Seán Moncrieff: Some people may never get over what happened to them during the pandemic

My memory fails me on a regular basis. I don’t mean that thing where you can walk into a room and suddenly not know why you entered it; I mean someone can say to me: do you remember that time? And then go into granular detail about some event or adventure that I was involved in, of which I have only the haziest recall. Then again, I can remember obscure details from decades ago that have no apparent significance or entertainment value.

It’s like there’s another person inside me, sifting through my daily experiences and organising it in piles of what should be retained and what should be thrown out. But this person is completely different from me: they seem to have no idea what I find valuable or moving or funny. It seems as if my memories have been organised in a completely random way. There have been times in my life when I know I’ve told myself to take a deep breath, look around, remember this. But I can’t remember what those events were. My inner memory arranger may be doing this spitefully. Or they may be an idiot.

Some have suggested to me that this may be some sort of self-defence mechanism. There are lot of bad things I can’t recall that well. Herself, who remembers everything to an almost tortuous degree, points this out on a regular basis. She’s still annoyed on my behalf about events that I’ve completely forgotten.

But I do get the odd flashback. Things are back to normal now and, in general terms, it’s like it never happened, but every now and again I’m visited by a memory of the pandemic: usually prompted by something that I haven’t done since before the first lockdown. Went to the radio awards. Got the NCT done on the car.

Brendan O’Connor brings his contrary streak to a cosy conversation about immigration

---

Seán Moncrieff: What does the word ‘woke’ really mean?

---

Seán Moncrieff: As dull as it is, queuing isn’t just a cultural habit – it says something about society

---

Seán Moncrieff: Psoriasis is one of the flaws that make me who I am

---

I imagine I’m not the only one who gets these little reminders. They seem to spark a small cascade effect in the brain, bringing back not just specifics, but the surreal atmosphere of those years. The sense that time had slowed. The profound quiet. As someone who enjoys being at home, and who tends towards introversion, I didn’t find it all so bad. Yet I know that during those years I had periods of low-level depression. I developed unhealthy drinking habits.

Life must move on, of course. But perhaps as a collective self-defence mechanism, we’ve tried to forget what it was like, and now overlook those still scarred by the experience. People who suffered intense loneliness and debilitating illness; people who lost loved ones and never got the chance to say goodbye.

And there are those among us for whom the pandemic isn’t over yet: who suffered economic disaster, or are struggling with long Covid – a syndrome that seems to be complex and insidious and still far from being fully understood by medical professionals. Governments and health bodies should of course learn from their mistakes – if anything similar happens in the future, everyone needs to remember what they did the last time – yet it might also be useful to realise that the pandemic is still having real and measurable effects today. There are still people who need help. There are people who may never get over what happened to them.

In comparative terms, it’s a minor matter, but what comes back to me a lot about lockdown is Daughter Number Four’s fifth birthday. Everyone was trapped in their houses at that time, so of course there could be no party, no family members calling around.

Her world had already shrunk so much that on the day she had no hesitation about what she wanted for her birthday treat. We got in the car, put on our masks, queued for 20 minutes and then walked around Tesco. I’ve asked her since about this, and she says she can’t remember. I’ll never forget it.