In the past year, in every part of the globe, millions of lives have been lost and personal worlds turned upside down. In the first of a three-part series, individuals tell their stories of gain, loss and adapting during lockdown
Chris Asprey
At midday, on 19 December 2020, 12 hours before London was plunged into a third lockdown from which it has yet to emerge, I stood nervously at the front of St Mary’s Church in Hampstead, north-west London, waiting.
Our story had begun at the end of the previous year, over a pint of beer in a Kensington pub. On one of our early dates, Belén booked a couple of tickets to the ice rink in front of the Natural History Museum, a local romantic hotspot. I was determined to make an impression, but not this one: 10 minutes before our session was due to end, I lost my balance and, as I was falling to the ground, heard the crack of my ankle breaking. Skates glided and crunched around me. Belén looked helplessly down while I lay on the freezing ice, nauseated, embarrassed, waiting for a wheelchair and a ride to the nearest hospital.
