It was a ten-second interaction with a complete stranger at 7.15 this morning that did it. We were both trying to manoeuvre our trollies through a busy aisle in M&S; we both did the "After you...!"..."No, after you...!" shuffle, then she said "I don't know why we do it - it's the same every bloody year!". We laughed and moved off.
At which point my laughter stopped, because nothing about Christmas this year is the same. I couldn't see the woman's smile or facial expression, we were carefully standing at a distance, to avoid over-crowding we'd been counted into the store, I was buying much less than usual because it's just the two of us here... and Mr S-V was waiting for me in the car instead of being list-master and chief trolley pusher. Everything felt wrong - everything is wrong. I promptly burst into tears.
Sailing a bit close to the water all the time right now, sadly.
I'll be glad when this bloody awful Christmas is over. This is a dystopian nightmare where Covid has become a new religion and, like all religions, its adherents will brook no argument. It's not good.
Breaking News: According to that creep, Hancock, our area goes into Tier 4 on Boxing Day... They can do what they bloody like, I don't even care any more. I suspect we'll get countrywide lockdown in the New Year... they'll spend their Christmas break thinking what fresh hell they can heap upon us.
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