Thinking about how I would have spent this Sunday before Coronavirus: A sesh with the boys. Live band playing at the local. Sinking the Furphys all day (maybe a cheeky bundy and coke). It's 5 o'clock now. We're dancing in the beer garden with a 58 yr old divorced mother of three.

Kick-ons? Yeah man. Afterparty at old mates. Do you know him? I thought he was your mate lol. It's 8pm now. The bald guy with the tattoos is repeatedly explaining to me that Denzel Curry's Bulls On Parade is a cover of a Pearl Jam song. I really need to take a shit.

They haven't got toilet paper. Gonna walk to that park four kms away that has a public toilet with a broken door you can slip underneath. Someone passes me a Woodstock for a roadie. I bump into a couple on the way. They have spacers in their ears. They keep talking about BDSM.

10.30pm. Back at the house. All my mates have bailed. The bald guy gives me another Woodstock. I don't even like Woodstock. I get pulled into a darkened room. They're playing early 2000s hardstyle through a PS4. They're trying to sell me pingers. Jesus, Mary and Joseph.

Morning: I'm awake. I don't know where I am. I have five new friends on FB. A minute later I realise. It's my mate's place, above the pie shop. A forty minute walk from where I must have been. I stumble out into the lounge room, feigning confidence.

"Haha yew. what a night lads"