Boris Johnson — shoots — brenna duncan

Isolation stories: week three

As we entered week three and the age of Aquarius, under a pink super moon, Boris was admitted to intensive care with Coronavirus and it felt like the world had gone mad. Was he gonna make it? This was the question on everyone’s lips.

I started jogging. Who hasn’t? Ate three massive bags of salt and vinegar crisps in a week (hence the jogging) and crafted Easter bunny ears for the puppy. I walked barefoot through the park, sat and listened to birdsong amongst the trees, waved at friends through their windows and got ready for an online date… applying makeup for the first time in days, choosing a cool shirt yet wearing jogging bottoms on the bottom, because well he wasn’t gonna see them was he?

At our place we hosted an online fire sound journey in the garden under the full moon, celebrated Easter with a BBQ, indulged in six loaves of tasty free sourdough from my sister and binge watched Unorthodox on Netflix… there’s a scene in a Berlin nightclub where everyone’s dancing, sweating and slithering around skin on skin. Wow I miss that! I miss human touch. How long do we have to wait until we can snog someones face off in a club?

I tried my best to tune out of the news all week and remain positive, but it wasn’t easy, especially when we were all wondering if the prime minister was going to survive (not that I’m a Boris fan fyi, but no one wanted him to die, apart from a few absolute horrors on social media).

I’d actually been holding it all together pretty well, until Good Friday when I was approached by a warden as I was stretching on Hackney Marshes; “we’re asking everyone to keep moving this weekend please” and that was it, a sadness suddenly overwhelmed me. A sadness about not being able to meet up with friends, go out for dinner, to a gig, sit on a picnic table (they’re all covered in police tape) or even stretch in the park.

Although I don't want the world to go back to how it was (something needed to change) and I’m enjoying this slower pace of life, I'm really missing the simple things and the freedoms we once took for granted. Grieving for parts of my old life and missing my pals, yet staying hopeful that something amazing will come out of all this. Plus it’s spring, the blossom is in full bloom and the sun is warm on our faces so it ain’t all bad.

Week three in photos below, thanks so much for looking.

Bonfire night in Lewes is like nothing I’ve ever seen before. It’s organised anarchy. And you’ll either love it or you’ll hate it.

The town’s November fifth festivities mark the exposure of the gunpowder plot in 1605 and the burning of 17 Protestants in the high street. In preparation, roads into Lewes are closed early and shop windows are boarded up, as thousands of people descend onto the streets. I started to wonder what the hell I’d let myself in for.

As darkness falls, Bonfire Societies from all around Lewes start to parade through the tiny streets carrying flaming torches, effigies and burning crosses. Gently at first.

An hour or two later and things have gone up a notch. Piles of discarded flaming torches have created small fires on the roads, bright red flares are lighting up the crowds, firecrackers (so loud you have to ram your fingers right into your ears) are being set off everywhere, huge effigies of Boris Johnson, Theresa May and Guy Fawkes have made an appearance and the air is smoke filled and smoggy.

Each bonfire society then leads the way to their designated bonfire site, which means there are six different bonfires and firework displays going off in the town at the same time! After the fireworks people take to the streets, light fires, set off more firecrackers and do crazy things like jumping through flames.

It’s a long, noisy yet exciting night. You’ll jump out of your skin several times as a firecracker lands by your feet, so it’s definitely not for the faint hearted. If you go prepared with drinks, snacks, earplugs and a big happy smile on your face, then I defy you not to love it.

A man in one of many historical costumes worn by society members parading through the streets carrying torches, effigies and burning crosses

Carrying burning torches through the narrow streets

Watching poppy wreaths being lit at the War Memorial

Gathering discarded torches and putting out small fires along the way

The calm after a firecracker fuelled storm on one street

Watching Cliffe Bonfire Society’s bonfire

Cliffe Bonfire Society’s monstrous bonfire which was too hot even from this distance

Revellers enjoying Cliffe’s epic firework display

A couple walk home in the early hours of the morning as flares and firecrackers are still being lit

Carnage on street corners in the early hours of the morning