March 20th, 2020, is a date forever etched in my mind. It was the day the UK Government ordered all pubs to close in response to the rising tide of COVID-19 cases. It was also the day my partner—in life and in our pub—Carl, took his own life. It was the day the lights went out.

But for me, and for publicans across the country, the real shift began four days earlier, on March 16th. That was the day the world started to tilt. Boris Johnson stood before the nation and told the public to ‘avoid pubs, clubs, theatres, and other such social venues.’

No mandates. No financial support. Just those words—words that hit like a sledgehammer.We had known things were getting bad. The news was relentless, a cycle of fear and uncertainty. Images from Italy haunted us as hospital corridors started filling up, doctors and nurses breaking down on camera. The virus was creeping closer, and it felt like the walls were closing in.

The first real blow came on March 13th, when the English Football League (EFL) announced its suspension. Our pub, one of the closest to Carrow Road in Norwich, thrives on match days. The atmosphere, the camaraderie, the unwavering support from Canaries fans—it keeps us going, both financially and emotionally. That March alone, we were due three more home games, including a cup match against Manchester City. The loss of those fixtures was devastating, especially when other mass gatherings, like the Cheltenham Festival, were still happening.

Rumours swirled. Would there be restrictions? A full lockdown? Was there a plan to put a stop to this? The uncertainty was crushing, and yet, the weekend before the announcement, we were packed. It felt like a last hurrah—a desperate attempt to cling to normality before the storm hit.

Carl was on edge, anxiety gripping him tighter by the day. But he wasn’t alone—our regulars were worried too. I did my best to reassure him, and them, that we’d find a way through. Some customers even offered financial help, promising to stand by us no matter what. Our pub family rallied around us, their kindness a lifeline in the chaos.

Sensing the weight of it all, I booked a last-minute night away for Carl and me on March 16th, a brief escape to clear our heads. A nearby hotel, nothing fancy, just a few stolen hours to breathe. We spent the afternoon in the spa, or what was left open of it, as businesses slowly began shutting down.

Then, back in our room, we turned on the news.

And there he was—Boris Johnson, addressing the nation. ‘Avoid pubs.’

Just two words, yet they sent a powerful message. The Government weren’t stopping us from opening, but no one should come in. There was no plan to help us. No reassurance. Just an unspoken certainty that our livelihoods, our futures, were slipping into darkness.

On March 16th, the lights began to flicker. And four days later they went out.