“I’m done with the coronavirus. Over it,” I heard this week. “Why do I have to wait till August 10 to go on the piss. That’s so unfair.”
It makes me laugh. “OK would you like me to make a few calls? I don’t think the virus knows you’re done. Obviously the rest of us are totally cool with Covid. We should send a memo.”
I can understand why young people want to get amongst it. For many, the virus has wreaked havoc on their social life.
So when phase three saw restrictions lifted, they were given a little finger, but sadly they took the arm off.
Gatherings on Dame Lane in Dublin, house parties in Kerry, and half-baked illegal raves across the country saw infections among the young increase.
As a result, Taoiseach Micheál Martin delayed phase four of the roadmap stating that the Government will “refocus the message for young people about the role they can play in preventing the spread of the virus”.
The 3,438 pubs that had planned to reopen on July 20, are left ‘reeling’ because of the actions of those ‘dreadful young people’.
In a strange twist, it is mostly young people who want to go to pubs so they shot themselves in the foot.
Right now, the idea of going to the pub gives me hives as my galloping anxiety demands to meet in large outdoor spaces.
Those older than me, sadly, are still largely terrified of leaving the house, while a large cohort simply don’t give a damn.
So, it seems, the under-30s have the power to make or break this pesky virus.
Yet, across the world, rather than take precautions, they’ve been going mad, hanging out from London to Lisbon and New York to Arizona, where they even threw Covid parties and died.
The hack of them. Have they learned nothing?
Don’t they know that they could kill themselves, cause lingering damage or worse, kill someone they love?
Er no. They’re young and young people are sociopaths.
Remember when Aids instilled a tidal wave of fear and anxiety among the drug-fuelled disco dancers of the 1980s? They still went out and hooked up. It’s human (young person) nature.
The only thing is, this is not the swinging ’60s, or the raving ’90s.
The Champagne in France isn’t being drunk, the underground clubs are closed, the feather boas are in the closet.
The party is over. So there’s no point in risking life and limb for some below-average craic.
Get out and hike, get off the phones instead.
The party will return and when it does it will be better.
If you need motivation, there were only a few years between the roaring ’20s and the end of World War I and the Spanish Flu, only five years between losing World War II and the Wirtschaftswunder in Germany and only one Jack Charlton between the depressed ’80s and Italia 90.
The fun will come again, so in the meantime, sit tight, because when it does, it’s going to be great.