HAVE you had your vaccine yet? It is a question I have heard – and uttered myself – more times than I can count in the past few months.

It is one of those things you now throw into conversation almost by rote: "Hi, how are you? Family all good? Work going OK? Some weather we've been having, isn't it? What about that Line of Duty finale? Have you had your vaccine?"

This invariably splinters off into a series of sub-themes, a bit like following a flowchart for customer interactions in a call centre.

"Had your vaccine?"

"Not yet, but my mum got hers."

"What one did she get?


"Ah, my sister got AstraZeneca. Any side effects?"

"Nah. Did your sister?"

"Well …"

On and on it goes. Throwing in anecdotes of great aunts/neighbours/a third cousin twice removed. The devil is in the detail: the length of the queue, the venue, the name of the vaccine brand – like a giddy super fan recounting watching their idols at Glastonbury.

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As you might be able to guess, I have not had my Covid-19 vaccine. The big blue envelopes are flying through the letterboxes of people in my age group (40 to 49), but one has yet to land on my doormat.

There's been a few false alarms. I saw a sliver of blue fluttering through a few weeks back, but disappointingly it turned out to be a canvassing leaflet for the Tory party and then, on another occasion, a catalogue for Screwfix.

If I happen to bump into the postie as he saunters up the drive, I find myself scanning the clutch of correspondence in his hands, hoping to catch a glimpse of that hallowed letter, eyes flitting back and forth like my dog Moose seeking out a hidden biscuit.

HeraldScotland: NHS staff and key workers queue at the Louisa Jordan Hospital in Glasgow before receiving the coronavirus vaccine. Picture: Jeff J Mitchell/Getty ImagesNHS staff and key workers queue at the Louisa Jordan Hospital in Glasgow before receiving the coronavirus vaccine. Picture: Jeff J Mitchell/Getty Images

Since December, I have felt heart-soaring joy for every single person who has received their vaccine. Each one has felt like a step closer to some semblance of normality. But I am growing impatient. I have ants in my pants.

It is simple pop psychology: FOMO. Fear of missing out. For yonks, very little has happened. It's not like there's been a rollicking party on a Saturday night that everyone is at while you are stuck at home in your jammies. Everyone has been stuck at home in their jammies.

Except, that's no longer the case. Restrictions are easing. Some people have been vaccinated and some have not. They are levelling up in the pandemic game, while the rest of us are suffering from a hefty dose of vaccine envy.

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It's a bit like when you have to queue outside the butchers for your Hogmanay steak pie. You know there is one ordered for you, but as the line snakes round the block, you fret that it might have been given to someone else by the time you get in through the door.

V-Day is drawing closer. I just wish it would hurry up.

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