But, of course, that’s not what it’s about.  It’s about our gratitude to all the men and women who are sacrificing their personal safety to care for our loved ones and fellow citizens.  It’s about a sense of the injustice in such heroes being let down by a government which has failed to equip them with adequate protection.  It’s about our solidarity as a nation to recognise the people whose work matters most in the struggle against this pandemic. 
 
My experience of coming out every Thursday evening on to my front step is ambivalent.  I feel quite shy about opening my door to make random noise in the street.  I always look eagerly to see who else will appear that night.  When they do, there isn’t always as much eye contact or greetings as I would expect.  It’s as if many are swept up by an intuitive sense that it’s the right thing to do, but a slight embarrassment about how to do it.  There are no rules except to respond to one’s heart and offer up the only sounds one’s body can make – a clap and a whoop. 
 
It seems so modest a gesture compared to what those whom we’re celebrating are doing, day in and day out.  And yet it’s a relief to be able to do something in the midst of the moral discomfort of knowing how little I’m doing comparatively.
 
More than anything, it feels to me to be about normal human decency, about us all saying ‘this is what and who matters and we salute them’.  My hope is that, when the virus is eventually conquered and our hospitals return to normal, we don’t forget those for whom we are clapping and that we ensure they are given the recognition and compensation they deserve for the vital roles they play in our society.