Category Archives: coronavirus

Groundhog Day

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Yesterday evening many of us living in England sat down for the nth time to watch a live Press Conference from Number 10 about the latest COVID restrictions, with a sense of déjà vu rather than dread. We had heard it all before last and earlier this year; only this time, instead of the Delta variant being the cause, we were introduced to the weirdly sounding Omicron. A bit like coming up with names for hurricanes. We were then told about Plan B (no fancy name) and what it meant for us. I wondered what had happened to Plan A and what might Plan C be? Was there a Plan D if all went belly-up? Different letters of the alphabet for Plans and Greek letters (omicron is 15th) for variants. All very confusing.

Many of us had already been contacted by our places of work telling us ‘Omi’ was on its way and to cancel our planned Xmas parties. Rather than do this we decided on our own Plan B which was postpone it until the New Year. This way of managing meant it felt less like disappointment and more like a waiting game.  New government Plan B rules are like the ones we had in place earlier this year: Work from home if you can. Take PCR tests if you travel abroad. Wear masks in public places.

But there is a new twist to Plan B. You can still party in the pub. Round and round we go.

I looked back at my last blog entry from two months ago, where I was extolling the joys of being on a business trip again for the first time in 18 months. Such a stark contrast in emotions. I was mighty glad I had managed to get away while Delta was stabilizing and before Omicron had raised its ugly head. I even squeezed in one more trip to Finland in November to give a keynote at a workshop aimed at Gen Z. Turns out I was one of the few attendees to make it in person. Many decided not to show up to the event for fear of catching COVID, having watched on the news how the level was rising in that part of Finland.

It was a foreboding of what was to come. But during my brief visit to this neck of the woods in Finland I managed to make the most of being in a completely different place, that was remote, sparse and felt like a million miles away. I enjoyed witnessing for the first time in ages crazy minus something temperatures that made my cheeks glow and lips sting; I loved the feel of crunchy, icy snow underfoot, and the sharp contrast of warmth blasting through my lungs when entering indoors after being outside. I learnt a lot about what it was like to be part of the rise and fall of Nokia – the Finnish mobile company. I also heard about how the Finns keep themselves sane during the many dark months of winter – skiing, shooting and sitting in saunas. And I discovered a sense of humour I did not know existed. The seminar room where one of our meetings was held was called Mr Frost! One wall was completely covered in plastic ice shards! And to top it off, on my last morning, I spotted Santa on his sleigh coming from the North Pole. All very strange and delightful.

Sadly, those delights seem like a distant dream now. My planned conference talk this week – in the lovely city of Leuven, Belgium, booked months and months ago, was cancelled at the last minute. Instead, I was asked to give my talk online – again.  So I set up my imaginary row of teddy bears on a shelf just behind my laptop and gave them names as if they were my audience. Another Groundhog Day moment. At 8.30 a.m. I started talking to my laptop and zoomed into Zoom. The remote audience ‘listened’ and ‘chatted’ in Discord (the online social platform often used these days).  At 9.30 I stopped talking, pressed the leave button, walked into my kitchen and filled the kettle. Job done but no joy. Such a disconnect.  If only there had been a roomful of attentive faces smiling and laughing.

Meanwhile, many migrating wild birds returning to the UK from Russia and Europe have got Avian flu. Worryingly, it has begun to spread to other wild birds like falcons, curlews, swans, geese and gulls. You can’t tell those birds to switch to Plan B and work from home or wear masks. Instead, there is much fear about how and when the avian flu will spread from wild to ‘kept’ birds. Already, there are isolated cases being reported of farmed chickens, turkeys and ducks starting to catch it. Instead of increasing the number of vet hospitals or oxygen ventilators to help cure the poor birds they are instead brutally ‘culled’. It must be soul-destroying for the poultry farmers who discover their birds have caught it. Then it is Plan K for them: Kill all their birds. Luckily, the risk of avian flu to human health is low – but who wants to eat sneezing turkey meat?  Nut roast for Christmas dinner, anyone?

The Twisties

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Simone Biles introduced the world to the phenomenon of “twisties” this week when she had to pull out of the Tokyo Olympics as she realized her mind and body were out of synch after she had flung herself from the vault.  At the critical moment when you need to let the body twist and turn in mid-air by its own volition, she said she could not literally tell up from down. No wonder she stopped her routine there and then.

