Boyfriend, flatmates, then alone: I’ve spent every lockdown in a different home – here’s what I’ve learnt

‘It wasn’t long before we were all spending evenings locked in our respective rooms, waiting for one person to finish cooking their dinner so the other could take control of the kitchen,’ writes Olivia Petter

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I will never forget the day that Boris Johnson announced the UK would be going into lockdown in March 2020. I was in the check-in queue at Cancun airport, where I was due to fly back to London. It was a surreal experience, to say the least: listening to the prime minister’s speech, rendered patchy by the airport’s free Wifi, and recounting the details to fellow Brits, all of whom were, like me, anxiously anticipating what awaited us at home. Would we be tested for coronavirus on arrival? Would we catch it on the plane? Would we be able to buy paracetamol at Heathrow? The only thing I knew was that I wouldn’t be going home.

Before my departure, my housemates had (understandably) said they felt uncomfortable with me returning to live with them after spending two weeks abroad. Given that I had travelled with my partner, they suggested it might make more sense for me to move in with him and his housemate for a while, as it would put fewer people at risk. So that’s what I did – and it’s the start of how I came to spend each of the three lockdowns in different homes. I didn’t break any rules – I swear – but I’m well aware that spending each in a different environment is an unusual experience, particularly for a period characterised explicitly by the need to stay at home. And it’s an experience that has taught me a lot, not least because each lockdown has been accompanied by its own idiosyncrasies, from the cultural obsessions to the baking fads, that reflected the national mood.

While the first lockdown was perhaps the most terrifying, due to the complete fear of the unknown and no clear idea of what coronavirus was capable of, it was also, in many ways, one of the most enjoyable, or at least it was novel. For me, fresh from holiday with hair that still smelled like sea water, I was excited to be in a completely new living environment. I’d never lived with men before, or worked from home for longer than the odd day. The area was new, too, and I felt stimulated by my surroundings, which included a local reservoir and a canal.  Within just a few weeks, we’d all settled into a good routine, cooking and cleaning together most nights. Wednesdays were for Zoom quizzes with friends, Fridays were for drinks on Houseparty, and Saturdays were for binging on whatever show had come out on Netflix that week. But as the novelty wore off, so did this state of domestic bliss.

As the novelty wore off, so did this state of domestic bliss

It was after about five weeks when I realised that I’d had at least one drink almost every night. I wouldn’t always get drunk, but I used to be the person that ordered soda water and pretended it was a vodka tonic; drinking was never something I had really enjoyed. And here I was having a drink come 5pm just to distinguish the days from the evenings and transition from work to after work. Something I’d never felt that I needed had suddenly become a crutch.

Then there were the petty arguments that took place with increasing frequency. “I emptied the dishwasher yesterday”; “No, it’s your turn to clean the bathroom”; “Who ate the last chocolate orange?” And so on. I eventually moved out and back to my own household.  

I was more acclimated to the conditions of lockdown by the time it was reinstated in November, after the government’s tiered system had proved insufficient at keeping covid infection rates down. And this time, I was living with my actual housemates: two close friends from school.

Ostensibly, we had the perfect lockdown setup: three best mates all bundled in one house together for four weeks of unlimited catch-ups, group fitness sessions, and movie nights. While it certainly started off that way – “workout Wednesdays” became a thing, as did “film Fridays” – it wasn’t long before we were all spending evenings locked in our respective rooms, waiting for one person to finish cooking their dinner so the other could take control of the kitchen.

It was during the second lockdown that I made the decision to find my own place. It had been something I’d been meaning to do for a while, but the timing had never been quite right. Granted, it wasn’t exactly the ideal moment during a pandemic, but I knew I didn’t want to spend another lockdown dealing with other people when I was already finding myself difficult to tolerate.

Ostensibly, we had the perfect lockdown setup: three best mates all bundled in one house together for four weeks of unlimited catch-ups, group fitness sessions, and movie nights

All of which is how I wound up spending this third (and hopefully final) lockdown alone in a small flat. I’ve always relished spending time by myself, which is why I figured I’d have no trouble living on my own. I can listen to podcasts in the kitchen whenever I like! I can work in the living room without someone turning the TV on! I can play music in my bedroom and no one will tell me to turn it down! Small pleasures become gigantic when they are all that you have, and all of mine seemed easier to enjoy in solitude.

But it hasn’t felt that way. After a few weeks of living alone, a new, more transmissible Covid-19 variant arrived, and a third lockdown was implemented, something I (rather ignorantly) hadn’t anticipated before moving. There are major upsides to living alone, and it’s obviously an enormous privilege to have your own space, particularly when you’re confined to it. But, like with the previous lockdowns, there have been some dark moments, and they’re not quite as easy to emerge from when there’s no one around to pull you out of them. I have my support bubble, of course, but that can be tricky too, when you’re ricocheting between intense periods of togetherness and solitude, which can sometimes leave you craving one when you’re in the other.

Nothing about how we’re living now is natural. Emotions are heightened, as are everyday anxieties. And watching the news is a woeful daily reminder of the government’s failures, and the UK’s increasingly high death rate, which has now surpassed 100,000 people. None of this is not a good recipe for a happy household, regardless of how many people are in it. But having now experienced three variations of a lockdown home, I can tell you there are some things that will make it all a little easier to bear.

For those that live with others, it helps to remember that this situation is difficult, and everyone will handle it in their own way. Be easy on one another. For those who live alone, aside from finding yourself a solid support bubble, one who will stay overnight if you’re feeling particularly anxious, I can only offer up the things that have worked for me. These include: finding a TV series to binge-watch, regularly chatting to friends on the phone, and getting a kitten. Yes, it’s a cliche, but having a tiny fur ball for company is undoubtedly the best decision I’ve ever made.