The Good Old Days

10 months into the CoVID-19 mess and the name doesn't fit the tin.

In truth. I didn't experience COVID-19 - that was something that happened in China - miles away and would not have affected me, I thought. But I have been living COVID-2020 and now 2021 and pretty sure the after party will be COVID- 2022 as we all slowly recover physically, economically and mentally.

This third national lockdown has really started to wear me down. I didn't even notice we were in one because I've been at home so long. Normally quite a busy and optimistic person, I have become bored and the brain is feeling lethargic. I am, like many others across the country, living in onesies and jogging bottoms because there is no reason to get dressed into work clothes. I have, however, taken to wearing a full face of makeup and my best clothes when doing a mid-week basics food run and promenading through the market, past the shuttered boozers and locked up restaurants to remind myself of the 'Good ole days'.

The Good ole days of walking down Oxford street and being walked through by every sin

gle person making you question whether you were actually a ghost; packed pubs where you couldn't get a seat and stood propping up the bar looking around the room like a pigeon for a free seat, then dashing to it before some other punter got there smirking if you did; clubs full of sweaty unsanitary people releasing speckles of salvia into your drink as they bumped into you and then asked for the loo while sweating profusely (with no top on) all over you; festivals where you'd be ‘the winner’ if you had toilet paper in your toilet and managed to find a tap to rinse, not wash, your hands afterwards, after 3 days not showering anyway, so really why bother?; Those good old days. URGH.

Still. I miss them. I miss people.