Socialising in the Coronavirus Age

Diary of a Self-isolator: Day 115 [12 July 2020]

Published: 13 July 2020

12 July 2020 saw our first get together with friends since coronavirus sentenced us to solitary confinement. Although my wife had been working on her pet project for six months, converting what had once been a slab of Soviet and German concrete into a real, live garden and the sun had come out to play after two days of heavy rain and a marked decline in the temperature, the social occasion was impromptu.

Earlier this morning I had emailed our friend Stas’ revised ‘Homework’ back to him for his approval. He had written, in English, an account of his life leading up to the time he met our mutual friend, the late Victor Ryabinin, and how through Victor’s influence he had developed both his interest in art and his love for the history of Königsberg. I had edited his work and now needed him to sign it off prior to posting it on my blog under the Victor Ryabinin category.

Anyway, it was during this exchange of emails that I accidentaly mentioned to Stas that it was a pity that he was driving to see us today because if he was not, instead of a cup of tea we could have taken advantage of the good weather, the hard work my wife has put into her garden project and partake of a beer or two.

This must have had resonance as Stas delivered the plants for our garden as he had promised but left his car at home. Along with his girlfriend, Olga, he also brought a bottle of cognac, so from little acorns mighty oaks did grow.

Whilst not under one of Robin Hood’s, we do have a rather nice, albeit problematic, pear tree in our garden ~ problematic in that had we had it removed as our landscape gardener advised it would have eliminated the issue of how best to incorporate a functional seating area in the space at our disposal. But we love trees, so there was never any question of taking a saw to it. However, the block-paved roundel at the base of the tree, whilst looking nice, would not easily accommodate a table and six chairs. We had considered constructing a table around the tree, with its trunk at the centre, but eventually decided against it as the net result would have been that for each person in six seated only five would be seen, an interesting conundrum and highly beneficial if you could get the seating right in circumstances where every guest had at least one person whom they did not like and therefore would rather not see.

That was not the case today, where all we had to think about was arranging the seats around the rectangular table in such a way that after half a dozen cognacs the spindly legs of the chairs did not slip off the hard ground into the soil giving its occupants that distinct sinking feeling before the ultimate embarrassment of sailing arse-over-head.

And yet, there was another thing to consider, as remember we were operating this get-together under strict observance of the Coro social distancing guidelines.

In this respect, our seating arrangements should not have been more beautiful. With the assistance of a lump of cardboard and a piece of board a not attractive but workable proposition was achieved, whereby myself and another of our clan could move back from the table, our makeshift plateau having removed the risk of any unsightly submissions to gravity.

Socialising in the Coronavirus Age — The art and science of socialising whilst social distancing

At first the six of us stuck more or less to our social distancing and preventative strategy guns. Some, those more inclined towards caution, adopting a more rigorous approach than others.

Good Russian cognac — Red star marker and an excellent cognac brand!

To assist us in this respect, Olga had taken the precaution of introducing some jolly looking beer and shot glass markers so that each individual would be able to personalize and safeguard their glass. These little brightly coloured objects were fashioned into distinctive novelty shapes, for example Olga had a red star, which I deemed appropriate because she was always talking about the positives of Stalin and the Soviet system; I had a little red car because I hated driving and had given it up years ago; I also had a green meeshka for my beer glass, which was most appropriate as my wife often calls me Meeshka (she calls me a lot of other things as well), and green for beer was green for go; other people, depending on their preference and personality, were able to choose from a variety of symbols, which included a ‘stop’ sign, a mobile phone (perhaps this should have been my wife’s, as she would be lost without her phone!!), a big red hand and so on.

Beer glass identifier — A meeshka beer glass marker

The glasses having been carefully labelled, each serving plate of food was then equipped with its own tongues or spoon, according to the type of fare offered, and each guest had his or her own packet of antiseptic hand wipes.

We had, in effect, taken all the precautionary measures that could be taken. Alas, however, with the best will in the world, it soon became apparent to me that force of social habit and practicality were two rogue factors that no amount of precautionary procedure could ameliorate.

Socialising in the Coronavirus Age

As the occasion got underway, various conversations sprang up. As Stas can speak English and my Russian is not going to win me any linguistic awards ~ although I learn a little more of the language each week ~ Stas was my discussion partner. When our conversation commenced, we were sitting about one metre away from each other, but the background volume of other people talking soon required that we lean in closer toward one another to hear what each was saying.

Another decreasing factor in the art and science of social distancing came when, according to the old Russian custom, someone proposed a toast before quaffing the drink in front of them. As well as necessitating encroaching upon the one metre or one-and-a-half-metre rule (whatever it is supposed to be now), the clinking together of glasses, although brief, was nevertheless receptacle contact, and, of course, when different people helped themselves to food from the serving plates, each of us in turn handled the same cutlery.

With the sensible precautions that we had taken exposed for what they are in real circumstances ~ nigh-on impossible to adhere to ~ we decided to talk about politics.

Now, according to the Western media, the ‘autocratic nature of Russia’ (their label) precludes such conversation, but like so many stereotypifying things I have found this categorically untrue.

On the subject of the recent constitutional vote and Mr Putin’s presidency, I pointed out that whilst I had met and spoken to people who obviously were not supporters nobody seemed to be able to answer the question, “who then would you vote for?”

When the conversation turned the socio-political situation in the UK, Europe and the USA. I expressed the opinion that, as with everything, liberalism came with a price. In the UK, and West in general, that price included unrestricted and uncontrolled immigration, racial disharmony, a baggage of political correctness to keep the host population in line, an exponential loss of tradition and cultural identity, a revisionist version of history, a threat to heritage and ancestral home, the loss of a moral rudder, anti-social behaviour, a rise in violent crime, terrorism and diverse divisions leading to societal instability and lack of social cohesiveness, in return for which you received soundbites about civil liberties, freedom of speech and rights. Every five years you got to put your mark on a slip of paper in the voting booth giving you the choice between two political parties. This ensured that the name of democracy was upheld, even though the core members of each party were singing from the same rap sheet. In my opinion, the price that you were paying had no value to it and was, again in my opinion, far too high a price to pay.

Well, the sermon came to an end, and as in every civilised realm of the world, no one was any the wiser about what people want and where they think it will lead them, and, as political discussions always change nothing, we all had another cognac and broke the distancing rule once again by coming in closer for photographs.

Nevertheless, these flaws in our risk-assessment plan noted, at the end of the day we refrained from a lot of handshaking and embracing. Stas and his Olga left, as work was on the horizon tomorrow, and my Olga and I repaired to our neighbour’s gazebo for an hour, where, as we were sitting over a metre apart, I suppose no one could really fault us.

The cat was pleased to see me when we got home. He has decided that social distancing skills are not for him, as he needs to nip and scratch me given the chance once a day at least. I sometimes suspect he is liberal …