An introvert in lockdown

When the UK went into lockdown in mid-March 2020, I didn’t need much persuading to stay in. As a fairly self-contained and introverted person, I like being home alone. Having to keep at least 2 metres away from anyone else when outside wasn’t a big deal either. I’m not particularly tactile at the best of times, so it was really just a question of expanding the invisible exclusion zone that already surrounds me. I was lucky enough to be able to work from home. Even the teaching that I do part-time moved online. Ironically, one of the biggest initial challenges for me resulted from the fella moving in so that we could pool resources, meaning that lockdown was going to involve a lot less solitude than I am accustomed to and getting used to having someone else in my flat 24/7. All in all, I thought I would find lockdown fairly easy, compared with more extroverted people who need to be out and about and in other people’s company a lot more than I do. What I have learned though is that being an introvert in lockdown is as much of a curse as a blessing. Staying at home wasn’t the problem for me. It’s going out that proved to be far more difficult than I ever imagined it would be.

Things started pretty well. The fella moved in, we converted the spare bedroom into an office for him and I continued to work from my kitchen table. The weather was lovely, I’d have breakfast on my balcony each morning and then we’d pretty much do our own thing during the day, stopping to have lunch together and then settling down in the evening for dinner and a night in. The only disappointment for us was that the weekend after lockdown was imposed, we were due to celebrate our 10th anniversary in Trullo, a restaurant in Islington we’ve visited many times over the years. One of the tragedies of lockdown was that Trullo closed its doors and wasn’t able to offer an “at home” service. We had fish and chips instead. Lovely, but not what we had originally planned. We hoped that the guys at Trullo would manage to find their way through lockdown successfully and made a note to visit them if and when they opened their doors again. In the meantime, I got into the swing of lockdown and virtual socialising pretty fast and had absolutely no complaints. The problem is that I started to enjoy life in lockdown a little too much.

I realised that things weren’t as they should be when we went out for the first time to go to the shops a couple of weeks after lockdown had started. The streets were relatively quiet, but the prevailing attitude in Dalston appeared to be that social distancing was what other people did, and that it was my responsibility to get out of everyone else’s way. I found the whole experience stressful to put it mildly and was almost reduced to tears of fear and frustration within about 5 minutes of leaving my flat. The relief of walking into a side street was palpable. I calmed down and made a note to avoid Kingsland Road in Dalston if at all possible from then on. We walked on and everything felt ok, so I thought it was just a small wobble. When, however, it was time to move from the relative calm of the side street onto Essex Road in Islington, the feeling of sheer panic came back with a vengeance. I’ll never forget standing at the end of the side street and flatly refusing to walk onto Essex Road without having a clear plan for what to do in case I saw someone else who wasn’t interested in keeping their distance. I was in full-scale flight mode, shouting at my boyfriend and holding back tears. I didn’t feel remotely safe in the streets and only calmed down once we were back home.

That experience pretty much set the tone of lockdown for me. Safe and happy at home, anxious outside. I justified not going out on the basis that I wasn’t really supposed to be leaving the flat anyway and the weirdness of lockdown was affecting everyone. In any event, there were people far worse off than me and I had nothing to complain about. I could get whatever I needed online and could see mates virtually, so there really wasn’t a problem. Deep down though I knew that I was scared of going out and was desperately finding excuses not to do it. Step by step, lockdown turned me into a frightened and vulnerable person, leaving the flat once a week early on a Sunday morning, as much to reassure myself that things hadn’t gone too far as to get supplies from a nearby shop. Even now, I stand outside the shop whilst the fella goes inside. I might look relatively relaxed whilst I’m doing it, and there isn’t much point in us both going inside, but basically I am motivated by fear rather than practicality. I had a spectacular meltdown in M&S a month or so ago when a man brushed past and reached over me to get something, and I haven’t been into a supermarket since experiencing the human pinball machine which is the Dalston branch of Sainsbury’s in late March. I’ve side-stepped meeting mates in their garden and going to the pub with them, even though both are now permitted, and when faced with the possibility of eating out with mates recently, chose the option of a takeaway and virtual dinner with them instead. Recently I started to see socialising virtually as preferable to meeting in person. After all, why suffer the stress and hassle of face coverings, hand sanitiser and patchy social distancing, when I can relax at home and chat over Zoom? Other people have been talking about the importance of physical proximity whilst I’ve been wondering if it’s overrated and worth the risk. Basically, I’m not the person I was 6 months ago and I really don’t like what I have become.

