Choose your own isolation adventure

At the height of the pandemic in May 2020 I wrote a’ Choose your own isolation adventure’ for the one off magazine I did with Dave Lane and Nick Chapin called LIMBO. Illustrated by Kyle Platts, it might be one of the most enjoyable things I’ve done - and also completely summarises how truly insane my thinking was at the time! For those who didnt get the issue, here is the piece (I’ll scan the layouts sometime with the full amazing illustrations).

1

You wake up with a start. Unsure of what day it is, you remember you are at home in lockdown during a global pandemic. Your head aches from the drinks you consumed while watching reruns of Friends on Netflix last night. Your duvet lies hot and heavy on your body. After forty minutes swiping through photographs of banana bread and angry tweets about governmental failure on your phone, you get out of bed. The groundhog-days of confinement have led to the development of a new daily routine. The same porridge breakfast, a half-hearted shower and putting on the usual sweatpants, old socks and T shirt. You look in the fridge and realise your stock pile of vegetables and milk is running low. You know you should go out for your daily, state sanctioned walk, but the desire to stay at home is strong.

Do you go out? Go to number 2.

Do you stay home? Go to number 3.

2

You decide to face the outside and get a dose of vitamin D. You grab the half-empty bottle of hand sanitiser you bought nine weeks ago, a cash card and throw on your trainers. Walking through the shared hallway of your apartment block, you wonder about the doctor and nurse who live downstairs and how they are managing with a new baby. Careful not to touch the communal area with bare hands, you enter the street. The air is strangely fresh, as if fifty years of air pollution is lifting. A crisp sun is shining. Birds chirp loudly.

Do you head towards the high street to buy some supplies? Go to number 4.

Do you decide to take a walk? Go to number 5.

3

Movement seems too ambitious for today. Avoiding emails, you settled on to the sofa in front of your big screen, your phone firmly attached to you side. As the day progresses your eyes drift between the two, while you steadily munch through a supersized packet of crisps. You are expecting a delivery, though you are not quite sure what is coming. A steady flow of packages has been arriving in the past few days. A book you have no ability to focus on. The sweater that is too large and tin of expensive sardines. You become restless.

Do you wait for the package? Go to number 7.

Do you leave and get some exercise? Go to number 8.

4

Aware that the potato pile is running thin, you head to Tesco. A neighbour you have never seen before is taking out their trash. All human beings are now disease carriers in your unsettled mind. Briskly crossing the road to keep your distance, you head down to the shops. The street is disturbingly quiet as if nothing is wrong, like Christmas Day without the snow. As you approach the shops, you spot a line of ten people waiting outside your small local supermarket. Many are looking at their phones and loitering. A builder covered in plaster-covered jeans is at the end of the line, wiping his nose with his dusty sleeve. A few people have gloves. You reach into your pocket to put on your synthetic face mask, purchased from a dodgy website and probably no protection at all. Your pocket is empty.

Do decide to forget about shopping and go for your state sanctioned exercise? Go to number 5.

Do you continue to wait in line and go shopping without a mask? Go to number 6.

5

You decide to go for your daily walk, a prospect that fills you with anxiety and pleasure. As you start out, a middle-aged businessman, who has not been on a bicycle since 1992, chugs past you in full Rapha gear. He is far closer than 6 feet and panting with exertion. You run across the road in frustration, avoiding his heavy breath, and continue your walk. Whenever a person appears, you go out of your way to avoid them. It is like a bad computer game where the goal is to avoid all humanity and make it from A to B. Every park bench on the street is occupied by someone looking at their phone and not wearing gloves. You reach a crossroads.

Do you take the main road, and quickest, route home? Go to number 12.

Do you head to the back streets and try to avoid people? Go to number 11.

6

After 15 minutes shuffling in the street, you make it inside the Tesco Metro. The fresh produce aisles are being restocked again. Most of the things you like are gone but you settle for anything green. You grab a pint of milk and hurry to the checkout. Spaces have been marked on the floor to ensure social distance, but this is impossible in the cramped shop. The builder you saw outside nudges past you to pick up a tuna sandwich and joins the queue. Just as you reach the self-service machine he sneezes. Horrified you turn to look at him like the angel of death. ‘Hayfever,’ he says sheepishly when greeted by your terrified unmasked face. You pay and hurry home with your shopping. A few days later you find yourself feeling a little under the weather. You have a sore throat that you just can’t shake despite mainlining Vitamin C. You crawl into bed…

The end.

