We took a wee trip to the north last week to get away from basically everyone and everything! We were supposed to be going to Copenhagen, a trip that was months in the planning.
I had booked restaurants and brushed up on my Danish by watching every Scandinavian programme available on Netflix and then in the end we cancelled.
We couldn’t risk getting stuck over there and having to isolate if we’d started showing symptoms of Covid while we had two teenagers home alone, drinking all the left over Christmas booze!
Then, on the day we were due to travel to Copenhagen and were heading North in the car instead, the government saw fit to ease the restrictions on travel. I may have shed a tear. But sure look, we should all know by now, you can’t plan anything during Covid times.
And Belfast was a blast. Listen, anywhere you could stay out past 8 pm was going to seem like mighty craic to us. We talked the whole way up in the car how we were going to go on a massive session, a pub crawl even, the likes of which we hadn’t done since we were in our twenties.
On the first night we managed dinner in a lovely restaurant and two drinks after before we admitted defeat and collapsed into bed and conked out. To be honest, the next morning we were both a bit embarrassed by our pathetic efforts at being party animals. We are known for our ability to stay the course, to be the last couple standing. Or at least we used to be.
On the second day Himself decided we’d hire bikes and cycle around the city. I went along with the idea until it started lashing rain and then put my foot down. He started to sulk so I knew I had to distract him. I found a deadly little pub – a former brothel – dark and dingy with bras and knickers hanging on washing lines inside. I knew he’d love it. We settled into a red velvet couch in the corner for the afternoon, happy as pigs in the proverbial.
Three pints later we had to retire to the hotel for a Nana Nap before dinner. “The Guinness must be very strong up here,” I said before putting on a sleep mask and resting my eyes. Two hours later we woke up, having missed our dinner reservation and nursing a slight hangover.
Determined not to give in and to prove we are still the life and souls of the party he rushed us down to the hotel bar for food and drinks. I ordered a large Gin and Tonic. When he went to pay, the waitress said it was £18 for my drink alone. He went very pale. I thought he was going to collapse from heart failure.
I suspect our partying days are over.