In that context, a couple of weeks ago, the fella asked how I would feel about dipping my toe in the water by visiting a restaurant for dinner. He said he’d booked a table at a place within walking distance, so we wouldn’t need to take public transport. He knows how to break things to me gently and caught me at a good time, so I said yes. Until last night my world didn’t extend much beyond a radius of roughly a 10 minute walk from my flat and so it didn’t even occur to me that he’d booked a table at Trullo, which opened again a few weeks ago. I can’t quite believe I wrote that, but I suppose it just goes to show how important going there for dinner last night really was.

A couple of hours before we were due to set off, I started getting quite anxious. My stomach started churning and images flashed into my mind of me storming out of the restaurant in protest at lax standards or the misbehaviour of fellow diners. I hadn’t even left the flat and I was convincing myself that the evening would be a disaster. I also convinced myself that I had lost my appetite, so might just have a glass of water. It was too hot for dinner anyway. I even considered playing my trump card and announcing that I couldn’t face it and that I didn’t want to go out after all. For about half an hour I became my 5 year old alter ego. Luckily the fella knows me too well not to have planned for that eventuality. We took the scenic route to the restaurant by a series of side streets and by the time I realised where we were going, I was feeling pretty relaxed and cheerful, even more so having read Jay Rayner’s recent review in which he praised Trullo as a model of Covid-secure dining.

When we walked in, I was struck by how little had changed. There is a glass panel by the greeting point and hand sanitiser (which I forgot to use). There are of course fewer tables but the place doesn’t feel empty. Wooden partitions have been installed which give the feel of a modern-day chophouse with booths. Tables which aren’t separated by a partition have been cleverly arranged so that diners on different tables are at right angles to each other. A lot of thought has clearly gone into the modifications and I was instantly reassured. The staff wear face masks when coming close enough to serve you, but otherwise keep a discreet distance, and I was amazed by how quickly I got used to what otherwise could have felt like having dinner in a doctor’s surgery. I even found myself leaning back automatically as a mark of respect to the staff when they were serving me. After all, it’s as much about their safety as ours.

Two things which haven’t changed at Trullo are the food and the warmth of the staff, whose relaxed but professional manner put me at ease and filled me with confidence. Despite not being particularly hungry when I sat down, my appetite soon came back and I polished off Aberdeen Angus chopped beef with crispy capers, anchovy and rosemary dressing; tagliarini with Dorset crab, lemon and chilli; and a Black Hampshire pork chop with borlotti beans and salsa verde. I might also have squeezed down a slice of chocolate and salted caramel tart with a glass of Marsala and a double espresso. Oh and a Negroni. And a glass or two of a lovely chilled Corvina. The meal was everything I could have hoped for, and more. Gutsy Italian food and wine, served by confident people who welcomed me and put me at ease, in an environment that has been subtly, yet effectively, modified for Covid-secure dining. Trullo has made it to the other side of lockdown and come out fighting fit and winning, due in no small part to truly lovely and committed staff.

After dinner we popped into a pub near Newington Green for a cheeky pint. It was lovely and peaceful, and to be honest just as I like a pub to be late on a Saturday night after quite a heavy dinner. Again, the modifications were subtle, but effective, and I had a nice chat with the barmaid, whose down-to-earth manner again put me at ease and inspired me with confidence. The fellow drinkers were all responsible, sanitising their hands as they came in, and signing the visitors’ book without giving it a second thought.

All in all, two very positive experiences which had a remarkably therapeutic effect. The idea of dinner with mates and a socially distanced drink in the pub no longer fills me with dread, and I think I’ve finally turned the corner in getting to grips with a mild case of agoraphobia which crept up on me more stealthily than I care to mention.

Last night I learned the importance of the normalising effect that comes from being around sensible, ordinary people who are responsibly getting on with life and making the best of a weird situation. I didn’t just have a belated anniversary dinner with my lovely boyfriend Nick. I also received a gentle, but much-needed, kick up the backside in the kindest possible way, and a reminder never again to underestimate the importance (even for introverts) of time spent away from home and physical (albeit socially distanced) interaction with other people, especially in the middle of a global pandemic.