It’s 7.58pm. Some children somewhere are in their homes plastered with rainbows, soiling themselves with excitement, twitching fingers at the ready – they know what’s coming. Others have assembled at Westminster Bridge (because fuck social distancing for a bit, right?), strobing siren lights trigger the distant memory of clubbing within the party animals among us. As for the rest, it’s literally just a regular Thursday night. T-minus 2 minutes, troops. In position.
The ones who blast music
Bold to assume that the neighbours would approve of their chosen banger on a Thursday evening. Most likely the designated (see: self-appointed) DJ in any given situation, they have a playlist for every occasion; a true Master of Ceremonies. Fear them, as they clearly fear no one. Approval they need not, they will continue to broadcast their ‘absolute tunes’ until your ears bleed. Be nice to them or they’ll punish you and play Jess Glynne. On repeat.
The ones who clap normally
These people have actually got up to clap into thin air on their doorstep and risk being trapped in awkward neighbourly small talk: half-assed but shows some dedication. Mortal combat for Queen, country and NHS. To underestimate them would be a great mistake. However, sitting on the fence gains you little ground in this war. Normal applauders lack originality, it won’t be long before the opponent catches on to their repetitive actions.
The ones with pots and pans
The more prepared bring weapons to a battle. Utensils poised, ready for the clock to strike 8, they are a little over-the-top, unnecessary and headache-inducing, but there is potential for a key gladiator. Armed with guns in a knife fight, these people are wise, calculated. As we know, in all walks of life protection is key so here, think of pots and pans as condoms in the bedroom, seatbelts in a car, adequate PPE in our hospitals. Oh wait.
The ones who don’t clap at all
By Kassie Obi