I can feel it growing under my skin. Give it a go. Go on! Get your index finger and rub it across my forehead and you’ll feel it too. That little bump? That’s my egg tooth and it’s growing because I’m getting ready to headbutt my way out of the sickly coloured shell that’s been this sodding pandemic.
We’ve had bubbles and clusters and legally mandated physical recreation and yet, after all of the dystopian nomenclature I’ve managed to come out of the pandemic with a mental state that does a passable impression of “okay”.