On the phone my fellow oldies grope uneasily for an appropriate word while deploring Ireland’s lockdown: ‘eerie’, ‘scary’, ‘uncanny’… Personally, I object to the language rather than the process. Living in isolation suits me, but to be labelled ‘cocooned’ is insufferably demeaning. I am not a silkworm. At first I felt I should feel guilty about enjoying this unique social experiment which was so discomfiting my neighbours. And soon came real, quite acute guilt as the media revealed Covid-19’s swift and stealthy depredations.