‘You’re the best thing I’ve seen all day,’ I said to the man in the ice cream van, back in his usual spot just opposite Saint Agnes Church next to Kennington Park. I couldn’t actually see him I must admit but I assumed he was there behind the plastic screen, and, because he called me Father, even though I wasn’t wearing a clerical collar, I assumed he was the same man who is usually there. Each summer we chat when I go past the van on my way back from mass.

It was very good to see him and the return of the ice cream van as a small sign of a social normality that doesn’t exist. I bought an ice cream, single whip, and he tried not to let me pay but I insisted and eventually I accepted a 50p discount.  For me it was a very good meeting. The return of a small bit of humanity.

I had spoken to friends and family on the telephone during the day some upbeat some downbeat but for me telephone calls, zooming, streaming, be it what you will is simply not the same as being together even through the plastic shield of an ice cream van. And church zooming or streaming for worship when everything seems to be focused on the other people and the word alone doesn’t do it for me either.

The news on my iPad, radio and tv and I gather in the newspapers, none of which I get, is full of Dominic Cummings, a Ministerial Advisor who may or may not have broken Lockdown rules. As if it is really about that! I don’t think so. It’s another small sign of a normality- a pathetic, in my opinion, political normality about some politicians sniping at each other and the media loving it.

It seems Mr Cummings is a hate figure for one political side in the same way that in the Jeremy Corbyn days Seamus Milne was a hate figure for the other side. I suppose we are influenced by what these people do. Or is it that their behaviour gives us an excuse, often after we’ve done it, along the lines of, ‘if he or she can do it why can’t I.’ Surely that’s rather sad reasoning. Sorry, I see in a news flash he’s not a Ministerial  Advisor he’s a ‘Key Aide’.

But there must be something as well as the ice cream van that brightened the day. I had sardines on toast for lunch which were ok but not my usual for Sunday lunch. Proper Sunday lunch is free range chicken from the Saturday Farmers’ Market at the Oval or lamb, leg or shoulder, from the same market, and company. The market is closed now.

I noticed, on my walk, 5,220 steps, four kilometres, a sticker on a number of the lamp posts I passed. ‘Make the rich pay for Covid – 19’. Wishful thinking on someone’s part. It is the poor, not only here but across the world, who are paying already and who will continue to pay proportionally far more than the rich.

But there has been something. Some friends sent me an email link to the Blog of the art lecturer, writer, teacher, Richard Stemp. He, I gather, has been writing something about a great painting every day during Lockdown. Today it was Day 67 – Psyche VII:  ‘Celebration!’ It is wonderful stuff and it has certainly brightened my day. Look up drrichardstemp.com

After my last update some of my close friends were concerned that I was depressed and contacted me. One sent me a text message, 
‘your letter is very sad. Hope your ok?’ I sent back, 
‘It’s not meant to be! Did I send the wrong one!!!  
‘No. It would probably be better if you delivered it allowed.’
When the penny dropped, I sent back,
‘I couldn’t think what you meant. I think you mean aloud!’
‘Sorry. You know my spelling.’
I didn’t but I do now. And I’m not especially depressed. And these are dark times for people who enjoy human company and are on their own. But there’s something else.

The spoken word can be given a dramatically different meaning by tone or inflexion or gesture to the written word which can lie on the page without warmth or humour or, of course, sadness or despair. The written word too allows the imagination of the reader to take flight in a way that the spoken word, I think. can be more definitive.

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‘I am so frightened of this disease. Here I am in the prime of my life with so much to look forward to,’ the aunt of a friend of mine has just announced. It’s typical. She has never been frightened of anything in her life and she will be one hundred and two years old in September.  She made the announcement to her carer. She is also, typically, perfectly ready to die. That’s the way to do it.

When I was first working in Singapore a wonderful elderly Chinese parishioner, Mrs Lim Wah Aun took me to Sago Lane. Sago Lane was a street of undertakers, coffin makers, shops which sold funeral garments, joss sticks, paper houses, clothes, cars everything you needed for a funeral. Mrs Lim pointed out the coffins which looked like wonderful wooden boats and, she said, I should never write or sign my name with red ink as, I think, the names on coffins were always written in red or certainly something to do with death was always written in red. I still don’t like to use red ink to sign anything.

Also in Sago Lane were Death Houses. These were houses where poorer families would bring elderly relatives to die knowing that there they would receive all the care and the rituals in preparation for death and after death which they couldn’t afford to give them at home. The rooms were very simple with wooden planks for beds. Those who were there and could understand knew why they were there. Sago Lane was not strange or a street of fear. It was a street of shophouses where families lived above or behind the shops. The Death Houses were also shop houses with families living alongside and caring for the dying. I’ve no doubt some were better than others.

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When I first wrote my last ‘update’ I included a paragraph about spiritual health and then took it out. I thought it was a bit too religious. But I’ve now decided to go the whole hog!

I can still remember, just, some of my Confirmation classes from school. Confirmation is that later part of Christian Initiation when, as an ‘adult’ – we were thirteen or fourteen – you are confirmed in the faith and take on yourself the promises your Godparents made when you were Christened. At Christ’s College, in those days, you were Confirmed in your second year. 

It was part of what you did, like cricket in summer, and rugby in winter – both compulsory. It was taken for granted. Some parents assumed Confirmation was included in the school fees. You didn’t get Confirmed if you were Jewish like my contemporary Ollie Nathan who also didn’t have to come to compulsory singing practice in the chapel on Saturday mornings but did have to go to the Synagogue instead.

You must have been able to get off being Confirmed if you were Roman Catholic but generally you just were – Confirmed that is. It was a Church of England School – in New Zealand. There were no Muslims at College in those days. I guess you could get off compulsory cricket or rugby if you had a doctor’s note but I never heard of anyone managing that – not long term anyway.

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There are two dangers under Lockdown. Well, there are far more than two and I suppose number one danger is that you might catch the virus and that’s always a possibility with panting joggers and runners coming up behind you when you’re on a healthy brisk walk. But leave that to one side. The two dangers for me are being bored and being irritated. Saturday is a dangerous day for me for being irritable especially if I’ve forgotten its Saturday and one of the difficulties these days is remembering which day it is.

My routine on waking up in the morning is to turn on the radio. It’s already set on BBC Radio 3. The problem on Saturdays is that the presenter has a strong regional accent and I cannot understand much of what she’s saying. The other problem is she tells me, frequently, that the next piece of music is ‘gorgeous’. Well it may be, for her, but I would like to make up my own mind over the gorgeousness or not of the piece of music. I’m sure the presenter is a very nice person but if I forget its Saturday and turn on radio 3 when I first wake up I start the day irritated.

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