Coronavirus diary, Sunday 22 March

It's Sunday. It's chilly but the sun is shining, a rare, welcome sight after dark weeks of wind and rain. A normal Sunday in Cardiff? No, it is unique, historic. Looking out of my window in my Sunrise 'turret suite' in Cyncoed Road, Cardiff is strangely quiet. Far fewer cars, no buses, just the occasional dog walker and young jogger. Not an elderly person in sight. 

Last week it was busy, with nonstop traffic, people going to work, children off to school. Last Sunday, the bells were calling people to worship. Today the bells are silent, church doors shut. Members are no doubt fervently praying at home for normal life to return soon. How many centuries ago was it, I wonder, when people were banned from leaving their home? In some countries where the death toll is rising alarmingly, people are fined if they defy the indefinite curfew. 

Empty shelves. Photo: BBC

As usual in times of crisis, people are panic buying, stripping bare the supermarket shelves to stock up for the 'siege'. There are queues outside from six in the morning. It is estimated that an extra one billion pounds' worth of food is stashed in people's homes. And miles of toilet rolls. 

I think this has been made worse by the television and papers. Last evening at a televised live press conference a government minister, a health chief and head of a retail organisation answered reporters' questions. They called, time and again, for the panic buying to stop, assuring us there is plenty of food and other supplies. The advice is sound, but it became repetitive and boring after 30 minutes. The newspapers are devoting pages to the epidemic. Not much to cheer us up, let alone ease the worry. The glimmer of hope from China, where the peak may have been reached and some restrictions lifted, was not reported in most newspapers, confirming the adage that good news does not sell.

Bob, wife Rosemary, Bert and Dorothy at Gwen's 100th birthday party, 1991

A sad aspect of today is it is Mothering Sunday. Unbelievably, children of all ages have been told by the government to stay away from their mother. At Sunrise, bunches of flowers have been arriving from all over the country from children, many themselves mothers, for mothers living here. Our concierges and carers have been presenting them. Of the Skinners, only I can have memories of my mother Gwen and the family celebrations on Mothering Sunday. Gwen died 26 years ago here in Cardiff. My brother Bert and sister Dorothy died almost as long ago. Like children everywhere, I shall never forget Mothering Sunday 2020.