Local lockdowns are closing in on us – but I can’t go through the tedium of doing it all again

We coped the first time around – but I’m no so sure that spirit will remain

The government’s game of whack-a-mole has forced Aberdeen, parts of Manchester and other parts of the north back into local lockdown, with new sets of rules to remember – a full-time job in itself.

I can’t recall where I put my keys half the time. Today, I’m making an essential trip to Wimbledon to retrieve my phone from the person whose car I left it in last night, so keeping up with loop-the-loop government rules is a challenge for me. No wonder Boris Johnson’s gone camping. What with the exams fiasco and disorientating ways we now enter and exit pubs, the poor chap had to escape.

I mean, what is the point of being prime minister if you’re going to constantly be pestered by other people’s problems? This wasn’t what he signed up for at all. It was meant to be all handshaking and being danced at by local people as he tumbled adorably out of a plane, not hordes of weeping teenagers and commuters wondering whether it’s safe to breathe in between stations. These should not be the concerns of the man running the country, he is the prime minister for goodness sake, not a bleeding social worker.

So far, there seems to be no plan to lockdown my hometown of London. But how long before there is? People are jittery.

I sneezed on the tube recently. It was a safe, controlled explosion. Nonetheless, a woman about eight feet away from me got up and moved further down the near-empty carriage. Who can blame her? No one wants to get ill and no one wants another lockdown and no one wants to find out if my snot-germs can travel eight feet despite being neatly caught in a hanky by a hugely responsible hay fever sufferer.

In my already friendly neighbourhood, we pulled together and coped with the strict lockdown rules with WhatsApp quizzes, doorstep coffees and generous sharing of information. “The Polish shop has eggs!” would come the urgent message from Susie at number 36 and off we schlepped to our local Sklep.

We coped in the first lockdown – but will that spirit remain? Or will Susie eventually huff, “oh let them lay their own eggs”?

I’m dreading another lockdown. My world has shrunk enough as it is. Lately, my conversation has been dominated by the health of a French bulldog called Bluebell who has broken her back and has to have weekly hydrotherapy. I have become very invested in her recovery and spend so much time online researching her condition (IVDD, if you’re wondering) you’d think she was my grandmother and not the neighbour’s dog.

Our local Co-op reopened the other day after an extensive refurbishment. Our street WhatsApp was abuzz with messages from those who had been to the new store and reported back on the glorious efficiency of the new layout, the shiny new fridges chock full of a more varied array of produce. Photos were posted of the glistening new aisles and, with our tongues firmly in our cheeks, we all marvelled at this new oasis of milk, bread and prosecco. Such updates would not exist had the circumstances not called for it.

I have a chatty nature and am missing being a full time stand-up comedian where my chattiness is expected and required rather than “oh god, she’s coming towards us, pretend to be on your phone”. In lockdown, I’ve frequently had nowhere to put my pretty incessant need to communicate. My neighbours have heard all of my stories, several times. I try to embellish them to keep their interest but it’s beginning to wane. This week though, with the permission to perform indoors again, I got to perform at the Clapham Grand in front of a handful of socially-distanced tables with real live people sitting at them.

I was so excited and emotional that when actual human beings welcomed me on to the stage as requested by the compere, I cried. On stage. So happy was I to get a little bit back of the world I’ve lived in for 25 years. I’d cried before and after gigs in the past but on stage, before I’d uttered a word, was a first. This is what lockdown has done to me.

Last night, I performed in a pub garden in Winchester. Halfway through my act, a man rigorously heckled from inside the woods adjoining the garden with words unprintable in a respectable paper. He then ran towards the pub brandishing a banana and was responsibly dealt with by the management. The disruption was a reminder of how brilliantly unpredictable live comedy can be, you never know when Tarzan might gatecrash your show and threaten you with Cheetah’s tea. Much more fun than the Co-op.