Finally, I need to make a confession: we are the ones who have to be blamed for all the ongoing havoc with the pandemic and whatnot. You want to ask me “but how on earth did it happen,” right? And I tell you with sadness: easily.
You see, we Russians have a long-term superstition: “look at your first day of the New Year and project it on the rest: it’ll be the same.” Also, there is another belief, which features every leap year as unfortunate. So, that was a perfect storm indeed.
As some of you perhaps remember, we spent out last days of the 2019 in Lisbon, with our precious friends, who got married in one of the most beautiful locations of the city, the Jerónimos Monastery in Belém. That was a marvellous trip by all means: meeting up with lovely people whom you haven’t seen in ages, stunning landscapes, delightful weather, delicious food—everything was beyond perfect.
Apart from the travel itself: both our arrival and departure were badly delayed by sudden strikes and inclement weather in London. Instead of arriving home at somewhat late-ish “right after midnight”, we crawled into the house at 8 a.m. on December 31. To say that we were exhausted would be an understatement: we were completely drained and sleep-deprived, of course.
Nevermind, I thought, nevermind: we’ll have a nap and then!.. The last day of the year, right? Greetings to friends and family, posting silly stuff on social media just before the clock will turn 00.01! Moscato in the fridge! Chocolates and lights on the Christmas tree!.. Etc., etc., etc.
Well, that was a mess: we slept nearly all day. We were too tired to make a proper dinner for the celebration, although we still managed to decorate the table with flowers, candles and other stuff: we were yawning at 23.59 and continued at 00.01, and screamed somewhat meekly “Happy New Year!” Then, the Christmas lights started appearing double in our eyes, I turned my head to L., and – phew! He was asleep again on the sofa. I shook him impatiently: oh, come on! We must celebrate! “What? Ah… tomorrow, let’s do it tomorrow,” mumbled he, covering his head with a blanket.
Damn, I think, what the hell? It’s my favourite holiday, after all! We should celebrate properly! I splashed more Moscato in our glasses: the sleepy cat sniffed it nonchalantly and rolled onto his back again. L. was lying on the sofa, having his third or fourth dream. I was angry, swearing at everything and then mysteriously found myself doing so at 11 a.m. the next day. It turned out, I was also asleep for pretty much all the New Year night: neither I nor L. noticed any bonfires on our street.
What was the rest of the day, the first day of January? The problem is that I don’t remember. There was something that hugely resembled a zombie-like existence, but in cosy interiors, delicious food (we finally unpacked our suitcases) and the flickering screens of our gadgets and telly.
Does it remind you of something? Right, that’s it. That’s how it all happened and overtook the world. I am sorry! It’s clearly our fault, which, presumably, will be cancelled only on the 2020 New Year’s Eve. We shall see.
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