Ironically, cabin fever can drive some writers crazy. Sitting alone in a room is something they actively seek but that soon gets old when they’re made to do it.
For family reasons we went into social isolation several weeks before the official lockdown so we’ve had longer to go stir crazy. The following is an example of the slightly strange behaviour that may be coming your way.
It occurred to me that the perfect antidote to these present restrictions would be the freedom to climb a Munro, which is a mountain over 3000 feet.
I obviously can’t do that at the moment, so instead I decided to climb a Munro in my garden. I’m fortunate to have a very long and steep garden (though at 330 feet in length and 80 feet in height I’m considerably less fortunate when it comes to cutting the grass and trimming the hedges). I calculated that if I walked up to the top of the garden and then back down, and repeated all that forty times over, I would have ascended and descended 3200 feet and walked almost exactly five miles.
Naturally, as any responsible hillwalker should, I informed by family of where I was going and when I should be expected back. My duty done, I then set out on this adventure to their bemused looks. My behaviour soon caught the attention of the neighbours who took to leaning out of their windows to watch the crazy man. Some apparently contemplated calling the police whilst all the children pointed and laughed.
The weather was good but, as everyone knows when climbing in the Highlands, one should always carry a backpack with rain gear, a compass and a sat phone in case of gales and snowstorms, as well emergency rations and a torch to signal the rescue helicopter. Weighed down by all this, I found the climbing difficult at first but I soon caught my second wind
The going was good until about 2500 feet when my progress slowed, no doubt due to the thinning air. Thankfully, I found a well-appointed bothy on the way up that supplied refreshing lager chilled from the fridge. The views were frankly rather repetitive but the air was bracing and it was good to feel I was out and about.
I returned in triumph to the still bemused looks of my family. I boasted how easy it had been because alternating up and down seemed much kinder on the legs than one long up and then one long down.
I went to bed a hero, albeit only within the confines of my own skull.
Nemesis caught up with me the next morning. The going may have seemed easier but the overall wear and tear was just the same or perhaps even worse. My legs seized up solid and I developed the gait of a centenarian who had led a determinedly dissolute life.
I returned to my writing room, beaten but unbowed though with a hint of trepidation. The lockdown has been extended and I’m a little worried about what I might find myself resorting to next.