With the arrival of COVID-19 our understanding of the role of ‘home’ was refreshed. You can’t do everything there, but without batting an ashamed eye you can slip into your most comfortable outfit. Speaking for myself, dressed in oversized pants I found myself more often relaxing on the sofa, my right hand reaching for a good Al Bundy pose, in my left something tasty or the remote – I’ve passed the age of thirty so I still have a TV.

In that period our home situation reverted to its purest form. Without the intrusion of others, the way we really like to lead our lives was revealed. Our food and drink consumption during corona said more about our true preferences than at any other time. When you don’t have to fulfill all kinds of social obligations, you are more likely to gravitate towards the things you really enjoy. And – above all – to drop whatever fails to spark the faintest interest.

Last Saturday social pressure prompted my first hangover in a long time. The cause: shots – that invention of alcoholics in a hurry, and a device entirely incapable of generating any taste sensation. During corona my shots intake plummeted to absolute zero; doing drop shots at your kitchen table promises neither a great taste nor entertainment. It is actually quite boring.

But on Saturday there I was with a group of people experiencing five to ten seconds of revulsion caused by an extraordinarily unpleasant tasting drink. The impact on your motor skills is considerable. And the will of the group is that you repeat this ritual another three or four times, as if having survived a car crash you get back in your crumpled vehicle and take a second run at it.

Waking up feeling wrecked on Sunday I was forced to conclude: shots are good for nothing. But with the return of our ‘normal’ life, group pressure has also made a comeback. It is only inevitable that you will again find yourself among a group of likeminded – but younger – people in the bar of your study association as like a pack of thirsty lemmings they throw themselves into that abyss called Apfelkorn. All in all, it was a pretty good evening, thanks to or in spite of all those alcoholic gems