A dose of fresh air and culture can really do wonders for blowing away the Covid-19 cobwebs

I know many aren’t in such a privileged position, writes Jenny Eclair, but don’t we all need a break from this?

The Hepworth Wakefield (Getty)

Being a firm believer in the Samuel Johnson “Tired of London, tired of life” quote, I never thought I’d ever hear myself say that my love affair with London was on the rocks. However, Covid-19 has diminished my beloved capital city into a dreary shadow of her former showy off self and sometimes its unbearable to see her looking so friendless and dowdy. 

Of course there are perks to an empty city – parking in town has become possible for the first time in more than 20 years, but the sight of all the vacant shops and dark theatre spaces is unbearably depressing. Walking through Covent Garden feels like being in the opening sequence of one of those horrible movies that I avoid watching in the cinema, never mind wanting to experience in real life. 

So last weekend we swapped southeast London for somewhere 200 miles away. The Calder Valley, in West Yorkshire, is a place I’d never really heard of, although I’d seen its dramatic landscapes on Happy Valley, the TV drama with Sarah Lancashire that we all went bonkers over a few of years ago. 

Now, apologies to the anti-car brigade here, but I’ve never felt so fortunate to have working wheels in the family (my partner’s, not mine. My car stopped working back in April) because at a time when even government ministers are jumping on trains knowing full well that they are coronavirus positive, I’ve never felt more grateful for something that will transport the two of us from A to B in a virus-free environment. 

And yes I know a bike can do that, but I can’t cycle 200 miles with a suitcase. Being Covid-phobic, I’m also glad of the recent boom in brilliant Airbnb accommodation around the country; hotels are great but I’m not keen on sharing communal spaces with strangers at the moment, and let’s face it… during belt-tightening times, they remain in the “very special treat” category. 

We found a perfect white-washed cottage for a hundred quid a night, cheaper options are available, but for us it was idyllic, set amongst a big green hilly backdrop. It was a joy to look out of the window and see trees and sky rather than semi-empty big red London buses ferrying anxious-looking masked commuters to jobs they aren’t able to do at home. 

In the past I’ve always thought that self-catering holidays rather missed the point of being on “holiday”, considering you end up doing all the same stuff you do at home but with different pots and pans, whoop! 

But after so many months of being stuck in my own house, with my own things, it was a novelty to use an alternative set of kitchen paraphernalia  and, weirdly, I really enjoyed seeing my cooking on a fresh set of plates and eating with unfamiliar knives and forks. I liked sitting in a different bath, facing a wall I don’t normally face and using towels that weren’t the same colour as those we use at home. 

The cottage where we stayed sat happily within driving distance of the Northern trinity of art galleries, Salt Mills, The Hepworth Wakefield Museum and The Yorkshire Sculpture Park. All of which are open and operating with the usual Covid-19 restrictions. Booking is required at the Hepworth and the Sculpture Park. All three merited the trip alone, and whilst it might not be Rome or Venice, Yorkshire really packs a punch when it comes to showing off some of our finest homegrown talent, alongside other artists from around the world.

Henry Moore’s sculptures, relaxing on the ground of the Yorkshire sculpture park, look like they have been there forever, and I can’t think of another art space where your walk takes you close up and personal with lakeside highland cattle. Meanwhile, over at Saltaire, the Salt Mills David Hockney gallery and emporium can feel a little like a massive gift shop but is saved by the sheer number of Hockney originals to gawp over, plus their cafe is beautifully socially distanced and the lavatories are as clean as operating theatres. 

My favourite, however, was the extraordinary canalside Hepworth Wakefield, bang slap in the middle of the city, where once upon another lifetime I filmed a mightily unsuccessful sitcom with Frank Skinner called Packet of Three. This is the perfect mini gallery, without a dud piece in the place, on the downside the cafe was closed but the shop was open and full of excellent goodies. 

Returning to London full of fresh air and culture, I expected to feel the usual thrill of seeing the familiar lights of the city but with Vauxhall Bridge being shut it took more than two hours to cross the river. While we sat in furious traffic, I couldn’t help wonder how a city could be deserted and yet gridlocked at the same time? 

London, I really love you, but I can’t wait for you to get better because sometimes, these days, it’s hard to feel like it’s worth coming back.