Ahh...thank God that's over.

What?

Not over? Where's my mask?

This is my current internal dialogue. I've been double-jabbed, as has Mrs L, and most, if not all of our friends. There are pretty much no restrictions that impact us, other than the requirement to wear a mask inside public spaces. July in Cyprus, the last place anyone wants to go is inside.

There remain folk who are suspicious of the vaccine, and wish not to get one, let alone two. The government has responded by telling them that if they wish to participate in society unvaccinated, then they need to take a rapid test every 72 hours. They've also mentioned that each test will cost €10. Three tests a week, €30, or €120 per month. Ouch! Gradually, measures will be devised to make being unvaccinated more and more inconvenient, without the government ever having to resort to making them mandatory.

All good news, right?

One small fly in the ointment.

Daily infection numbers are the highest that they have ever been. Just a day or two ago, we bust through a 1,000 cases a day, and they continue to climb. Hospitalisation and intubation proportions are lower than before, and the average age of those hospitalised is much younger, but still, the picture is hardly rosy.

What to do?

In many ways, this feels more fraught than before. There's no "we're in this together" blitz spirit.

Let me illustrate. (Names changed for privacy reasons.)

John has been asked to be the Best Man at a wedding. He's agreed. So John and Janet are off to the hotel for 3 days of wedding and merry-making. Huzzah!

Keith and Kathy are concerned by the rising numbers and the apparent apathy from the authorities, so are locking down, to a certain extent - with regards to socialising.

In the past, these two couples had similar risk-appetites as us - so, we all felt comfortable dining out together when permitted, comfortable that nobody had been hanging out at super-spreader events.

Now - if we meet Janet and John for a drink after their return, we shouldn't really agree to go for a drink with Keith and Kathy, should we? Not at least without discussing with them the relative risk profiles at play. A drink with me is effectively a drink with a recently-arrived tourist from the UK who has come for a wedding.

What do we think?

Mrs L and I will need to have a chat. I know that she is likely to be uncomfortable about mixing too closely with Janet and John. After all - aren't numbers in the UK huge?

I'm less concerned. I've been vaccinated, to protect me from the virus - and whilst I acknowledge that risk remains, I'm happy to accept that risk.

Blimey - it's complicated, this hokey-cokey stuff.

Perhaps I'll spend more time in Budapest of the 1990's, pushing out chapters of my novel. Members get to read and comment on them weekly.

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