment. Propaganda for working out was everywhere, usually showing a total of zero fat people. We found that working out was good for us, in the morning anyway. But by lunchtime, we would be hankering for “something sweet,” and by 4 pm, we’d pre-ordered a Chinese to take the edge off staying at home.

Rumour has it, Joe is enormous now. He spends his time watching Homes Under The Hammer with a Big Mac, yearning for his lockdown heyday. Even his mum cannot get him off the couch.

By constantly being told what an uncertain and difficult time it is

Some days I would wake up a little bit positive during the lockdown. I would make myself a cuppa and sit down in front of my laptop, deliberately ignoring the early morning news cycle. I would open Outlook, and there it would be, just waiting like a wordy dementor.

“Good morning. I hope you are keeping safe in these strange and uncertain times.”

Did I miss a memo or something? Were people commissioned to say this? Feel free to replace either of the words with “trying”, “testing”, “difficult”, or “scary”, because you get the same damn result.

Then the adverts chimed in, and the overly sentimental lockdown messages came in thick and fast. We knew Virgin Media didn’t care if we stayed home and stayed safe; they just wanted us to stay connected on video calls. We can see right through you, Branson.

Speaking of which, you should watch the new Branston pickle advert. It is so good I might write about it.

By faking togetherness

It started when a sweet old veteran started doing laps of his little garden to raise money for a service that should not be on its knees. Boris Johnson gave Sir Tom Moore a special nomination for his knighthood, saying that Tom has “provided the country with a beacon of light,” leaving us wondering why it was dark in the first place.

I read that community spirit is giving way to compassion fatigue, which is a pretty bleak sentence, although not totally shocking. The article said that a surge in public generosity at the beginning of the crisis is now declining as lockdowns end. Presumably, it’s because people are knackered and don’t have jobs anymore, but hey, I’m no expert.

The show of togetherness did last a short while, like the honeymoon phase of a relationship or a tasty meal, before you realised you’ve over faced yourself. But within a matter of weeks, you’re clapping on your doorstep, scowling at the no-show neighbours doors, and wandering around Sainsbury’s sizing up that old bloke with the last packet of loo roll.