Someone remarked to me the other day, from outside of my bubble, so probably by phone, that this lockdown reminds him of Sundays when we were kids, but every day is a Sunday.
Sundays in days gone by were usually very quiet affairs.
In those days many more people attended their particular place of worship than today on Sunday mornings followed by the weekly roast lunch, then a quiet afternoon in the garden or with a book, cards or games, no television until about 1960, and then only in the evenings for years.
Sunday tea was usually a cold affair based on whatever was had for Sunday dinner. Children from "decent" homes were not allowed out to play as Sunday was a day of rest, a rule observed mostly, even by the "not so decent" homes.
I remember sneaking out to see a mate down the road only to be told by a neighbour to go home, it's Sunday.
In those days kids usually did what adults told them, so off I scuttled back home.
The streets were quieter then anyway as cars were not as common, most families used public transport, walked or cycled everywhere.
Life was simpler and this lockdown is bringing back those memories of simpler times when we needed to use our imagination to entertain ourselves, children and adults.
The lounge was not dominated by a huge electrical device beaming entertainment into the home.
Most families had a radiogram or some such device for playing vinyl 78, 45 and 33 records, the numbers indicating the revolutions per minute of a particular style of record, and for listening to radio programmes like Life With Dexter, Portia Faces Life, Gunsmoke, Flick the Fire Engine.
Neighbours spoke across the fence to each other, mothers passing recipes back and forward, borrowing or repaying food items previously borrowed, fathers talking rugby or cricket or what the favourite was this Saturday at Trentham.
Some neighbours were known as Aunty or Uncle so-and-so but most were Mr or Mrs to us kids.
The aunties and uncles were not related to us, but had earned that title through respect and friendship.
I remember my mother talking to our neighbour as a child and calling her Mrs Fowler and she calling mum Mrs Rattenbury.
I never really ever knew the first names of many of my adult neighbours as a kid.
If I asked I was told not to be rude, go outside and play.
Kids spent an awful lot of time "outside and playing" in those days.
Mind you most families had at least four children so booting the kids outside, rain or sunshine, gave mothers a chance to regroup I guess.
Left to our own devices "outside" we would build forts, play "forceback", kicking a rugby ball to each other on the street, trying to get the ball over your mate's head making him kick it from further back where he caught it, marbles, war.
It is hard to believe now but in those distant days, not long after World War II, there was a lot of army surplus, both American and New Zealand military clothing and bits and pieces.
Most families had enough bits for kids to be able to dress up in a helmet or an old battles dress or webbing and create imaginary battles with wooden guns, especially in the hills and bush near home, what excitement.
Most dads were returned men so they still wore army shirts and pants in the garden, 15 years or more after they left the army.
Most still had berets or lemon squeezer hats that were used as cowboy hats by us kids.
Camping was an activity many young boys enjoyed overnight in the nearby bush, or even just having a campfire - trying not to burn the bush as well.
Cooking sausages was always fun, black charcoal on the outside, completely uncooked inside.
Fishing for mountain trout (kokopu) or crawlies (koura) in the hill streams, picking blackberries to sell to neighbours in the early part of each year, hot summers, never a rainy day.
The odd wet day could mean a trip to the local cinema for the 2pm matinee session with about 300 other screaming kids, watching Deadwood Dick serials, Lassie, Heidi, John Wayne movies.
Playing up in the seats and getting told off by Mrs Archibald. "I know your mother, Robert" - not good.
In summer when not playing war, footy, picking blackberries or otherwise keeping ourselves occupied outside, we would be given sixpence each and told to go to the bathes for the day, maybe with enough for a pie as well for lunch.
We would come home sunburnt and red-eyed from chlorine, worn out from swimming all day. What great memories.
Maybe this pandemic will make life simpler again.