What is the point of a summer without holidays or garden parties? (211/365)

[white_hart]

I had another day's leave today, so I slept until 8am (when my alarm woke me up from a dream where my boss was announcing a divisional watchalong of Twin Peaks: The Return, which is one of the more inexplicable things my subconscious has ever presented me with), went for a swim and then came home to spend the rest of the day sewing the elastic onto a set of mermaid-scale print underwear and listening to podcasts. It was a perfectly pleasant day, but it was also an awful lot like a great many other days over the last fifteen months or so, and right now I am finding the Groundhog Day-ishness of the pandemic is getting to me a bit. I would like to do something different, go somewhere different, and I don't think it's going to happen any time soon because we are both too risk-averse to break out of our lockdown pattern of existence, even if holiday accommodation wasn't so scarce this year. (And what would be the point of going on holiday just to stay indoors somewhere with fewer things to do than we have at home? We stopped going on cottage holidays for several years because that was all we were doing, and we haven't done any proper walking for nearly two years now so are horribly out of practice.)

It doesn't help that I can't have a meeting at the moment without someone asking "Are you getting a holiday?", or that other people keep posting photos of seasides and hills and lakes on Facebook and Instagram. Or that today has been wet and not particularly warm and feels like autumn is here already, which just adds to the feeling of another missed summer.

Comments

[white_hart]

I do quite enjoy the annual round of garden parties, but I was mostly riffing off "what is the point of a book without pictures or conversation?" and needed a second summer thing to fit in there.