Crowds flock to open spaces for release after lockdown
Madame Roland and Tony Holohan have something in common, besides being guillotined, a privilege enjoyed only by the former, who whispered, just as she was about to be made by the Revolution: “Oh, Liberty, what crimes are committed in your Name… ”
Dr Holohan’s weekend tweet about crowds in Dublin city center had a Madame Roland flavor.
The Nphet and necessarily the government must take care of the morbidity and mortality statistics and behavioral warnings.
The general public, not so much. Hence the complaints about the 105-minute rule and others, which have often taken the form of public outrage at “being treated like daring children”, as if the idea of acting like daring children is had never crossed the Irish mind.
Dr. Holohan might point his finger at the crowded city streets and say, “See?” SEE? Isn’t that behaving exactly like daring children? ”
He certainly wouldn’t admire the chutzpah of people who want Nphet and the government said we can be trusted, when the thesis is refuted by a reader through a big city after dusk or the dramatic images accessible by a strike random.
The Treating Us Like Adults Cohort Really Wants What Jimmy Porter Wanted In John Osborne’s: “Oh, my God, how I just crave a little ordinary enthusiasm. Just enthusiasm, that’s all. I want to hear a warm and exciting voice shout “Hallelujah!” Alleluia! I’m alive!’.”
The queue circled around three of the four sides of the parking lot, carefully spaced, cart by cart, the cart pushers holding onto their little yellow squares in the path.
Impressed by the numbers, I raised my eyebrows at the woman behind me, which was not easy after the Botox; I might be the only woman you know who makes an old lady’s straining noise when I have to raise an eyebrow.
“Gardening tools,” she replies.
When we walked inside it was clear that more than just gardening tools had drawn the crowds.
A crowd so deep crowded around an area that, like people arriving late in a car crash, people outside were watching what other onlookers were watching, convinced by the mass of between them that it had to be worth it. a gawk.
One woman, coming the wrong way down the aisle, was giving as well as she had received people politely and rudely telling her that her sense of direction needed to be tweaked.
She held out her hand to me as she passed me, as if for a donation. “Congestion charge, congestion tax,” she shouted, rolling her eyes and laughing and I realized that the last time I saw a crowd in a store give each other such a stick and take advantage of every minute, it was the night of the very first lockdown. was announced.
On the night you watched, it became apparent that without ten sliced casseroles in their freezers, families would starve.
But they were laughing at the same time, joking with complete strangers waiting in the long, slow queue for the cash register.
It disappeared, during the lockdown. We continued to shop for groceries.
In fact, let’s be honest, we raced like it was Eurovision and we were in the final.
We went shopping as if it was a new form of worship. Instead of dipping our fingers into the holy water fountain at the door, we sanctified our hands at the sprinkler dispenser before following the person in front of us in the spaced procession.
Oh LIDL, we greet you with PayPal today.
But we did our grocery shopping worshiping with our eyes looking away from each other, walking around each other as if each were surrounded by a dim light of viruses.
Anyone who went the wrong way in an alley was considered Typhoid Mary, leading to infect the rest of us.
The children have never been seen. The conversations never took place.
It’s so over. Partly because of the weekend sun, the attitude of the public has changed noticeably.
Once you’re alive and vaccinated, even setbacks turn into jokes.
A customer laughs at the “world’s first problem” of not being able to book an alfresco breakfast anywhere in the capital. We may have to have a lunch meeting instead. Such a challenge.
The same thing happens when I contact Peter, who is in charge of reservations, cappuccinos and general disrespect at my local barber, Suzanne Murray.
With what I perceive as admirable restraint and generosity, I am writing to you that I can wait at least a week if they are still covered in snow from the hairline consequences of the pandemic.
Back texted me back telling me I’ll wait at least a month and a half, so I am, unless they get a cancellation, in which case they’ll give me a nice look.
Say a few civil words to someone you didn’t know, and you were half scared that the next thing was to party wildly and with no mask inside.
So we remained silent, transmitting generally nods of good intention over our masks; now we can engage with strangers, at least on the outside and in masks.
I feel so liberated by this that last week, seeing a man on the beach with a metal detector after the tide went out, I ran down, through the garden, across the sand and myself. am pitched in front of him.
He turned off his machine and we talked about the metal detectors.
We also discussed what he has found since investing in his retirement gadget. Not many other than the ring snatching beer cans, but dissuaded that he was not.
He told me all about the restoration the detectors have to do if they dig up something and showed me his loot for the day, a small, teardrop-shaped heavyweight on a fishing rod.
When I suggested that he might like to go to the garden around the Martello Tower where I live, the link doesn’t begin to describe what happened between me and this stranger.
He even texted me, after we parted ways, to tell me that whatever he found on my land would of course be mine.
It doesn’t matter if it’s rings or a Viking treasure he digs up. It doesn’t matter if it’s medieval Arabic coins or another chalice from Derrynaflan. I am not addicted.
Safe from failure, we will both muster a bit of ordinary enthusiasm, and rather than seeking a definitive glimpse of the past year and a half, we will devote ourselves to the trivial, the insignificant, the trivial, the insignificant, the trivial. shared uselessness. denied by locking.
The sun is warming up on our backs, we will hunt for treasures. Not having found it already.