Before Covid, I used to nip to the continent whenever the impulse took me, for a weekend or even a day trip.
Then it all changed. Fortunately, it didn't decrease my ability to go to work, or I'd have gone doolally by now -- well, probably during the first lockdown, to be honest. But there was all the overtime my little heart could desire, even if I had to go to the Other Site now and again. The first time I was there I made a joke about how this would probably be as close as I'd get to a foreign holiday for the rest of the year. I should have learnt by my advanced age not to make jokes. It was as close as I got to a foreign holiday for the rest of the year.
Then 2021 dawned, and there was a song in my heart, as I got double-vaxxed in the full expectation of going abroad. I was planning a longer stay, because I didn't want to waste it. Ireland, where I'd never been, but had been saying I wanted to go for nearly half a century? Austria, or Germany, where I'd been in my dim and distant youth? Or somewhere totally different?
But the more I heard from people who had ventured abroad, it was all a terrible faff, and then there was no guarantee that there would be much happening at the other end of the journey, even if it was technically allowed. It just didn't sound like it would be enjoyable, and if it wasn't, what was the point?
In the end, my grand international plans turned into a day trip to Doncaster. Yes, I know.