When interviewed by the BBC News, Christina Myers, a former gymnast, said that the twisties happen “when your brain and body disconnect.” It is at that moment when you need to be at your most self-assured and certain, but instead something flips and twists out of control. Sometimes, when this happens the gymnast ends up against their body will, doing an extra twist or flip that was not intended in their repertoire, resulting in them not being able to land correctly, risking serious injury. Thank goodness Simone had the wherewithal to recognise what was happening and to quit. And how lovely, to see her humility and team spirit shine in the face of adversity – where she came straight back to cheer her team on when she must have been going through mental agony.

I love watching gymnasts perform extraordinary feats, heat after heat. The Olympics is always a treat for watching endless supermen and superwomen move, jump, swing, swivel, uncurl, sail and fly in the most spectacular ways. They are under huge pressure at pregnant moments to perform –  and manage consistently to execute their moves with what looks like perfection to us mere mortals. It is jaw-dropping, gob-smacking magic – whether swinging at full pelt on the uneven bars, the balance beam, the vault, pommel horse, still rings or other apparatus.

I can’t even imagine what it must have felt like for Simone, with the world’s expectations on her shoulders, being one the world’s greatest gymnasts, to go through a twistie. To suddenly lose her  heightened sense of space and dimension when flying through the air, doing a double flip somersault. The body needs to lead the mind knowing what to do precisely when. But when the mind intrudes the body-mind goes into overdrive. It seems on this occasion, immense pressure took its grip, resulting in Simone losing control.

Meanwhile, back in my more mundane world of academia, it has been hard to perform anywhere near how we used to. Since the pandemic started last March 2020, I have not had the pleasure of ’embodying’ my lectures, talks or seminars with movement – there has been no flailing of arms or pacing up and down the stage or the aisles. Instead, I sit stationary in front of a laptop, check how my head looks in the image of myself appearing on Zoom, say hello to whoever is out there and then start my ‘talking head’ show. I have gotten used to the format now after 18 months – it is bland and flat. There are no pre-nerves, butterflies in the stomach, or any anxious looking at smiling faces sitting in the audience, nodding back at me reassuringly. Just my slides and a few postage stamp faces popping up on the side. The audience are hidden behind their portals, with only ever a few turning their cameras on. During conference keynotes, it is even worse, with the attendees all migrating to be in another virtual space (e.g. Discord) to back channel and chat about what I am saying while watching me on YouTube.  They are also all at home, half in their own world of pets, children, delivery people calling, and a flurry of beeps and other distractions.

Instead of the twisties, I have begun to experience occasionally a case of  what I am calling ‘the disconnecties’ – where I start to notice things on the desk, like a cable, an old scrap of paper, a pen, a bit of paper with my to do list on, a sweet wrapper. Instead of  projecting myself into the minds of others I feel myself drifting back into my own physical space. I try to stem the ‘at home’ mind from taking over. But I feel discombobulated and it is unnerving. Sometimes, I wonder if the audience on the other side are also disconnected. I try to block out my home world and focus on the slide in front of me, but then against my will I slip back into home world. I am even tempted to just click on the Teams or Zoom ‘leave’ button. I try cracking a joke – that usually helps me to get back in the flow – but of course no one laughs back. Eventually, when I have finished I know I could have done better. Damn those disconnecties.

This week, however, when giving a talk to some industry folk, a disembodied voice butted in out of nowhere and asked me a question mid slide. Never happened before. It completely threw me. Luckily, I knew the person so could picture them in my mind and try to compose an answer and shift gear. Then it happened a few more times throughout. Afterwards, it made me think perhaps we need a bit more of that – makes for a more spontaneous and natural presentation. My mind went into overdrive, and I changed what I had planned to say. It almost broke the 4th wall – so to speak. And it kept me on my toes rather than letting my mind do gymnastics.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chloe Robbins performing a vault

Managing Uncertainty

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 Last week I went to my local swimming baths for my pre-booked slot alongside about 25 others. On the stroke of 12.00 p.m. we walked at a distance from each other to the poolside already in our swimming togs. We stripped off our outerwear clothing at the poolside down to our swimwear – each at a physically distanced plastic chair. We then showered at alternative showers before slipping into one of the demarcated lanes.

