When the daylight has faded

The ballroom experience

The old wooden staircase opens up to a small hallway that leads to a huge ornate ballroom. Diana stares at the brass candle wall sconces, eyes shining.

She takes a step forward and sits down on an antique armchair, waiting to be let in. With her eyes closed, she can hear faint conversations, loud laughs and classical music. Mozart or Bach? Diana does not know, but she is sure she can see women in beautiful dresses waltzing by, handsome men in tuxedos gently directing their moves.

Diana opens her eyes and stares at the huge book case in the small waiting area. There are hundreds of books, their covers dark and dusty and crinkled by decades of use, now reduced to decoration rather than information givers.

Diana longs to get up and peruse what the shelf has to offer but she is unsure if protocol would allow that. Probably best not to try, she decides. She does not want to be removed from the premises before she has a chance to see the ballroom properly.

How many times has she sat downstairs in the restaurant wondering what upstairs looks like? After all, she has been eating at this restaurant her entire life, a huge half-timbered house that has seen its fair share of local history.

Diana has dreamt about becoming part of this history from the moment she first stepped foot into this magical place decades ago, dreamt about the old ballroom upstairs that the customer could study in photographs hanging in the dining area but could not visit themselves, unless they had an invitation.

Just a few more minutes, and Diana would finally be allowed to enter this hallowed ground.

A noise on the staircase catches her attention. An elderly couple is struggling up the stairs, the man panting like a dog at feeding time.

Before the couple have reached the top, Diana's name is finally called.

With a huge grin, she jumps up off the chair, then collects herself and steps into the ancient chambre with dignity.

"Miss Walker," she is greeted and directed to a table where three people with masks are seated.

Diana hardly hears the man, her attention focused on the wall panels, the intricate decorations carved into the wood a couple of hundred years ago by the current owner's forefathers.

Diana's family history goes back about three generations and her prize possession is a silver soup ladle with a woman's name engraved into the handle that she is not familiar with, someone from her father's side of the family.

But this? This is incredible. How many balls have been held here over the years? How many matches made in the spirit of wealth accumulation have been negotiated here by the local rich and famous?

Diana is lost in thought when one of the masked figures at the table gets up with a white stick in his hand. He approaches Diana.

"You can take your mask off now. I'll just have to swab both of your nostrils. Then you can go back to the waiting area. Mind the social distancing rules, please. You'll get your test results within 20 minutes."

When he sees my wistful stare, he adds, "Yes, test centre instead of restaurant. What's the world come to, eh?"