It seems that the third time really is the charm when it comes to touted apocalypses. Here in the UK, Brexit gave us years of fearmongering and in the end turned out to be a complete non-event. Then came a potential war with Iran which fizzled out into nothing.

All the while the curious eating habits of some of our Chinese friends produced a freak of nature virus that has since spread like wildfire. The first case was reported in November in the now world-famous province of Wuhan, where bats, snakes, and other delicious treats are enjoyed by many.

The news updates on the situation as it stands are changing so rapidly that it would be pointless to list them here. There is now almost no news other than headlines to do with the coronavirus currently being reported.

Although it’s hard to ignore the fact that the UK government has just advised that all social contact with others should be avoided… right. This is a part of the so-called ‘herd immunity’ strategy. Which was recently excellently critiqued in the Guardian.

This is the idea that as many otherwise healthy ‘spreaders’ – socially active relatively young people – should get the virus as possible to create a collective immunity while those with underlying conditions are shielded from infection. In this time, it is hoped that a vaccine or cure can be found and the health service saved from being overwhelmed.

But what does it feel like to be a member of the ‘herd’? As a student living in central London, I am highly likely to contract this in one form or another. This is not a serious concern of mine nor the government’s. I have no health problems and am unlikely to end up in a mass grave.

More important is that I could easily give this virus to other people less able to cope with it than myself. This is very concerning for me and the government. It would obviously be unwise to visit my elderly relatives at the moment.

So, life goes on. Though it does seem like it’s going to be more of an existence from now on. In the university halls of residence where I live for the time being, foreign students have all trundled their suitcases into cabs and jetted home aboard last-minute flights.

I envy them to some extent, especially those going back to countries where the spread has been more effectively managed. Unlike here, where the alarmingly relaxed position of the cabinet will soon turn the UK into Italy without the sun.

For those that are staying, ordinary university attendance has been cancelled, and all teaching is to be done online. Popular tourist attractions are bereft of visitors, and in general there are far fewer foreigners around. So, Brexit final means Brexit then.

Socialising too is also cancelled and popular haunts are now empty. The mood is pretty dire. I was asked jokingly the other day ‘just what did we even talk about before all this?’ It does seem hard now to remember.