It was strange to see strangers stripped down to their bathers with no masks on. After a couple of lengths, I rediscovered the small pleasure of smiling at one or two of them in that old-fashioned way of acknowledging each other, having seen each other before at the same end. One spoke a few words to me which I replied to about how warm the water was, while facing me bearing their face, lips, mouth, cheeks and eyes. It felt so natural to have our smiles reciprocated followed by making an inane comment or two. Even the over-powering garlic breath, emanating from another chap reminded me of how deprived we have been of ordinariness. To be made aware again of each other while stood in chlorinated Hockney-esque water felt strangely liberating. Almost in touch. But sadly, my newly discovered pool times came to an abrupt halt. With the COVID virus starting to mutate and now spreading like wildfire through the UK, the government has decided to close down all leisure facilities in our neck of the woods.

It also put an end to millions of people’s much looked-forward-to plans for the Christmas Period. In their place, a cocktail of anxiety, confusion and uncertainty had returned. Can we, should we, is it OK if we… bend the rules a little? What if and when will it end? When will we be able to meet up again normally with family, friends and strangers? When will be able to book a holiday, a cruise, hold a big birthday party, a large wedding or other social gathering, that is not restricted by numbers, wearing masks and social distancing? And so on and so on. Everything is up in the air once more; some people resigned and other’s pulling their hair out with worry, wasted effort and disappointment.

Many of us like to be in control of our lives, planning weeks, months and even years ahead, whether it is the next career move, a personal life choice, e.g., getting married, having a family, taking a gap year, what university to go to, when to retire and what to do afterwards. We often spend hours researching, reading up and asking others for advice to help us make the right decision. And then bang! Along came COVID early this year that threw a mighty spanner in the works, for us all. A big effect has been massive uncertainty worldwide – even with the vaccine in our midst now being offered to the first lucky ones.

New uncertainties have come forth. When will I get the vaccine? Is it safe? Will it work? When can I travel unmasked, shake someone’s hand, and hug a colleague again? When will we be able to experience being in a crowd again, like attending a live concert, wandering through a packed shopping mall, or feeling crushed on a university campus during a normal termtime where there are tens of thousands of students and staff thronging through a labyrinth of corridors and courtyards? We simply don’t know….and for many managing this level of uncertainty can be all too much.

To help we can take recourse to the numerous self-help books and blogs around about dealing with uncertainty – including Christine Carter’s (2020) seven tips. Many of these seem sensible and common-sense, such as accepting the situation rather than fighting it, looking after yourself (e.g. getting enough sleep, eating healthy), and giving yourself the odd treat when feeling down. One that struck me, however, as being out of the ordinary was her advice to switch perspective at various times throughout the day. Instead of imagining a frightening and unknown future that we cannot fix or even predict the likely outcomes, she suggests we should “bring our attention to our breath”.

That phrase took me by surprise. What I think she means is: we should try to increase our self-awareness at inconsequential moments, such as asking ourselves, “how are you doing right now?” every time we wash our hands or wait for the kettle to boil. But supposing the answer turns out to be bored, tired, frustrated, listless, etc., then what? Her follow through is: “attending to what is happening within us at any given moment keeps a crappy external reality from determining our inner truth”. That sounds intriguing: turning in on ourselves to block out the depressing news around us. However, I am not sure such a strategy will enable us to feel better about ourselves. Will it make us calmer, more open-minded and less reactive? It might make us worse. I’ll give it a go but, personally, a walk by the sea or laughing my head off listening to a good podcast on my iPhone keeps the bogeymen away.

The other thing I have learned during COVID, is not to get my hopes up any more about us going back to normal any time soon – meaning not to plan anything ambitious in the foreseeable future. A weekly visit to the supermarket is the limit now. I’ll only allow myself to dream again once I know I am definitely booked in for a jab. That seems like it will be a while. Then I will plan a holiday, a work trip and even a city weekend break, reimagining the familiarity of strangers, from bustling queues and being squeezed into planes, trains, pubs, bars, shopping malls, hotel foyers, waiting rooms, reception areas, etc. and being able to smile and sometimes laugh at the person/s next to me without a mask on. In the meantime, it is back to a life of endless zoom meetings among familiar faces. Speaking of which…

Remote Sport

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Football has started again in Germany played in front of empty stadiums. It must be so weird for the teams to play without the roar of the crowd cheering them on. Normally, the chanting, banter and singing can lift and energise players to new levels. Now with the social distancing rules in place, when they score a goal there are no physical celebrations or embracing of other players. Instead, a punch in mid-air or a tap on the elbow. Not quite the same sense of euphoria or release.  The lack of atmosphere means there is no home advantage. Many players  approach the game more like a practice one. Show-boating and waving at the crowds also gone. It is no longer the beautiful game.

