Once upon a time, on a caffeine fuelled wander of the Georgian side streets of frozen south Dublin, I came across a grocer. It was one of those hybrid grocers which also seems to cater for the needs of aesthetically driven hipsters. I mean no offence by this as I am also a prime target. Sniffing around the goods with my friend, we were drawn to a table at the back displaying such wares as a knitted 'beer glove' and, most criminally of all, a walkman shaped 'Holibops sound effects box'. This evil box of inane corporate, commercial tosh was advertising itself as "the perfect gift for a terrible 2020". I am trying to work out which aspect of this creation annoyed me more, the term 'holibops' which, to borrow from the children I mind, is like "so cringe" or the fact that this pandemic, as if it hadn't already spread enough harm, is now spurring on an entirely new type of pandemic: cov-ets--covid themed gadgets. Which, I expound, should not be COVETed.
No, no. I don't think I'm overreacting at all.
Back to frozen south Dublin, which is not even a figure of speech. The canal, dear readers, is frozen solid. Looking into its murky depths is like having a portal to peer into the underworld.
I spied a disused tent in said underworld. If I was a betting woman I'd say that tent was a sign of things that need to change when the world comes out of topsy turvy viral terror. 'Social distanced' to 'social housing' might be the message in the canal leaves...
Striking a slightly different cord and grateful that this is an example of one of my problems: if anyone has advice on how to record a self-tape when you have no flatmate to read in lines and restrictions that prevent visitations, let me know. Canal leaves have yielded no answers thus far. Playing two roles in one tape, rather than killing two birds with one stone, would have the effect of butchering two characters with one actor.
Maybe I'll invent a duplication machine. After all, as they say, we are living through a Sci-Fi novel.
xoxo remember your holibops
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