THERE'S AN airborne misconception that "learning to live with the virus" is a defeatist maxim – "Forget lockdown and let everybordy dead, ent?" Rather, it describes a shift in human behaviour and perspectives – cutting your cloth to suit the pandemic.
During a recent grocery expedition, two teenage girls joined the queue I was in. As they stood slouched, being used by their smartphones, I noticed all they had in their hands were two muffins, a Kiss cake and a drink. The items made an impression because these anableps went to a grocery in a pandemic like they were buying rolling papers at a parlour.
Now, they broke no regulation other than an unwritten expectation of common sense – but then I've seen people step into the maw of a virus that's choking the life out of people as fit as Kate Beckinsale just so the cashier could swipe a broom and a lightbulb – presumably to replace the blown one in their skulls.
The Government's covid19 regulations identify essential businesses, but they won't spell out the essential need for citizens to smarten up. That's where public education campaigns come in. How do I restructure my life and habits to skirt risk? By now, everyone should be asking themselves this question before stepping outside.
Lockdowns and restrictions are designed to lessen human interaction. They don't, however, explain to people they should change their shopping patterns – limit visits and the number of twiddlebugs who jump in the family car.
Citizens must try to gather enough groceries for two weeks to a month. Plan out a menu at home, gauge how long meal plans will last. Do a needs inventory – toilet paper, soap, castanets, etc – and go to the grocery with a list. The list is meant to keep trips to a minimum, along with your exposure to others and others to you.
The “stay home, stay safe, stay alive” slogan is catchy, but only goes so far. On its own (which it mostly is) it can't inspire the dramatic change needed right now – urgently needed months ago, in fact.
Many reacted with eye-rolling to Trinis lining up for Kentucky et al as the renewal of restrictions loomed. Citizens' obsession with fast food is as well documented as are our stratospheric obesity, hypertension and diabetes stats.
In the absence of regular food fixes, people are lining up outside alleged bakeries (fakeries) snapping up whatever they've got – a boon to outfits peddling atmosphere pies, non-perishable currants rolls, and other culinary crimes.
The reason is no mystery: swathes of Trinis abandoned home cooking somewhere at the beginning of the Holocene epoch. Intermittent stretches of prosperity enslaved us to the convenience of fast food.
Owing to lockbackdown, people have had their food sources ripped from them. Like animals in captivity, they're unable to fend for themselves in the wild – of their own kitchens.
Several years ago I created a video series called Dinner in a Snap. The concept was conceived to nudge the public towards healthier lifest