Same is true for other spectator sports and the Arts, from horse racing to concert-players. No audience physically present and no atmosphere to speak of. How can the performers find other ways to reach out to their fans and the fans connect back with them? Some venues have been thinking about how to bring real people back in their own car bubbles. A number of drive-in outdoor events are being experimented with. The Danish football side FC Midtylland, for example, plan to set up two massive screens in their large car park – that has 1000s of spaces – so that fans can rock up into a socially distanced space and tune into the commentary through their car radio. Instead of drive-in cinema it is drive-in footie. Maybe it will raise the noise level, as they hoot their horns when a goal is scored, but will it create the desired atmosphere for fans and players, alike? The football club have thought about this, too, and will show live footage of the fans parked up cheering in their cars from the car park inside the venue so at least the players can ‘see’ and ‘hear’ the crowd – albeit in their cars.

It might work – certainly better than the cardboard cut-out solution that some stadiums are using with canned cheering and crowd noises being emitted from loud speakers. I wonder how the graphic designer chose which people to use and how to place them at this match – to be representative of the fan base but also a chance for loyal season ticket holders to send in their choice of image to adorn their designated seat. Other plans are afoot for socially distanced drive-in raves and concerts. The mind boggles at the thought of 1000s of cars bouncing up and down as the owners ‘body’ dance while sat in their car seats.

All of these attempts to create some kind of connection, however, are a far cry from the real thing. Maybe, they will become the new normal for a while and morph into something that is still socially distanced but more socially connected. For example, they could evolve into a form of tailgating parties that are so central to US football culture – where fans rock up hours before the game to drink beer and cook on barbecues in car parks and open spaces near the stadiums. However, switching to drive-ins requires turning our cars into entertainment hubs – which obviously SUVs, 4x4s and pick-up trucks are best suited for. Trouble is society is trying to wean people off these gas guzzlers and get them to switch to compact electric cars. Seems counter-productive to saving the planet. There is also the problem that most cities don’t have the parking lots or spaces to support large-scale drive-ins. And then there is the added problem of managing toilet facilities but maybe someone will invent a portable toilet that disinfects itself after each use.

The strangest of drive-ins that have appeared are ‘drive-thru’ churches that pop up and where an outdoor mass is literally held in the carpark. It looks a sorry sight – no communal sharing of the bread and wine. Just the lone preacher necking the wine down himself while talking to a bunch of dark-windowed SUVs. That might be taking the biscuit somewhat.

Another way of connecting fans with players is to keep it digital. Streaming video games have been around for a while, where millions of spectators around the world watch top ‘streamers’ perform. They are provided with all sorts of extras that enables the fans to discover more about the player – not least their emotions and fluctuating heart rate and skin conductance at different stages of the game. This additional layer of data has been found to enhance the spectator experience and improve the connection between the streamer and spectators. But then we would return to being couch potatoes. Personally, I can’t wait to be part of a physical audience again, be it at a football ground, an outdoor venue or a theatre.

          Thanks to Daria Lisotsova on unsplash.com

Remote Nurturing

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Many of my friends have taken to gardening during lockdown, making raised beds and planting whatever seeds they can get their hands on. Just like the craze for baking and bread-making, there is now one for growing your own food. The other day, my neighbour, Julie, proudly listed the latest seeds she has pricked and planted in our new communal street garden, including peas, potatoes, runner beans, borlotti beans, spinach, garlic, carrots and beetroot. We can all take it in turns to go and help nurture them, weeding, watering or adding more plants, although one neighbour is definitely the head gardener.

It got me thinking how could we could capitalize on these enterprising green finger efforts to make them even more of a shared event, where potentially hundreds or thousands of people could take part to grow one mega veggie patch or a series of connected gardens. Wouldn’t it be amazing if those who don’t have a garden could feel as connected to the earth as those who have actual gardens? As I wondered about this possibility, I was reminded of a project from many years ago when the internet was just getting off the ground called Telegarden. Anyone could log on to the site where you could watch a circular garden with a robot arm. You could also sign up to control the robot who would plant flowers and then water them. It was created by artists Ken Goldberg and Joseph Santarromana from California. It was kept alive for 9 years and during that time 10,000’s people connected. It was a fusion of tech and nature. The idea that a physical garden could be operated by users online was considered by the artists as being “the most absurd”. Now, in lockdown it does not seem quite as absurd.

