Look on them as a last glimpse of what used to be possible, before it became absolutely vital to heed what the government is trying to do to keep us all well, and prevent death. An historical record. For when the danger recedes, and we all venture out again, there will be permanent changes. Some shops now closed won't reopen. Some public-control measures will become part of our normal law.
In the Second World War, many of the beaches on the south coast were out of bounds to civilians. That's not so at the moment - although many beaches and inland beauty spots all over the country will effectively become impossible to visit unless you are local and can walk to them, because the car parks will be closed. It's hard to practice proper social distancing in a crowded car park. I drove to the Devil's Dyke, high up on the South Downs, yesterday evening, to see the rather fine sunset. But the National Trust had sealed off the main car park, and people (up from nearby Brighton I suppose) had instead packed into the one next to the pub there. And they were out of their cars, and mingling, way too close to each other. What? Hello?
I thought them mad. I didn't stop. I did a U-turn and sped off. I managed to find a lay-by a mile away, and shot that sunset from there, then drove straight home.
Nice enough pictures perhaps; but was it really worth the effort, let alone any health risk there could have been? That's a difficult one. Wide, open, beautiful views help a great deal to lift the spirits, especially if you can get out and see them in person, breathing the clean fresh air.
I have a good camera, the ability to capture these scenes, and I have a blog and a Flickr site. So I can share the beauty. For that purpose, I'll continue to seek shots like these, but only in places where I can be alone, or at least very well-distanced from other people, so that there is no health risk to them, nor to myself. I expect that means devoting my one permitted period of daily outdoor exercise to driving somewhere not far away, and walking to a vantage point. Obviously, I'm no danger to anybody (and can't be infected) while sealed inside my car and driving at speed down a road. The danger point is the place where I park Fiona, if I can park at all. And in chance encounters with other people while I'm away from the car getting my exercise - and my shots.
But should I stop driving anywhere except the filling station and food shops, and just use the local roads for my daily walk? I may be obliged to. But while driving somewhere is still allowed, I will do it, because then there is much more of a feeling of 'getting out of the house'. I have plenty of nice countryside right on my doorstep, and this is a chance to get into it and explore it more fully. I'd also like to ramble over the nearest large stretch of heathland, Ashdown Forest; and picturesque coastal places like Cuckmere Haven and the cliffs of the Seven Sisters. But these spots are a bit further away, half an hour or more, and driving so far may get frowned upon, or banned. Well, we'll see.
And so to my shots of Brighton, only two days ago.
As I said, look on these as history unfolding. This is Brighton almost as it has always been on a sunny Sunday afternoon. In normal times - say two weeks earlier - a lot of shops and restaurants would be open, and the place would be crowded with locals and visitors, for Brighton's 'season' is all year round. Like London, it never sleeps. Until now.
I expected central and seafront Brighton to be deserted, and a perfectly safe place to wander around. I was still in self-isolation of course, but this was going to be my daily seaside exercise, in sunny solitude with only cats and seagulls for company. I had the little Leica with me, and I was hoping for some extraordinary Ghost City shots.
It wasn't so. As I drove in on the A23, it was clear that people weren't staying away.
There were shut cinemas, restaurants and pubs, of course. But pedestrians were wandering around, and queuing for buses much as usual. There were just fewer of them.
I didn't have the place completely to myself. The odd figure could be seen, here and there. And in the next sequence, I had to keep moving because three girls, practically arm-in-arm, were coming up behind me, and of course I had to ensure that we didn't get too close.
Back to the square. Whoops! More bods to avoid.
I still felt it was OK to walk on, rather than quit and drive home. The Lanes had proved to be populated, but hardly crowded. It was easy to maintain that necessary social distancing. So, to the seafront.
I cut through to The Steyne, the long thin stretch of central parkland that is currently being remodelled to look nicer. Hmm. Tumbleweed City. Just the one cyclist cruising by.
I dodged through what passes for Brighton's coach station. Brighton has never had a swanky coach terminus. Just a few bays tucked in between hotels. And just the one coach parked there.
That's the Palace Pier in the distance. I was getting wary. There might be humanoids aplenty over there, groping for victims with mad, fixed stares, skin peeling, and saturated with virus! Well, no crowds as such; it was mostly single people like me, observing at least some token separation. But there were clusters of friends, who ought to be keeping well apart from each other but weren't bothering. The Pier was closed. I dare say the owners would be seeing to a backlog of repairs and refurbishments in the weeks ahead. They had started on the clock.
The promenade was (thankfully) wide, and it wasn't too hard to keep away from passing bods, so long as you zig-zagged a bit (actually rather a lot) to avoid them. Looking down on the shingle beach, resplendent in the sunshine, I saw that on the whole people were trying to stay apart, though not always with great conviction and determination.
People stayed away from me. I soon figured out why. It might be sunny, but it was also breezy, and most passers-by were warmly clad. I was in a summer top and leggings, with only a scarf around my neck to ward off the chill. I certainly felt cool, but not cold. They must have suspected I was running a fever, and was best avoided!
Walking further on, It seemed to me that more and more people had arrived to enjoy the sea and the sunshine. And they were getting rather too close to each other.
The promenade still wasn't packed with locals and visitors - far from it - but it was getting harder by the minute to keep well away from groups of people. I concluded that compliance with what the government wanted to see was distinctly nonchalant, or even half-hearted. Or was it that that people sensed that this Sunday might be the last opportunity for a family or friend-group stroll, and they were going to have it, even though they knew the risks of infection? It's understandable. But it was still unwise of them - and unwise of me to linger much longer.
I decided to cross the road, and head back to Fiona. In the building opposite, above the Fish and Chip shop, a girl (I think it was a girl) looked out from her sunny window at the seafront. I'm sure she was looking at me, taking the picture. Was she smiling? Uncertain about that, I curbed the impulse to wave.
Ah, spaces in The Lanes underground car park. There usually are, because it's extra-expensive to use, though I'd think it was pretty empty on that Sunday.
A car was parked on the ramp. Was something funny going on? I got the distinct feeling they didn't want to be watched. Drugs? I imagine the virus restrictions will seriously undermine the dealers' operations, partly because of the high risk of getting infected from their clients; partly because when they get infected, they can't in many cases seek help from conventional health sources, being off the radar; and partly because they stand out as the only people constantly moving around outside, and thus become highly visible to the police. They must be fearing the punishment they'll get if they can't pay their suppliers up the chain.
More closed pubs.
No noisy customers now. Eerie.
And so back to Fiona. I was glad to get in and lock the doors. Sealed in; safe again. I don't expect to revisit central Brighton for a long time now, maybe not for six months. The world has narrowed down to the local ten miles around, and may get narrower still. I see it as a prolonged exercise in keeping fit, well-fed, and cheerful. And of course as busy as possible - although there is no need to rush at all the tasks and projects that might be tackled. They need to be spaced out, to fill the time ahead.
My main concern just now is having a reliable but normal supply of food and household essentials, and fuel for Fiona. Given that, I'll be buoyant. I have medication for some time ahead, so that's not a current problem.
One sign of the times is that I've now downloaded Google's video-conferencing app, Hangouts. I'm not keen on keeping in touch by video, but now that I have my Broadband back it seems silly not to open an additional line of communication like this. I'm considering Skype as well.
