Lock down

It's here. Even when it's predictable, it still comes as a surprise.
I found out about the lock down shortly after 9 PM. At 9.30 PM I went for a long walk just outside of the 2 km perimeter. While I still could. And boy Dalkey was a flurry of activity. Saw Bono elbowing Enya out of the way to get into Centra to buy milk and eggs and rashers and flour. Shite, no more flour. Bono will be sconeless in Sorento. 
As I was walking by the little park at the bottom of the Vico Road, I heard some music playing. I thought for a second that it was a party in one of the big houses. Strange, as everyone seemed to have gone into lock down two hours early. 
It turned out to be four guys in their late thirties, early forties (hard to tell in the dark), sitting a good few meters apart, playing their guitars and singing. Rather beautifully. Their rendition of Paul Weller's Wild Wood was just as beautiful as it was surreal, in deserted Friday night Dalkey. 
I listened, I thanked them and I left. I walked back to the car, through the deserted streets. 

Except for one twat on an electric scooter. Because their is always one.