OPENER / ANDREW TUCK
Status dough
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Yesterday we completed the second magazine of the year produced with everyone working from home. It’s The Entrepreneurs special. We’ve spoken to a lot of people about how they’re trying to maintain their precious company culture, keep a business hunkered down until the storm passes, or retooling and refocusing to do good in times of need. And also making big plans for when this is over. It’s overwhelming how so many business people have this resolve, this belief, that in the end it will be OK. Monocle started in 2007 just before the global crash and our business coverage has often had a biographical edge – we have been living through the challenges we are reporting on. And so it is again.
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It’s reported that in our absence from Midori House, some mice have been spotted on the editorial floor. Perhaps they are taking over in our absence and running a fledgling shadow title, Mousocle. I imagine one fashioning a little outfit from the clothes left by our fashion editor’s desk so that it looks the part of a style writer. Another writing about how to furnish a mouse hole from our design editor’s perch and a mouse-y culture editor writing about the new Rat Pack. Maybe one is right now having a swivel in my chair. We call pest control.
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Mostly I buy it – that people have become kinder during the lockdowns. You certainly see neighbourhoods pulling together. In my small street we are now doing the shopping for our octogenarian neighbour (don’t let the number fool you, in normal times he has a busier social and cultural life than me), people are hanging out their windows at the end of the day to catch up with each other from afar and there’s a lot of distance waving. But you wonder if everyone is so generous. Walking the dog around the block with my partner we bump into two people we know, who stop to say hello. Now, in the UK, “gatherings” of more than two people who do not live in your household are banned. We stand many metres apart and speak for mere seconds, but already I spot someone spying on us from behind a curtain. Are they about to take our picture? Call the police? You can see how the Stasi found so many helpers. And indeed British police officers have been inundated with people calling to tell them they spotted a neighbour taking more than the one prescribed moment of outdoor exercise a day. “Officer, a gentleman has just left his house in Lycra leggings and earlier today he was definitely on a bicycle.” Well, perhaps the leggings are an offence.
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Another fork in the road. Are we going to be more or less of a sharing community after this? I cannot imagine how risky shared living spaces must feel just now. Who would want to go in an UberPool? Or have a floating space in a WeWork? Privacy and distance look set to become new benchmarks.
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How’s your meal planning going? I seem to have slipped into French picnic mode. The local bakery – that I never normally go to – is still open and I have, in two weeks, developed a craving for sourdough that is alarming. You can be sat working away and suddenly Mr Sourdough starts calling your name from the pantry. There’s something about his soothing accent that is impossible to ignore – “Monsieur, wouldn’t you like a little slice of me? I’ll let you butter me up. Perhaps you’d like to pop a little cheese on me?” He’s broken through my crusty exterior and snared my doughy heart. I may have to find an Addicted to Loaf support group.