7

You received a text saying Hermes is delivering between 8 am and 8pm. You know you should stay in, though cannot remember what you are expecting and know they will probably come at the very end of the day. Unable to focus on much, you decide to look at your phone screen.

Do you download Tik Tok and see what it’s all about? Go to number 9.

Do you play Wolfenstein 3D on an online computer game simulator? Go to number 10.

8

You know you need to do some exercise. It has been a while since you rode a bike, as you haven’t gone further than the corner shops. As you peddle down the empty roads, you are filled with a sense of freedom and release. The weight of the lockdown is forgotten for a few moments. Out of the blue a BMW appears, going at three times the speed limit. Swearing as you swerve to stay alive, you lose your balance, hit the back of the vehicle and fall over. The car does not hesitate for a second and drives away. You are clutching your leg in agony, aware that you are injured, cannot walk and need to go to hospital. A couple of good Samaritans stop and call and ambulance, all sense of social distancing forgotten. After some time, you hear sirens. Abandoning your bike at the side of the road, you are rushed to A&E. The grey, plastic waiting room is filled with coughing patients, waiting to be tested and possibly admitted with Covid-19. An old man next to you splutters into his handkerchief before being led away. After an hour, a nurse wearing a thin carrier-bag-apron and flimsy disposable mask gets you X-rayed and confirms a fracture in your big toe. You are given crutches and told to report back from physio in due course. Getting an uber home, you hobble to bed. A few days later you develop a cough…

The end.

9

You are not young but you still want to see what this TikTok thing is about. Downloading the app, you find yourself engaging with it constantly. You stare at teenagers lip syncing to excerpts from American reality TV shows that you do not recognise. TikTok is like watching a digital stream of amateur acting classes in cramp apartments, but you cannot tear yourself away. You have the urge to learn the choreography to the Jennifer Lopez Super bowl Halftime show. As your dance prowess improves you begin to occasionally post your videos. Inspired by a viral clip of a dancer in a bear costume sliding to Drake, you dig out the giant egg costume that you wore for Halloween four years ago. The bulbous egg-shape suits your lockdown figure perfectly. You post one egg dance video and are blown away by the response. Quickly accruing likes and followers, you find yourself becoming an influencer. Breakfast restaurants start approaching you to promote their take away service. An agent DMs you asking if you would consider becoming the face of a frying pan. You have not left your flat in a week. Increasingly addicted to your new-found eggy fame, you quietly, slowly lose your mind...

The end.

10

You have become increasingly drawn to the computer games of your childhood. You stare at the screening, killing Nazis and rabid Alsatians in the maze-like platform game. After four hours straight you tear yourself away, your fingers aching. Bored you decide to swipe through the dating apps you have been ignoring on your phone. Three friends have materialised lockdown relationships somehow over the period. You match with someone on Hinge and start to exchange banal and increasingly flirty messages. After 40 minutes, they write ‘Why don’t I come over?’ You know you should not break the lockdown. Your limp libido flutters at the idea of illicit sex. Feeling invincible you agree. An hour later they arrive by bike and you have an emotionless and rather depressing physical encounter. They leave quite quickly and you wonder where they live. A few days later you find yourself feeling a little under the weather. Crawling into bed, your chest starts to feel a bit tight… 

The end.

11

You slip down the back streets and are careful to avoid all humanity. If people are talking you are careful not to walk in floating particles that hang in the air in their wake. You reach your front door with relief, rushing to the bathroom to thoroughly wash your hands and any exposed skin. Popping a potato in the over to bake, you settle down for another day of TV, drinks and sleep.

Go to number 1.

12

A jogger appears out of nowhere, sweating and almost running into to you. He spits in the street as he passes. ‘Watch it!’ you scream. ‘Chill out’ the yuppie responds with privileged arrogance. He is wearing a pastel T-shirt for a yet to be launched VR start up. You find yourself getting increasingly angry these days. Yesterday you screamed at a couple leisurely taking photographs on the high street and barring your way home. Fed up with the stress of a walk you go home. A week later you find yourself developing a sore throat that won’t go away. Lying in bed with aching muscles, you think of the jogger and know something is wrong. You start to lose your sense of taste...

The end.