But what if I like my cosy, tracksuit-lined pandemic bubble?

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by Esther O'Moore Donohoe
08th Oct 2021

Living in fear that someone’s going to call and invite you out, probably to some wild virusy squash-fest where you'll have to hang out awkwardly until the end of days because you've no lift? Same, but it might be a small over-reaction

The thing that rhymes with “tandemic” has left us all slightly in bits. We’re being told that we’re entering the roaring 20s and that it’s going to be 24/7 decadence and sweaty dancing ahoy. But as I swap my summer tracksuit bottoms for my winter ones, like a UK petrol tank, my fun levels are deeply in the red. I’ve no holiday booked to Mykonos, no cocktail nights with the gals planned and the wildest...

But what if I like my cosy, tracksuit-lined pandemic bubble?

Living in fear that someone’s going to call and invite you out, probably to some wild virusy squash-fest where you'll have to hang out awkwardly until the end of days because you've no lift? Same, but it might be a small over-reaction

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But what if I like my cosy, tracksuit-lined pandemic bubble?

Living in fear that someone’s going to call and invite you out, probably to some wild virusy squash-fest where you'll have to hang out awkwardly until the end of days because you've no lift? Same, but it might be a small over-reaction

You have reached a premium article.

For unlimited digital access to the stories worth paying for, subscribe now to IMAGE from just €4.99 a month

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