AND just like that it is spring. Those last few weeks where it had felt like I was wading through treacle, with a head filled with wispy cotton wool, already seem like a distant memory.

Tonight, it will be light until almost 8pm. The trees are budding, a smattering of flowers in bloom. An entire year of pandemic living has passed in what now feels like the blink of an eye.

That's the funny thing about time: the days are long, but the years are short. Yet, never has time seemed quite so elastic as it has in the past 12 months.

Take nostalgia. Once minute I'm reminiscing about going to the office canteen for my morning coffee, the next I'm lamenting how much I miss popping into my local video shop on a Saturday night to pick out a film – events separated by more than 30 years.

The truth is, though, it's the rituals I miss. Those little things that make us human.

These days you can watch almost any film at the click of a button but scrolling through lists of titles on Netflix, Amazon Prime, BBC iPlayer et al – as much as I love streaming services – isn't the same as walking into a video shop, picking up the empty tape boxes and reading the little blurb on the back.

I'm craving something tangible. Analogue.

READ MORE: Susan Swarbrick's Week: Ageing in a pandemic is a peculiar thing

With news almost every day of more big-name store closures, I become less and less certain of what life might look like going forward.

Large swathes of our high streets – which I had been guilty of abandoning long before coronavirus reared its head – sound increasingly as if they will resemble a post-apocalyptic landscape, like a scene from Mad Max (a film I rented from Blockbuster in Broxburn sometime in the 1980s).

The "stay at home" message will become "stay local" this Friday. While that refers to a physical boundary within the areas where we live, I am determined to embrace it as a positive mindset.

Stay local can be an excellent mantra for life. A reminder to support those who live and work in our surrounding communities: butchers, bakers, fruit and veg shops, fishmongers, delis, family-run garden centres, artisans, tradespeople and more.

Pre-pandemic it had become the norm to commute large distances for work and recreation. Lockdown, as much as it has often felt like being cornered at a party by the boring guest who simply won't leave, has equally made me feel properly rooted somewhere for the first time in years.

On the one hand, I can't wait to throw off the shackles as restrictions begin to ease, yet, at the same time, I find myself reluctant to plunge back into life as it once was.

READ MORE: Susan Swarbrick's Week: The secret joy of bin day

Hearing the word "normality" sets my teeth on edge. All of us now have very different ideas of what that means. Time ticks on. We will get there soon enough.

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