TWENTY TWENTY TWO

Welcome back the past. Same as it ever was.

We got our booster shots yesterday after walking into a pharmacy up in Annandale.

We’d been warned we might have some soreness at the injection site, some muscle pain, perhaps symptoms of a mild cold. None of that happened. Late last night we were swivelling our arms above our heads like extras in a B52 dance clip.

‘We’re the fittest old people in the world!’ we declared. The whole shack shimmied.

Today – in fact overnight – our injection site arms started killing us and our entire bodies ache like buggery.

We’re not sooks (or doctors) but we’ve resorted to champagne today to ease the pain and suffering and loss of enjoyment of Life. I’m not sure COVID and cuvee should be taken together but it’s working, and we’re saving our paracetamol in case we actually get sick. And we’re not clogging up 000. Or Jimmy Brings. We’ve already got.

So far we haven’t caught COVID though every day my phone pings to advise I was at the Tramsheds, or Galluzzo’s greengrocers, the Matisse exhibition, or Superbarn, the fishmarket – anywhere I’ve been – with a covert COVID and I should monitor for symptoms exactly like the ones I’m now taking champagne for.

We’ve opted out of gym so far this year but now that we’re boosted we plan to resume tomorrow (ping) when these aches and pains subside, as our pharmacist said they would. He was wearing a white coat so I trust him.

Or maybe he also works weekends as a goal umpire?

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