Making up for lost time

We went to see some street theatre last week. It wasn't good. Blokes talking in funny voices wearing tight trousers and red noses as they tripped over imaginary obstacles. What was good was that it was on.

We couldn't get past the barriers that marked off the performance areas because we hadn't pre-booked our tickets but it didn't matter much as there was a bar beside two of the three spaces we went to and we were able to sit at the bar, non alcohol beer in hand, and half watch the performances. 

If there is still a limitation on the permitted number outside a bar (for ages it was 30% of capacity then 50%, keeping a couple of metres between the tables etc.) it is no longer noticeable. We're all still wearing our masks. I sometimes wonder, as I wash the car down in the local petrol station or tramp across some field looking for cucos, why I'm wearing a mask but I still do. The tea leaves suggest it won't go on much longer. I decided not to add a pack of ten of the FFP2 type masks to my supermarket shop the other day - I'm sure my hoard will see me through. Anyway, I digress. I always do. It's what makes it so easy to maintain a conversation on the video Spanish classes. I'm flitting from one thing to another and the hour is soon gone. 

So, we're in the bar and watching some unfunny clown. There are people all around us. They are greeting friends with hugs. It's warm and sunny and just like Spain as the summer begins to gear up. There is a pretence to mask wearing but lots are below nose and everybody is back to corporal greetings. Actually that's not quite true. There's a code to it. What people do is to tap elbows or bump fists as some sort of neoCovid greeting and that ritual over they then cheek kiss and/or hug. Some people, standing within centimetres of me, keep bumping into my plastic chair. It's a bit annoying. Everybody pays lip service but really, in the common consciousness, the virus has gone away. Even in the health centre the other day, when I went for my second jab, they took my temperature before letting me cross the threshold but forgot to direct me to the hand gel and I forgot too. I alternatively snigger and feel aggrieved as the news story about the ever so naughty young people who've been dancing and drinking at some "illegal" do without masks are followed by shots of politicians dancing and hugging each other after an election victory or back slapping at some meeting in Brussels, Ankara of Medellín. Rules, as always, different for the haves and the have nots.

As everything begins to open up, as the theatre programmes look fuller, as there is more and more advertised music, as some guided walks are happening again I'm back to spending hours looking at the things on offer. I trawl through town hall and tourist office websites and search out websites for this and that annual event. Maybe I'm trying to overcompensate for the things we've missed. There is so much being advertised that Maggie is already getting a bit fed up with my enthusiasms. I do the  - well, whilst we're in Alicante for Axolotes Mexicanos (indie band) we could pop in to the exhibition at the MUBAG (art gallery) and then go on to the English language film at the Kineopolis - and Maggie looks at me,  rolls her eyes and says - or we could sit on the terrace with a nice cool drink.