As lockdown 3.0 trudges on, I sometimes allow myself pockets of time to think about the future. It's only ever short pauses, while I'm waiting for the kettle to boil, or rearranging the cushions on the couch but it's just enough to give a short, sharp boost of hope for what is to come in a vaccinated world. Reuniting with loved ones aside, these are some of the selfish moments I dream about.
Going the Supermarket without fear
You're feeling a bit down in the dumps, and haven't left the house today so you think, i'll take a trip to the supermarket - a big Asda or Tesco. You take a methodical approach, starting with a meal deal observation, then the clothes, the books and magazines, the homewares and the stationary. The familiar aisles feel strangely soothing to your soul. Maybe you pick up something from the bakery, an interesting snack on offer, or perhaps even some £3 flowers and a new mug. You didn't need the things, but instead just the time out of your own head and home, to wonder around this vast space where for an hour or so the biggest decision you have to face is if you want a garlic baguette or flatbread? By the time you leave, with your random assortment of goods, your mood has lifted slightly and you can face another day, secure in the knowledge that the 24 hour superstore will always be a safe, overstocked oasis to peruse.
Going the office to leave again
It's Friday and you're in the office. There's a buzz at the thought of them two days off, the air crackling with possibilities. Your work bestie persuades you to nip for a quick coffee to start the day. You work fast and focused, spurred on by an early dart. Before you know it, it's the end of the day and across the building you can hear murmurs of "have a great weekend!". You're closing down your computer, putting on your coat and thinking about tonight's plans, dressed up for a meal with your mates, or Pyjamas and Chinese on the couch. As you head out the door, your shoulders drop and your smile widens. Monday seems a lifetime away.
Drinking a cider with a pal
It's Tuesday, the house is a mess, but the weather is bloody beautiful. You send the text to a mate, "Fancy going for a drink after work?" Your legs probably need shaving but its shorts on and out to the local pub. The world and his wife have the same idea, and you're scrambling to try and find a table outside. "Just move them glasses over there, it'll be fine!" Suddenly it's seven or eight pm, and you're four ciders in. It's still balmy outside, and now you're sharing a bowl of chips and dunking them in mayo, laughing so hard at an old memory that only the two of you would find funny. As you stretch out, picnic table grooves digging into your legs, you feel alive, hopeful and happy.
The social club celebration
So and so is turning 50, 60, or 70 and you're at a social club or church hall for the occasion. The music is the best kind (old), and you're buzzing at how cheap your drink was as you half walk, half shimmy across the dance floor to Candi Staton belting out Young Hearts Run Free. It's 10 past 9, and the buffet has just been opened. You're chatting to someone's uncle as you filter through the queue, "ahh will you pass us a napkin sorry?" or "Oh no I need a knife!". No one has put the lights up yet so you're trying to work out what exactly is on the sandwiches? "Yeah go on, I'll have a sausage roll. Oooh Spring rolls. Chicken Satay sticks eh? Very fancy." Soon enough the Costco gateau has been put away and it's it's time to hit the floor. You're dancing away without a care in the world, your arms round strangers as you all unite to start accidentally kicking each other during Come On Eileen. Then it's the end of the night, the usual song comes on and a two drunk middle age men try and fail at the Patrick Swayze and Jennifer Grey lift. You've stuck around past 12, to shove paper plates and silver trays of leftover chicken drumsticks into bin bags, and you've never been happier.
The European City Break
You booked the flights cheap and last minute, so you're scrambling round to fit as much as possible in your hand luggage. "Where's me little clear bag for the liquids?" you ask no one in particular. You've secured your appointments, so you leave the salon feeling like the freshest prin to ever exist. Eyebrows waxed and tinted, lashes lifted and nails shellaced, just for 72 hours in a slightly warmer climate. You're through to duty free, sniffing perfume you won't buy, and then drinking sharp and shit Prosecco from somewhere that's charging £9.50 for a bacon roll. Then it's time for expletives under your breathe as you try and buy a magazine and mints in WHSmiths, because you're having to empty out your whole bag just to try and find your boarding pass to scan. You know that it's all a big con because they only do it so they can claim the tax back, but for once you don't care about the capitalist society you live in because you're about to spend three hours jammed in the middle seat on the way to somewhere that's not your fridge.
Shopping in town on a Saturday
It's 4-4:30pm, Church street is getting less busy so you think, I'll just have a quick look in Primark. Two hours later you emerge, brown paper bags rustling in the gentle breeze, full of stuff you probably didn't need. The sun is starting to go down, and the early evening crowd is arriving, dressed up and out for a few drinks and tea somewhere, maybe even to see something at the Empire. There's a busker just outside M&S playing an acoustic version of your favourite song, and you head to the bus stop or the car park, with a contented smile across your face.