We all know, pretty much, what it means to be alive. Humans and animals are alive; so are plants and trees in a different way; rocks are dead. But are there different degrees of being alive? Is the life of a fit healthy 35-year-old, for example, more or less valuable than a premature baby or a 105-year-old person? Not in my view it ain’t, which is why I have always been so opposed to both abortion and euthanasia. A human life is a life; is a soul; and we must honour and preserve it no matter who it may be.

But is a human life more important than an animal? Of course it is. I am a meat-eating countryman and have no shame that every steak I eat, every rasher of bacon, means that an animal somewhere or another has died. Yet I swerve like mad to avoid hitting a pheasant on the road. Despite that I strongly support the right of countrymen to shoot them for food; and if that’s too controversial for you, almost no-one objects to a trout being caught and killed for supper. Dogs and horses are sacred to me, but I am only too pleased to kill a rat, of which we have had a minor infestation lately; and all of us would gladly swat a mosquito, or trap wasps in homemade jam jar traps. So leaving aside Buddhists, life is, at least to some degree, comparative rather than absolute.

I feel the same about Lockdown. It’s been a strange old time; and life is nothing like normal. We Brits particularly have made the best we can of it; we have tried to find the benefits from the enforced stay at home; but it has not exactly been very full-blooded. We can’t go on this way.

The Government are walking a delicate tightrope between honouring all life for what it is- a life; keeping everyone safe as best they can; yet at the same time they have to get life back to some kind of vague normality. They have to get the economy going again, get students back to school and University. It takes baby steps along that tightrope- comes close to falling off from time to time; finds itself walking backwards occasionally. But by and large it is inching towards a solution to the greatest National crisis in a generation.

Parliament’s back, although the current structures and procedures seem to me to be lifeless and to risk failing to hold the government to account or scrutinise legislation properly. I am still working at home for another week or two recuperating from my op. But I am also puzzled by the notion that we should all congregate in London, risking spreading the disease (aided by the Extinction Rebellion youths lurking outside); but that we should not be able to do our jobs properly when we get there because of social distancing rules in the Palace of Westminster. I am doing as good a job as I can remotely from Wiltshire; my constituency work is as ever fully up to date, and I am influencing as best I can from afar. I am not clear that a physical presence in a barely functioning Parliament would make that any more effective.

We all just need to keep on keeping on. Do what we can to live as normal a life as we can. Take little risks to nudge life along, while always observing the Covid rules without which we could quickly spiral back into a crisis. Determination, doggedness, Vera Lynn, Dunkirk Spirit- these are the old British instincts.

Or in the old words of the Bee Gees:-

“Feel the city breakin' and everybody shakin'
And we're stayin' alive, stayin' alive.”