“In these times”

Coming to grips with everything that has happened – is happening – this year is tough.

Now, in London, a cautious optimism creeps into pubs and restaurants. Paranoia ebbs with every awkward should-we-shouldn’t-we that, inevitably and with a laugh, ends with yes we should. Summer is waning, the days are already noticeably shorter, but we haven’t had our fun yet, we haven’t had our holiday, we haven’t had our romance. And with this comes the reminder of why, the thing that stole our summer from us, that took away our spring, that robbed us of our security.

During the day, we work from home, sitting in the same uncomfortable kitchen chair (investing in a proper chair indicates permanence), staring down at the same tiny screen since March. The weekends, hell, the weeknights too, are lively again, we make plans, people bail, we drink and joke, we flirt and laugh, just like before.

And then the minute that we relax, let our guard down, start to enjoy what we have, the reality of what the fuck happened this year comes back. Now that it’s “over” (surely it can’t be over), we have to process it, mull it over, contemplate the effects on us, the effects on our families, our friends, our job, our industry, our country, the world.

Does this mean it’s time to mourn? Will we ever feel the thrill of live music, the bass vibrating in our chests? Should we all write memoirs of our time at university just so we can explain what it was like? Does mourning these things mean we are giving up on ever experiencing them again? And what does that mean?

With every minute of daylight we lose each day, winter looms larger. Are we simply in the eye of the storm, the false sense of calm before we are thrust into new turmoil? We’re okay now (kind of) because we have park nights, open windows, outdoor seating. These days are numbered. Are we ready for what’s next?