Despite being infinitely more challenging, it was always better in ‘their’ day. My grandparents would often regale me with tales of hardship, community and, most of all, simplicity, as they lauded the way things were, not the way things panned out.

Self-obsessed with consumerism and rushing little Johnny from A to B to C to D, we have allowed ourselves as a nation to become all consumed with issues of little relevance despite our protestations that they are mission critical.

But then coronavirus came to call. A silent assassin, bar the cough which acts as a precursor to the battle to come, it has proved to be ravenous as it devours all before it: young and old and rich and poor as we use all in our armoury to battle off the fiend despite our arsenal consisting of little more than a pea shooter and a Nerf gun.

So, it’s back to basics: a scary prospect a few weeks ago, but one that many of us have engaged with and, you know what, it's not too shabby at all.

As regular readers may be aware, I was once a milkman. To be brutally honest I was an appalling milkman, often starting work five hours late and finishing that morning's deliveries deep into the afternoon when the sun was blazing and the gold top was well and truly on the turn.

Since the corona invasion the humble milkie has made an unexpected yet welcome comeback. Replacing online sales of the latest M&S finest foodstuffs where middle class punters snap up quinoa and duck breast concoctions, Geraldine at number 42 is now swapping milkman’s details as she raves about having fresh red top and half a dozen eggs delivered to her doorstep. It is refreshing that we, as a nation, have taken to these basics with gusto, and are now questioning why we, as a society, allowed them to go to the wall in the first place.

Farmers are much maligned in the UK, beaten down by unscrupulous supermarkets who, having desecrated smallholders' bottom lines, then put the boot in, leading to farmers having one of the highest suicide rates of any profession in the UK. But now, through inopportune circumstance, they are making a comeback: meat deliveries are plentiful, as are vegetable boxes as we collectively find some national pride, buy British and don’t even take into consideration past indiscretions including BSE and salmonella.

As well as back to basics supplies, we are being admonished for visiting supermarkets to buy nonessentials. A trip to the local Sainsburys was always a chore, even more so now as we plan our sporadic visit with military precision: heck, I've even started taking a shopping list, which was hitherto unheard of.

The crude two-metre gaffer taped exclusion zone is visible upon arrival and you queue up, contorting your body each time the lady a few steps behind hacks whilst pretending to use her sleeve as a makeshift anti-viral barrier. Staff hand out a solitary disinfectant wipe at the entrance despite you having fingered the trolley handle for the previous 15 minutes while queuing.

The shelves are generally empty, leaving you no choice but to slip in some non-essentials whilst you’re there and you come home laden with bubble bath, Jif Lemon and some discounted stationery, none of which are needed.

On my last trip there a few days ago, I pulled up, saw a short queue and thought ‘I don’t need this’. I drove home and ordered some veg online, bought a few fillets of salmon and eat like a lord for a couple of days before another order was forthcoming.

If Covid-19 has taught us one thing, it is that we are not really missing the regular clubs, the rushed visits to the supermarket or the frantic filling up of the car as we instead choose to walk locally, if at all, as we collectively slow down, reconnect to Mother Earth and breathe. No more ordering clothes we don’t need and wasting cash on items that bring us joy for all of a split second before we are searching again for the next mini thrill.

Were things better in my grandparents' day? Arguably so. We are more mollycoddled than they were, with heating, lighting and indoor sanitation, and we don’t have bombs dropping on our heads. The taste of the past we are all experiencing at present is not such a bad thing and I just pray that we support the little guy when things are back to ‘normal’, as they feel the power of societal love as we go back to the future.

  • Brett Ellis is a teacher