By Geraldine Hughes
Most serial killers are born in November. Fact. They’re probably miserable kids being born in such a dreary month, and grow up to take it out on everyone else. I struggle to find good stuff to write about it, except that at 30 days long its at least one day shorter than it could be. I wouldn’t go as far as saying I hate any month, the way some people hate January, but at least January has its face turned towards new beginnings whereas November just slides into the void.
November 2020 was very voidy and this year is only marginally better but at least we have the vaccine, and they have backed off the idea of socially distant Night clubs. Telling the young wans they can go sort of responsibly mental at the weekends as long as they are two metres apart was always going to be a hard sell, but my memories of nightclubs is of one big heaving sweaty chunk of humans lepping around a packed dance floor, we probably would’ve welcomed a bit of social distancing at times.
Even more recently than that (work Christmas night out 2019) the restaurant packed so many of us onto one table that I actually ate my dinner one handed, with a spoon, because I was wedged in so tight, I couldn’t release my other arm. Not in a hurry to go back to that even though that night has become a thing of folklore and legend because it’s the last time we were all out together, we’ve put rose tinted glasses on the carnage the night actually was.
The idea that the vaccine would allow us a carefree Christmas has been put firmly to bed, it looks like a muted one coming up, and the question remains of what more can we do?!I’ll admit that I reluctantly got the vaccine, for two reasons.
Firstly, I thought it was a choice, misunderstanding the need for vast numbers to get it in the early days, and secondly, I have a healthy suspicion of any substance about to be injected into me, but it’s the responsible thing to do, I got it and nothing weird happened to me but I continued keeping Holland and Barrett in business by bulk buying Vitamin C and D, wearing my mask and sanitising my hands, so when I felt a bit ropey a while ago, I went for a PCR test, thinking I was being dramatic, but kind of noting that I was the only person in the queue who was coughing.
By the time it came back positive, I was already isolated with a temperature and a box of medication, clutching my free box of masks from the HSE. Retracing my movements leaves me coming up empty – no one in my circle has it,
I’ve no idea how or where I picked it up, but at least I’m on the mend, and I can spend dreary November gearing up for what looks like another quiet Christmas.