How about we try to recreate a more up-to-date version of Telegarden (call it Lockdown Garden) in empty school yards, university campuses, national parks, meadows, or even on the land that people own but don’t have a use for. School children, grandparents, single people, young and old people, bored people, well anyone really, could log on, pay a small fee and select from a catalogue of fruit and veg seeds to grow. Drones and automated robots could work in tandem nurturing the garden, weeding and picking the veggies, that could then be donated to people in need. Our favourite TV gardening presenters, like Carol Klein and Monty Don in the UK, could judge the best kept Lockdown gardens and the most crazy, beautiful, bountiful and so on. And of course there could be disasters filmed by the drones that could keep the viewers and growers hooked, like the robots overwatering, marrows growing to be the size of a small car, and robots refusing to cooperate. Perhaps I am getting a bit carried away here but it would be a fun challenge for all those makers and engineering students who are now at a loose end.

Remote Places

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Last week, everyone was experimenting with backdrops for their Teams, Zoom or GoTo meetings – I have seen the Northern Lights, New York, beach resorts, outer space, and various exotic places. Quite a contrast from the mundane, domestic kitchens and make-shift home workplaces we have become accustomed to peering into. One of my PhD students, chose Hawaii for his backdrop (see above), and at one point during the meeting it looked like he was surfing as he moved his head back and forth against the palm-tree foregrounded sunset beach. The illusion is created because the backdrop does funny things with your own image when you move your head – your hair starts to look like it is moving with the wind.

It made a light-hearted change to the start and end of our meetings, talking about the funny effects. The reason my student chose the Waikiki beach backdrop was that a group of us were meant to be flying to our annual CHI conference – which was to be held in Hawaii. Normally, 3000-4000 rock up, from all corners of the globe, for a week each year at this time (last year it was held in rainy Glasgow) to network, learn and talk about our current research for a diversity of areas concerned with the design and use of tech. But like many other large events involving travel it was cancelled due to Coronavirus. For many of my students this was a huge disappointment as it was to be their first time going – but they put on brave faces. Next week, instead of using backdrops, we plan to get dressed up in Hawaii Hula clothing and leis. Well maybe. Anything to lighten the mood.

Many of us are getting the lockdown blues now, feeling restless and bored. As the weeks of lockdown drag on the need to look forward becomes ever more pressing. Some people are rebooking their cancelled holidays for next year, giving them at least something to plan for. The papers are full of ads now for big ticket holidays and cruises – costing £1000s for a holiday of a lifetime. The images of ancient sites, rain forests, glistening beaches and city skylines are very alluring but seem all the more remote. One can’t even begin to imagine what it would be like to enter a busy airport, let alone cram onto a plane with hundreds of other passengers for countless hours. How are we going to keep our distance if we are sat in a window seat and need to go to the toilet?

Many of my us are craving the embodied contact that comes with physically being with others. While we persevere with our remote meetings each day, trying to make the most of the impoverished bandwidth and the strangeness of seeing someone but not being with them, we are all getting tired of it. We are at that stage now wondering what our country will provide by way of a lockdown exit strategy. Some countries are further ahead and have already started taking baby steps. Singapore, China, Korea, Germany, Finland, Australia and the Czech Republic have begun to reopen schools, shops, gyms and other businesses.  In the UK, however, we continue to wait. Boris returning to number 10 soon will buy him more time – as our daily morbidity level continues to remain relatively high.

But whether and what it might mean to return to the ‘old’ normal is anyone’s guess – it could take months, possibly years. I looked at some photos today of Spanish children being allowed outside for the first time in two months – whizzing around on their bikes, roller skating with their arms flailing or simply just running around. The sense of joy and freedom on their faces was palpable. It gave me hope that it might not take that long.

