The go-getting advance bookers already have so much. Can’t they leave the rest of us to our spontaneous little nights out?
Lockdown is almost over but I don’t feel excited. I have no plans. I will not be swimming in a lido or roaring with laughter at the pub; my hair will continue to bloom outwards like a horrible mushroom. Instead, I find myself barred from the public sphere. Everywhere has already been booked, which represents a crushing victory for my ideological enemies: people who have the foresight to plan things in advance.
My brain just doesn’t function in a way that allows me to thrive in such a world. I am someone who spent a whole year of university with a broken front tooth because I couldn’t get round to booking a dentist appointment. (When I finally got it fixed, I decided to treat myself to a Wham bar on the walk home and immediately broke it again.)
