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  • Michael Noctor

Horrendous

Yesterday, I queued with hundreds of people to get the vaccine at the Aviva. It took two hours for the complete procedure. There was one guy who, at one stage, kept uttering the word ‘horrendous’ but I don’t know what he might be going through in his life so I’m not going to slag him off. He wasn’t getting a word out of me. I think he might have been trying to get my attention – he was right next to me in the queue – but I knew if I made eye contact, I was a goner. I stared right past him like the ignorant bastard I was determined to be.



One of the weird things about the queue was that everybody in it was the same age. There was no point in trying to spot the talent because one, they were all wearing masks, and two, they were all old, like me. Quite depressing. I don’t know about anyone else in that queue, but I am a young man trapped in an old man’s body and I can do without such physical reminders of the physical aspect to my life. Horrendous!


Side effects – a tender arm and general tiredness due to a forty-minute walk from my apartment (forty-five minute-walk back because I went to the chemist for Solpadeine that I haven’t needed, so far) and two hours on my feet in the queue. Oh, and I woke at 2am and haven’t been able to sleep. I’m not sure that counts as a side effect.


The woman who gave me the jab was very nice. The top half of her face was pretty.

I can feel a little pain in my left arm as I raise my Espresso to my lips. I wonder will it have gone by the time I am raising glasses of beer later this evening.


I passed a different queue on the way home as I ambled along Upper Baggott Street. A queue for pints. There were little groups of people socialising, and it was the same all along the canal. For the most part they were young people, youngsters, kids even. I felt good as I walked along, the old guy, looking but not staring, glancing but not being a weirdo, and as is the case with most things in the life of a fifty-six soon-to-be fifty-seven-year-old man about to start his fifty-eighth year (see what I did there?) – it felt surreal.


Peace Out


Michael