Meanwhile, our governments continue to thrash it out with their scientific advisors. All sorts of factors have to be weighed up against each other, including wellbeing, unemployment, numbers of daily cases, relative change in daily deaths, availability of hospital places, medical staff available, who to safeguard, the likelihood of unrest, rebellion or uprising, and so on. The fear of relaxing too quickly and too soon is that it could result in a second spike, just as bad or if not worse than the first, meaning we would all have to go back to lockdown again. Keeping people cooped up for too much longer, however, is likely to have devastating and long-lasting effects; not least, a huge increase in mental health issues, economic disaster for many businesses, and many unknowns.

For those of us who see the glass half full, we continue to dream of returning to familiar but now remote places soon: re-imagining what it is like to experience the real thing rather than the digital substitute. To drink a proper cocktail rather than meet at cocktail ‘o’ clock, to go to a live concert rather than a livestreamed one, to go to a real football match and throng with the crowds rather than watch classic games on the TV, or simply to be able to walk into a coffee shop, enjoy waiting in line (not at a distance), having a banter with the other customers, and then take from the hands of the barista, a perfectly made frothy coffee with an emoji heart on the top.

Remote Tracking

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It is great to see the tech companies coming together to do their bit to help curb coronavirus. Apple and Google have been collaborating on a tracking platform that could help governments worldwide monitor, track and manage the pandemic more effectively. Their proposed system works by using Bluetooth and encryption keys, that enable data to be collected from phones that have been in close proximity with each other. From this data, it can be inferred who else, phone owners have been close to, for a set period of time (e.g. the quarantine period of 14 days). Users can also alert health authorities if they have been diagnosed with Covid-19 and conversely, the system can text them if they have detected that their phone, and indirectly themselves, have been in close contact with someone who has been diagnosed with the virus. The term coined for this new form of remote tracking is ‘contact tracing’ as illustrated by Apple and Google’s graphic:

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Remote Numbers

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The day before the coronavirus lockdown started in the UK, I had a smart meter fitted in my house. After the engineer had finished, he walked me through all the various functions shown on the digital display; a dashboard of numbers provides all sorts of stats and data about how much electricity and gas you are using and how much they cost per hour, alongside an easy to read traffic light barometer that moves into red bars (see above) if you are using a lot of energy (e.g when boiling a kettle) while rewarding you with green bars when you are being energy efficient. The idea is that you use the various number and bars to change your behaviour and in doing so reduce your energy usage and save money.

I looked at the display a few times but did nothing to change my behaviour to be more energy efficient. Quite the opposite in fact; I started using more electricity and gas, making more cups of tea, cooking more meals, spending more hours in front of my laptop, TV and doing more washing – as a result of being stuck at home 24/7 now. Best place for the display was to hide it in a drawer.

Meanwhile, like everyone else I have been gripped by numbers that are being delivered each day about coronavirus – but uncomfortably so. The number of new cases and the number of new deaths are on the rise each day. At first 2-3 people dying was considered shocking. Now we are up to nearly a 1000 a day in the UK. It is no longer shocking but expected. We have all become engrossed by the graphs the scientists generate each day to help the lay person understand what the numbers mean with respect to where we are in the quest to flatten the curve’. They project how steep the curve is each day relative to day zero. The colour coded ones show where the UK is relative to other countries we might care about. I catch myself comparing how we are doing against the US or Italy – thinking we are better off or not doing as bad. Why are we being shown this as if it was a competition? To make us feel better? Comparative graphs are a mechanism that is commonly used in behavioural change; known as social norms. By seeing how well you are doing relative to others (it could be a peer, a family, a neighbouring city or a country) you can feel good if you are below the others or worry if you are above – as it indicates loud and clear you are using more or spending more (conversely, if it is exercise, the reverse is true).

There are more and more of these visualizations appearing now, such as Sky’s: “Coronavirus: How many people have died in your area? COVID-19 deaths in England mapped”. Those who live in remote areas, like Suffolk can sigh a big relief that there are no big blobs near them. Those who live in London or other densely populated areas will notice  big blobs splatted over where they live. No wonder so many Londoners flocked to the countryside when they could. That is, before those who live there told them where to go.

For the most part there is little we can do other than worry when looking at these comparative coronavirus graphs. They are fodder, too, for the media and politicians. For example the headline on one news website: “Singapore Wins Praise For Its COVID-19 Strategy. The U.S. Does Not”

Today’s headline on CNN’s website was more in tune with the way science happens; through competing predictions and hypotheses: “New US model predicts much higher Covid-19 death toll in UK. But British Scientists are Skeptical.” The US team predict nearly 70,000 will die in the UK. The British scientists, on the other hand, predicted only 20,000-30,000 would die in the UK, based on their brand of mathematical modeling. Who do we believe?

