In the middle months of the pandemic, when we could go out, but not far, I kept meeting the same people in well-spaced queues, and saying the same things. “We’re fine, but climbing the walls,” “Zoom”, “sorry”, “mask”, “dog”. I also found myself talking about parties.
At first, it was queue-chat about having people over. But, as the months went on, I found myself having increasingly detailed chats and thoughts about parties. Remembered, made-up, nostalgic house parties; kitchens full of people and baths full of ice, vertical conversations on staircases, red wine on carpets, sofas pushed back to make space for dancing (thoughts all the more idealised because, if a party is made up, there is no chance of not being invited).
