The gross, the boastful, the unkempt: my corona crisis bugbears

FIRST DAY OUT of lockdown and back in my local caff (shout out to The Spoke, Holloway Road! My second home, my coffee office, my flat white fam!) is a joyous occasion. I met up with A and R – ‘the usuals’ – and we hug anyway (what the hell!), then assess how much each of us had changed in The Interim.

Turns out that among the myriad social graces I’ve abandoned since 23 March is the one that suggests pointing at strangers – while speculating wildly about them, as if they’re oddities on the television who’ll remain blissfully unaware, as opposed to real-time real-lifers, who won’t – might not be a fabulous manoeuvre. R re-names me ‘Pointy Polly’.

Then we settle down to the really important business: bitching.

‘Do you know who I hate from Covid?’ asks A. ‘Men who business-zoom in front of walls with guitars hanging off them. Like, “Hi. You may see me as just another corporate stooge, but really?

I have the soul of a musician! I’m wild, I’m creative, I’m cool! I know chords!”’

‘Are they worse than pompous bookshelf Zoom men?’ I ask.

‘Yes, because I’ve grown inured to that lot, through overexposure.’

‘Well: are they worse than boasty banana bread people?’ I continue.

‘Yes. Boasty banana bread people deserve pity, not hatred,’ says R, ‘because boasting about your banana bread is so Week Five.’

(We shudder collectively at the toorecent, too-raw memory of Week Five.)

‘Tell you who is worse than Guitar Wall Man,’ I say. ‘Man who interrupts a Zoom cos his kid just walked in. “Sorry, guys! My youngest is here!” Pointed pause so everyone can appreciate what a good, present father he is. “What do you need, Phineas? Phineas? What do you need?”’ ‘Ugh!’ says A. ‘That man!’

‘I hate people who wear their facemasks dangling off one ear,’ says R.

‘Lewd,’ I agree. ‘Creepy.’

‘I hate Puzzle People. And Adult Colouring In People. And people who say they had A Lovely Time in lockdown,’ says A.

‘F*CK THOSE PEOPLE!’ R says.

‘I hate people who are Re-evaluating Their Lives and Reassessing Their Priorities,’ I say.

R hates those people so much, he uses a word I can’t even asterisk.

‘People who say they’ve missed art galleries terribly, when what they actually mean is “Maccy D and the pub.”’

‘The Behold! Nature Is Healing Itself ! people.’

‘People who used lockdown as an excuse to go feral-skanky, when it’s nothing to do with lockdown, they just love the smell of their own grease-besplattered, crumbentangled beards.’

‘PEOPLE WHO SOCIAL DISTANCE EITHER SLIGHTLY TOO MUCH, OR SLIGHTLY TOO LITTLE!’

This goes on for quite a lot longer but, eventually, we pause for breath.

‘Look at us,’ says R, smiling at A and me like a proud dad. ‘Remember when we thought Covid would make us better people?’

‘Oh yeah!’ says A; while I snigger-splutter into my oat milk.