My reading collapsed during the pandemic and I need to learn to switch off - Alexander Brown

Alexander Brown fell out of his reading habits in lockdown. Picture: Getty Images

I have always loved reading, but in the past two years, my ability to focus completely fell apart.

When I was little I would take a book to school and read it on a bench while enjoying Earl Grey from my Asterix & Obelix flask, which was as much a comfort to me as it was an inspiration to bullies.

On weekends my mum would take me to the library where I would pile books so high staff members would tut thinking a colleague had forgot to put them away.

I love books, talking about them, sharing and meeting people who hate the same ones as I do.

And not to be too David Brent about this, but I’m a quick reader, managing more than one a week in 2019.

I read before the gym, I read on my commute, I read before bed.

At night my phone would be set aside as I ticked off every surreal sex fest by Haruki Murakami, reread His Dark Materials, and struggled through Philip Roth books because I’d let clever people convince me they are good.

It was not about being high brow or informed, it was just a wonderful part of my routine to curl up with a book and late night tea.

I felt more alert, slept better, and more intelligent without actually having to do anything.

And so when the pandemic started, I should have read more, free from the burden of trains and without the possibility of a social life.

Instead, I spiralled, unable to keep focus, picking up books and putting them back down, seeing the words on the page but not really taking them in.

I would scan sentences while wandering about death tolls in Bergamo, vaccine chances, or when I might see my family again.

I spent my evenings reading not any number of the books on my bedside table or kindle, but instead staring at Twitter and desperately refreshing to make sure I didn’t miss a single detail of what was happening.

And nothing was happening, and even if there was, there was no way I could miss it, when my job was to read and write about it all day every day.

I could not switch off. My shift would end and I would trawl live blogs as if anything there could make me feel better.

Simply put, I did not take care of myself, but now as we (whisper it) come out of the pandemic, I am finally starting to make a change.

Why do we feel the need to follow every horror so relentlessly? In an age of 24 hours, I need to accept miserable news will still be there later.

There are still awful things happening, but I’m learning to step away from my mobile and stop worrying about things I have no control over.

I am once again excited to go to bookshops, bask in the smell of fresh print, running my fingers over the texture of a hardback and wondering about the secrets inside it.

I’ve managed three in as many weeks, and this column is a way of holding myself to account.

My reading ability fell apart during the pandemic, but I’m getting better at leaving work at the door and enjoying the things I love.