the day the week-ended

Flashback to a prematurely midnight-blue sky, nine to fivers walked cautiously, cradling their toilet paper against their chests as if comforting a small child. Lockdown was imminent and the city chorused with both curiosity and disbelief. The glare of touchscreens, the instant message beeps and the constant cursor clicks on the BBC news reload button, screamed skepticism.

The peaceful moon boasted a perfect crescent between boat sails and the cranes of the Bristol Harbourside.

Busy bodies seemed busier, commuters lost their confidence - the air of uncertainty blanketed the city like a thick, transparent fog. Nobody knew how to behave or how many packets of pasta to purchase.

A light is left lingering on floor five of an office high rise. The manager is scratching the back of his neck with a ballpoint pen. He is making his final amendments to a 'Working from home road-map' PowerPoint after googling what the hell furlough actually means.

Walking home, the sky distracts me. The intense blue runs silk-like into an ombre of pastel peach and burnt orange.

Flashback to that still moment - I am standing on the bridge between heritage train tracks and the coffee shop creperie, its sign minutes away from being flipped to closed. I reach into my backpack and battle off tupperware lids, impulse buy receipts, tangled headphones and house keys to find my phone.

Taking a photo of the momentous sky, I am careless as to thoughts of assuming passers by. I know I'm not snapping the stratosphere to use as fodder for a deceiving insta-feed - I simply feel things are about to change.

The image on my phone will remind me of the evening that everything was to change. I continue to walk home through the panic packed streets. Not yet Spring, the remnants of Winter make the hairs on my body stand up in disagreement. The lock-down forecast to follow will lace us in hot skin, sun cream and summer shorts.

Flashback to home. Tea lights flicker frantically on the oak coffee table, and incense creates a scented smog, the smoke changing directional course in my dimly lit living room. The oven hums at 200c but I can't think forward enough to decide what to cook. I’d normally pay a visit to a street vendor or indulge in some Friday night pub grub at the Full Moon pub. Everything seems unsure of its place. Including myself.

Flashback to the previous Friday. The satisfying glugging sound of red wine being poured. Unbothered to queue at the bustling bar to ask for another wine glass without an imprint of crimson lipsticked lips.

Instead I used my sleeve to wipe off the Rimmel remnants before toasting to friends and colleagues, meeting their eyes with gratitude for friends and colleagues to cheers with and two days away from headsets and never empty email inboxes.

The ever increasing murmur of voices, a plethora of tones, pitches, accents, laughter, gasps, breaths, life. The exaggerated stories of the weeks preceding, the curious inquisitions in to family members, the calculations of ‘last seens,’ the ‘whatever happened to' ponders, the ‘you wouldn’t believes’, ‘you’ll never guess what’s’ or ‘who’s’,’ the chorus of cheers when the barman drops a pint glass, the smell of home cooked chips, the ignorance of the hot frantic kitchen, the sticky residue of ale along the bar.

The countless contactless card transactions, the tear of the receipts, the exchange of change and smiles, the accidental slamming of the till drawer, the sound of ice being scooped into glasses, the contemporary gin selection, the envy towards the irritatingly pretty bar woman, the table that offers you their spare seat. The human embraces, the high fives, hand holds, shoulder taps, fist bumps, hair ruffles, the ‘excuse me’s’ the ‘you go ahead's, the coy smiles and shy eyes.

Flash-forward to my sofa. The oven still hummed with hunger and my stomach started to too. Pubs were announced to be closed the next day but it would feel wrong to go tonight. It wouldn't offer the same guilt free, joyous, communal atmosphere and care free collective I was so used to. And anyway, I figured I had to get used to what it felt like to be in my own company for a while.