In Competition No. 3147 you were invited to submit tips on social isolation in the style of a well-known writer. It was a terrific entry, in which famously retiring souls such Emily Dickinson loomed uncharacteristically large. I loved Nicholas Stone’s twist on Louis Macneice’s ‘Bagpipe Music’ (‘It’s no go the bog roll, it’s no go the office,/ All we want is a conference call and a bag of Werther’s toffees…’) and J.G. Ballard’s suggestion, via Adrian Fry: ‘Exercise in liminal spaces: abandoned office complexes, rewilding traffic islands, Shepperton’. Commendations, too, to Hamish Wilson’s Philip Larkin (‘Man hands on unwashed misery to man,/ Keep people distant. Stay in while you can.’), Phillip Sheahan, Liz Aram and Amar Singh Bhandal. The winners take £25.

If you can wash your hands ten times an hour
Without becoming overly obsessed;
If you can hold back tears when there’s no flour
Nor make an online search your daily quest;
If you can keep at least two metres’ distance
From everyone (that’s those you love as well)
And not despair at your confined existence
But strive to make a Heaven from this Hell.

If you can work from home without succumbing
To living in pyjamas, munching Twix
If daily updates have become brain-numbing
And you can’t swallow yet more politics;
If you can live within each indoor minute,
Not lust for travel plans you can’t contrive,
But cherish each small hope and how to spin it
Then you might — but, no promises! — survive.
D.A. Prince/Rudyard Kipling

Go wander lonely far from crowds
But not as far as vale and hills;
Go meditate on sky and clouds;
Gaze on your neighbour’s daffodils.
Down empty byways take your stroll;
Think safety first where e’er you roam
And when fresh air has filled your soul
Go back content to muse at home.

Earth may for you not look so fair
When happy friends are far away
And deadly germs are in the air
But safe at home it’s wise to stay.
And when upon your couch you lie
And feel that life is full of pain,
Look for a rainbow in the sky
A sign the sun will shine again.
Frank McDonald/Wordsworth

Go placidly amid the joggers coughing and wheezing and the brats chalking rainbows and hopscotching all over the street. As far as possible, while crossing the road, looking the other way, holding your breath, be on good terms with all persons. Listen to others, even the Business Secretary: they too have their story. Avoid Good Morning Britain hosts: they are vexatious to the spirit. Enjoy your achievements, however humble: a Tesco delivery slot, a Netflix subscription — these are real possessions in the changing fortunes of time. Do not distress yourself with dark imaginings: Strictly will be back. You are a child of the universe. No less than Robert Peston, you have a right to be here. Be at peace with your neighbours, however noisy their bloody sound system. With all its scams, drudgery and joggers (did I mention joggers?) it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Watch Bargain Hunt.
David Silverman/Max Ehrmann

When you’re lying awake, is it umbrage you take
At the thought of this terrible virus?
Do you find it most grating, this self-isolating
As Hancock and Whitty require us?
Staying six feet apart from the love of your heart,
And being of germs very conscious,
Obeying the laws, are you washing your paws
More than Pilate whose forename was Pontius?

Are there grim thoughts a-brewing as you’re Asda-queueing
At double the length of a trolley?
Do you ask my advice how in times so un-nice
Not to give in to dark melancholy?
I say just sit it out, repressing all doubt
That the thing will end, sooner or later.
Meanwhile, do have handy a bottle of brandy,
And the crossword from this week’s Spectator.
George Simmers/W.S. Gilbert

Quarantine is a rum business, but this is no time to lose your grip. Mens sana in corpore sano, so for splendid exercise, hang up a heavy cushion, visualise some unholy blackguard and punch the living daylights out of him. Alternatively, use your dressing-gown cord as a skipping-rope while briskly singing a sea-shanty. You can easily mock up a rowing boat with a chair, broom-handle, and elasticated braces attached to a doorknob.
If nerves need steadying, reread some Henty or perhaps White Fang, or tie a few trout flies. If you happen to have a telephone, why not ‘ring up’ your pals for a bit of chaff? You could, purely for interest, ask your wife to show you how household tasks are performed.
Eat sensibly, don’t get clogged up with too many vegetables, and try to make that bottle of whisky last two, or even three, days.
Hugh King/John Buchan

The Sanctity of Solitude
Is Nature’s best — Advice.
When Fellowship turns fatal, then
Let Self — alone suffice.

When summoned by — the wider World
Upon some needful Task,
With rubber Gauntlet guard the Touch,
And breathe — behind the Mask.

That Cleanliness and Godliness
Are Kin — we often read.
With frequent Soap greet any Spot
Where Pestilence might — breed.

Enriched — by Isolation, let
Our Hygiene be — a Prayer
Until such Day as we can bid
Adieu contagious Air.
Chris O’Carroll/Emily Dickinson

No. 3150: herculean

You are invited to provide a sonnet describing one of Hercules’ labours. Please email entries to lucy@spectator.co.uk by midday on 20 May. NB. We are unable to accept postal entries for the time being.