When 10 is a crowd on your 50th

Friday was a big night out for me – so big, in fact, when my twice-yearly window-cleaning guy said he would be coming on Saturday morning my response was an unequivocal no, most definitely not: I had a hangover pre-scheduled for Saturday morning so would be indisposed, particularly to bright-eyed people throwing the curtains open at sparrow’s-fart.

When I say a big night out, I mean big pandemic-style: after 19 months of lockdowns and half-hearted re-openings, on Friday restrictions in Ireland – where I live – were largely lifted, and a whole 10 people were allowed to eat together at the same table in a restaurant, as long as they were all vaccinated and presented their certificates on entry.

Ten! A heaving crowd!

So I finally had my 50th birthday celebration out with friends, fancy food – and all the wine.

I even wore high heels! The sore head, sore feet and dirty windows were most definitely worth it.

Meanwhile, the same night, Irish nightlife reopened. Sort of. Kind of. Mostly. For the first time in 585 days, clubs were allowed to dust off the old mirror balls, crank up the strobes and let the dancing commence, once punters had shown their vaccination certificate at the door.

Inside it was business almost as usual, apparently, albeit with QR codes for ordering drinks. People sweated, snogged, and bumped their sweating, snogging bodies together on the dance floor…

The theory is that young people aren’t as badly hit by Covid, and it’s young people who go to nightclubs, and those inside were strictly vaccinated so all would be well. I mean, sure, there’s always that one creepy old man in the night club, but he’s collateral damage.

The next day, as I proudly nursed my well-won hangover, a friend who is a sound engineer sent me a video from the live music venue where he works, showing a crowd of young unmasked creatures going wild to a band, grinning like it was 1999.

Brilliant! I love gigs! It was fabulous to see all these cooped-up chickens finally free-range again, stretching their wings and loving it, and yet… and yet…

I found myself twitching, and reaching for my mask just watching it. Yes, I loved gigs once.

I fear I’m now a Covid-broken woman. Or maybe I’m just getting old.