I’ve been sensible, productive and good for months. Now give me egg and chips and meaningless overstimulation
Throughout lockdown I’ve played a game with myself where I imagine how I might spend the first days of freedom. And yet now they’ve arrived, I probably won’t be doing any of the things that I’ve fantasised about. I can’t imagine enjoying myself while having to engage in the weird mutual delusion that everything is fine – it seems obviously foolhardy to pick an arbitrary date and declare all bets are off, while hundreds a day continue to die from the virus. I’ve seen photos of people in the US sitting on patios under plastic sheets to eat brunch, and I’m afraid I think those people are not sane.
But life has felt like a slightly stagnant, repetitive version of itself during lockdown, and I sympathise with wanting to leave the house just for the sake of it. I miss eating out, and I can’t wait to do it again. I want to go to a familiar place and sit for a long time at the bar, ordering a succession of plates – bitter greens in vinegar, meats made tender in their own fat – eating a little bit of something and saying, “Oh my God,” when it tastes good. To caffs, with a mug of strong tea, granulated sugar crusting the rim, a plate of egg and chips and a red squeezy bottle of thin ketchup, laughing until I’m sick. To pubs, staring at my own reflection in the pool of gravy collected at the bottom of a Yorkshire pudding, like a hungover Narcissus.
Related: Alongside the paralysing fear of Covid-19, something else is bubbling up: hope | Maeve Higgins
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