How my stubborn father discovered the perks of lockdown all by himself
Like all Irish people living in England, being away from family back home has been tough, as has having to do so from a distance now mandated by the state. Keeping up with what the government is saying on any given day is a bit trickier when you have to do it for two countries at once, inhaling charts, statements and op-eds from two places and trying to make judgments based on their diverging paths.
For those of us from the Northern Irish border this effect is amplified again, and the distinctions between Irish and British approaches become more pressing. My father’s is the last house before the border with Ireland. By March, his neighbours in the Republic were told it would be best to sleep in warm bubble wrap, and set an alarm to wake them up around November. Eleven metres away in the United Kingdom, my dad was being encouraged to operate kissing booths at horseracing events and to eat all his meals at large, out-of-town Stereophonics gigs.
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