One of the UK scientists involved, who has become a household name, is Professor Neil Ferguson from Imperial College. The UK government has increasingly relied not only on his team’s modelling prowess but also on their wisdom to decide on its next response strategy during the pandemic. It is an unenviable position to be in, as we scientists are not renowned for having the superpowers necessary to enable us to see into the future. Who knows what people will do and what will become of us when making such hugely impactful choices on how to manage the pandemic.

It goes without saying that mathematical models need lots of data in order to make accurate predictions. When predicting the weather, a tsunami or an earthquake millions of data points  are used. The current pandemic, however, in comparison, has relatively few data points that can be used.

It would be hubris not to remember the failure of Google’s Flu Trends program, a few years back, when it’s developers claimed, based on analyzing people’s search terms for flu, they could produce accurate estimates of flu prevalence two weeks earlier than official data. Sadly, it failed to do this for the peak of the 2013 flu season. Then, they had access to big data – masses of it. The current modelers only have access to small data – very little of it. Let’s hope all the lockdown restrictions imposed on society at large, that have been put in place in nearly every country in an attempt to stem the rise in the pandemic, based on current predictions and remote numbers, fares better. We can but hope.

Remote Living

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So official lockdown kicked in on Monday for us living in Britain. The rules are a bit more lenient than in some countries, where they have draconian curfew measures in place. Here, we are allowed to leave home for one exercise a day, and to go shopping to buy necessary food and medicine. We are also allowed to go to work if we absolutely can’t work from home. So for the time being if you are a construction worker you can carry on as normal – so long as you are two metres apart. Good time to be a crane operator – high in the sky looking down on empty streets. I suspect not for long. It must be very difficult for a government to balance its country’s economy when deciding which strategies to use try to flattern the pandemic curve that will have most effect – while determining how best to change human behaviour in a way that is so very different from how people normally live their lives.

Yesterday, I did my beach walk alone at 8.00 a.m to start the day. It was full of joggers and dog walkers. There was plenty of space so we managed to keep our distance. The sea looked calm and serene and for that hour one could think of something else other than Coronavirus. Today, I am saving up my permitted outside exercise for later in the day. By mid-afternoon yesterday I was getting quite restless. At one point I looked at my watch thinking it was 4.15p.m – soon time for a planned social chat with a friend – only to then discover it was actually 3.15p.m. Normally, being surprised by finding I have an extra hour would be a joy. I can fill it in easily by catching up on work. Yesterday, I can honestly say my heart sank a little, reminding me of when I was a teenager on a long Sunday when the clock stands still…

Meanwhile, all around us is a flurry of activity online. I see a lovely Amanda is streaming her yoga class to us on Friday at work. A couple just got married in Birmingham before the country banned weddings; over 100 guests watched it being live streamed on Facebook. There are also sweet videos of grandchildren, now doing the rounds, waving at their grandparents through the windows or patio doors in their garden, some even squashing their little noses up to the glass. Lots of people have celebrated their birthdays with their friends family and by virtually holding their birthday cakes up for them to see.

The one that has caught everyone’s eyes, however, is Joe Wicks, also from Birmingham, who has become the self-proclaimed UK’s living room PE teacher. Hundreds of thousands of families are joining in each day for his 9.00a.m class. You can see why. He has charisma, presence, energy and drive that appeal to children and parents, alike. The videos of kids prancing around the living room, following his instructions, are very moving. A bit of the magic that Russell Brand oozes seems to have rubbed off on him.

Eating alone together online has also started to become popular again amongst families and friends. I remember a few years ago when Skype was becoming mainstream some of us tried it as an experiment. For example, when I was in South Africa on sabbatical I had a Skype dinner with a friend back in the UK. It was nice to catch up with her while doing something but the eating part actually felt quite odd. We had both served up ourselves something simple – a pasta dish – and started eating about the same time. But somehow picking up our knives and forks together did not synchronize and the eating of the meal did not feel natural. The smells, tastes and noises when eating together were lost in translation.

