Local Man Caught In Permanent Lockdown Mode

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CHRONIC consumer of all things bad, local man Patrick Murphy’s anxiety levels peaked at ten past 9 last night following yet more Covid-related news emanating from his TV screen depicting graphs of still curvy curves, forcing him into action for what is now the 196th night in a row.

“I’m just nipping down to the offy love, if you want anything?” Murphy shouted from the front door, an act of recurring motion now etched into the couple’s nightly routine, “bacon fries and what else? No, I’m not calling in there and waiting, just order the Chinese on the app… Yeah, and I’ll only get three beers this time or they’ll think I have a problem or something ha!”.

The Murphys, who were collectively 6 stone lighter in March, have since found a form of Zen meditation in 5% beers, junk food and weed, blissfully forfeiting their health for a wrapped in cotton wool lifestyle of reassuring comfort that can only be achieved with a certain amount of sugar, food, alcohol and THC.

“Jaysis, Paddy, I hardly recognised you there,” an old work colleague remarked in the off-licence craft beer section, as Murphy mocked proudly polishing his protruding torso with his hands.

“Food baby, Mark. Sure, we’re on the piss since March with this thing ha-ha,” the 35-year-old responded in jest, his subconscious anxiety forcing him now to chose 7 beers instead of 3, “we’re still in lockdown mode, lad, if the Covid don’t kill us, the atin’ and drinkin’ will ha-ha”.

With his own words ringing in his ear, Patrick John Murphy’s heart palpitated as he drove on his way back home, triggering yet another panic attack and dull feeling of guilt that can only be cured with ‘more of the same’.

“Seen Mark Holden down at the offy, barely recognised him Trish, he was so fat,” Murphy lied to his wife in retaliation to his friend’s earlier remark, “sure everyone’s at it, Trish, the whole country is in the same boat, might as well enjoy it while it lasts,” Murphy lied to himself, before opening the first bottle of the night in a bid to battle festering melancholy.

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