I’ve just had my second pandemic birthday – here’s what I’ve learnt over the past 12 months

Last year, my birthday marked both my 60th year, and the day the country began to close down due to Covid-19, writes Jenny Eclair. Now I’m 61 and have a managed a whole year without tasting banana bread

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Last year, my birthday marked both my 60th year and the day the country began to close down due to Covid-19. Boris Johnson made a speech advising against all “unnecessary contact” – a move that was unprecedented since the Second World War. It was also the night when the lights went out in the West End, and everything else followed in pretty quick succession.

I’m 61, now. The last show I saw, pre-lockdown, was “Musik” – the Pet Shop Boys musical, starring the phenomenal Frances Barber. I went with my old tour manager – after the show, we went out for dinner to discuss my upcoming new stand up tour “Sixty! (FFS)” which was due to start in the autumn. I remember complaining about being served sauvignon blanc, instead of the chardonnay that I’d ordered.

A year on, with the tour postponed to autumn 2021, what have I learnt over these weirdly fleeting – yet torturously slow – 12 months? Well, for starters, I haven’t given up the chardonnay habit. Congratulations to anyone who has managed a dry plague year, because I certainly haven’t – though in my defence, it’s been a very long time since I had a hangover (I think the last one was back in December, when a particularly moreish bottle of port arrived for Christmas).

Possibly the bitterest pill we’ve all had to swallow since March 2020 is that a pandemic isn’t just for two weeks. Most of us realise now that the repercussions of this virus are going to last for decades – and as a result, we’ve had to adapt to survive.

Like millions of freelancers, I’ve had to embrace all the usual Covid-era technology and switch as much of my work as possible onto Zoom, and other previously-unknown recording channels. These days, I plug my mic and headphones into my computer like a seasoned pro – after all, needs must; and the idea now of schlepping into town for “talks” and “meetings” seems faintly absurd. Not only would you have to get dressed to leave the house, but have you seen the price of a takeaway coffee, recently?

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My purse strings have tightened considerably over the past 12 months and if we do ever get out of this, I expect the cries of “How much?” to resound up and down the country, as people reacquaint themselves with the reality of eating out again.

Yes, on the one hand it’s great, shiny glasses, not your own plates, but blimey, it’s not cheap! The pandemic has brought out my northern parsimonious streak, I’m very pleased to report. That said, I’ve also discovered that some of my penny-pinching ideas turned out to be a complete waste of time.

Take, for instance, the “rescue veg box”: a weekly delivery of supermarket reject fruit and veg, that I enthused about so much last year – and recently ditched. The veg was causing me too much guilt – even though I cut the supply down to once a fortnight, I was still haunted by the prospect of wasting any precious produce. At night, I’d lie awake thinking about that massive celeriac in the cupboard; and by day, I’d be forced into making terrible, tasteless soups that created fabric-scorching wind.

The veg box is a thing of the past, now; and my salad tray is no longer deep in mulch – phew.

I’ve learnt from experience that you need fresh air, even though it can get quite boring trudging the same old routes. Turns out, familiarity really does breed contempt – as far as pounding the streets goes, anyway.

But while there are many occasions when I’d rather raise my step count walking around Tate Britain; I’m still eternally grateful to the Victorian town planners who realised Londoners might need some green space. We do – nature is amazing. The magnolia is out right now; in a couple of months it will be the rhododendron’s turn. I never used to know these things, maybe lockdown has made me more observant? I mean – these days, I take selfies with trees!

Another massive pandemic lesson has been to appreciate the value of “the hobby”. I’m lucky: my age excuses many pastimes that might prove embarrassing for younger folk (that’s right, I’m talking about jigsaw puzzles). God, jigsaws are great. We do thousand-piece puzzles on what used to be a dining table, while listening to audiobooks. That’s another lesson this pandemic has taught me – how comforting a talking book can be. When the 3am horrors get too much, Audible fills that silent space where the fear grows – and takes me somewhere safer.

The old man and I have also been gulping down Agatha Christies – weirdly, there is something very reassuring about an old-fashioned fictional murder, preferably in a village where everything still stops for afternoon tea, and everyone plays Mahjong.

Other things I’ve learnt from a year in lockdown since my last birthday: clean sheets feel like a night in a posh hotel; 10,000 steps takes forever; telly is great/jogging is awful – and it’s quite possible to survive a year in and out of lockdown without once making or even tasting, a single slice of banana bread.

Onwards, everyone.