It was true, he said, that he had driven to his parents’ house in Sheffield to pick up some home-cooked meals. Why, he wanted to know, should they have their privacy invaded by becoming part of the story?
He had visited another relative in Sheffield. And yes, he had also been to Rotherham to see his sister — “one of the few people I can trust in my life” — to drop off some birthday treats. “She hugged me to remind me how much she cares and that I am loved. What am I meant to do — push her away?”
Well, yes, Kyle, that is exactly what you are supposed to do — unless, of course, you consider this all beneath you.
Because let me tell you about a guy called Kevin Rowson, too.
I knew Kevin, or Bamma, because he had been part of the match-day staff at Nottingham Forest for the last 10 years or so. We weren’t close mates as such but I had seen him enough times to realise he was one of those guys who loved his work. He loved to be part of the football club he supported. He had a big smile. He always wanted to shake hands and welcome you to the ground. And then, out of the blue, somebody rang up a few weeks ago to say he was dead. The virus had got to him, too.
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What Walker needs to realise is that if everyone had his attitude, well, heaven help us…
It would be nice, for example, if I could visit my dad on his birthday this week. He lives in the sticks. He is widowed. He will be 83 and he is alone. And, yes, it is all a bit shit — but what can you do? We can ring each other. We can Facetime. A present can be ordered online. A card can go through the post.
We know what Walker would do in this position. He would take the risk, plainly. I prefer it my way — and nobody is wearing a halo here — when I would rather not be the person who might have the virus but ignores the lockdown and passes it to somebody it might put in a grave. Because, let’s be honest about this, that kind of risk-taker is a bit of a plank, right?