Unlike the craze for ASMR where someone uploads a YouTube video of themselves making eating noises when eating jelly beans, cake or other delight that makes viewers go crazy when listening to them. The acronym stands for ‘autonomous sensory meridian response’ which apparently causes a tingling sensation in someone akin to the hairs on the back of their neck standing up. Zach Choi, who has over 7 million followers, does a great impression scoffing fast food – might be compuslive viewing for those who are missing their junk food fix now that McDonalds, Nandos and the like are all closed.

Apparently, there is a huge following for ASMR; over 15 million videos have been made and watched endlessly. It is not just the chewing, munching and crunching noises that appeal but also lots of other mundane noises that trigger that weird sensation in people – including the sound of rolling marbles on a hard surface, someone whispering ever so softly or tapping their nails gently on a desk. The mind boggles.

I have watched a few of the ASMR videos and I am afraid they don’t do it for me it; if anything they do the opposite, making me judder and cringe. I like the straight forward things in life like the clinking of glasses. At the end of a tiring day of back-to-back remote work meetings I now look forward to a FaceTime chat with a friend or two with a glass of wine in hand. Of course, it is no substitute for the real thing but it can be surprisingly relaxing and enjoyable. We make sure we have a good laugh, crack some jokes and try to see the funny side of life. And then its dinner, Netflix, and the 10.00 o’clock news before going to bed.

Another Groundhog Day in these strange times.

Remote Working

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It has been a full-on week of remote working since the university instructed us last week to do so because of the escalation of coronavirus. It feels like I have had more videoconferencing meetings than hot dinners! One moment it is Skype, the next Teams and then Zoom – many have been back-to-back. Even though it is great that we can keep in touch in this virtual way, it is frankly exhausting – but in a different way from my usual tiring day at work. While my twice daily train commute often takes its toll at the end of the day, sat being glued to a screen for hours on end, talking to virtual colleagues and students, elevates fatigue to a new dimension. It is not a physical exhaustion but more enervating, like how one can feel after a long Sunday, when you have indulged in too much binge-watching.

Part of the new tiredness also stems from having quite different kinds of meetings than usual; having to deal with so many updates and breaking news each day, on what has been planned, decided, revealed and mandated by government, country, university or at the departmental level. Right now, there is an awful lot of ‘cascading’ interspersed with checking up and reassuring each other. There seems to be much less ‘actual’ work’; but one hopes this will return once routines begin to settle into place.

Then out of the blue you might get an email from one of your colleagues letting you know they are not feeling well and have begun self-isolating. It is quite anxiety-inducing, worrying if they have got the lurgy. I have heard now from quite a few people that they have developed flu-like symptoms and are self isolating; some seem more serious than others. It is all a bit discombobulating, and russian roulette-like. You can but hope they will be better the next day.

To welcome each day, I have started walking on the beach early in the morning with a couple of my neighbours. It is invigorating, filling the lungs with fresh sea air and watching life at a distance. We even see a group of women each day, braving the waves in their wetsuits for a bracing swim. But who knows how long we can carry on doing this before a lockdown is imposed – as has been the case in Spain and Italy.

Today it was raining and so we put our umbrellas up; making it easier for us to ‘social distance’. At one point we entered a shop, and while waiting in line, other customers came in and stood a metre apart from us and each other – abiding by the government’s guidance. It felt a little strange and silly as we skirted around the small place. But even though it seemed unnatural it felt prudent.

Later in the morning, when I peered out of my study window that looks onto a primary school playground, I saw many 5-6 years old children playing together during their break time as if they did not have a care in the world (as it happens it was probably for the last time as UK schools begin to close). For them the concept of social distancing must seem alien. As for taking part in social isolation, it must seem even stranger, as to why they can’t go out to play but instead have to stay indoors for a week or two without physical contact with their grandparents or playmates.

This new world order brings out the best and worst in people. There are so many acts of kindness being reported it makes you feel warm and fuzzy, realizing that, as human beings, we like to look out for each other. However, the flipside is just how many people are looking out for themselves. Many can’t resist the temptation to stock up on tins, bread, toilet paper and other staples. Panic buying maybe, but it gives them something to do and makes them feel safe. I found myself today, after failing to find any cereal left on the shelves, wondering if I should buy the last remaining cereal bar that I spotted. I would never normally buy such a thing let alone eat one. It is not easy to restrain oneself when irrational fears enter our psyche. As it turned out, one of my neighbours came to the rescue and brought round a tasty loaf of bread.

As we have all started to sign off our emails with: ‘Stay safe’.