The Gilded Cage

Spring advances and I find myself somewhere quite unexpected. After a winter sat indoors, cooped up writing a book about climbing, I was itching to get out on the rock. Now the days are longer, the weather has improved and the rock is drying out. This should have been the start of another glorious climbing season. But – as people across the world are finding – things have changed. Drastically.

As lockdown loomed, my parents generously offered me a place under their roof. But there was a risk: I might, unawares, be carrying COVID-19. Without testing, there is no way to know, so we arranged a set-up that allows no physical contact for fourteen days. Yet even without touching, I could still pass on the virus. Door handles, taps, cutlery, chairs: in our new reality, innocuous household items become dangerous point of contact. To solve the problem, my parents ingeniously split off a portion of the house for a proper quarantine. Here I sit, for two weeks, inside my gilded cage.

Before I arrived, my dad blocked and sealed off a doorway below the stairs. Forget the Iron Curtain, I live behind Plywood Board and Gaffa Tape. The Plywood is thin: last night we sat and chattered through the board. The rough finish is reminiscent of hipster bars in Hackney, where authenticity is announced through a quasi-industrial finish. Think hanging light bulbs, exposed brickwork, plywood walls and pints served in jam jars for a mere £6. I make do with Tennents in a can.

Behind the Plywood Board, I have the living room and a downstairs bathroom. A sofa was removed, a table added and my brother’s single mattress brought down and put in the corner. My parents sacrificed the telly: while I watch Bridget Jones on the big screen, they huddle around a laptop on the other side of the Plywood Board.

The back door is a boon. Through it, I come and go without risking their health, roaming into the garden and woods for my daily allowance of self-isolated exercise. I peer in through their windows for a glimpse of normal life. My mum taps on mine to check I haven’t run out of biscuits. I relay updates from Channel Four news and request damson vodka. A slice of warm bread with butter and honey is left in the porch.

Dinner is cooked on a camping stove in the garden. It is still only March, so I pile on the layers while my lentil stew cooks. A blackbird dives across the lawn and a robin sings from the Cyprus tree. Peering up through the waving branches of a towering ash tree, the first planet appears. A shining speck in the darkening sky.

 

Dear readers, I hope you’re all keeping well! Anyone else find themself in an unusual living arrangement? Please leave a comment below and let us know how you’re getting on.  Anna x