I’m writing this from our restaurant table. We’re right near the open kitchen and the food smells amazing. My mouth is watering just thinking about eating it, particularly as it’s something a little unusual and different from our norm: it’s Caribbean food, which I have had before, but not for quite some time, and it’s not a cuisine I’d say I know well.

Unfortunately, it’s also 10.30pm and we’ve been here since 8pm. We’ve only just sat down, only just ordered, and God knows how long it will take for the food to actually arrive at our table. This has, as you can probably imagine, soured the experience a little.

I should have seen it coming, of course. It’s Friday night in the city centre, and that was a busy time back when I was at university. Over the last few years in particular, the city centre has undergone extensive regeneration — the restaurant we’re currently sitting in is part of one of these new and restored buildings. With new and shiny buildings — and an expanding student population at both of the two city’s universities — come hordes of people, of course. But I hadn’t realised until now quite how ridiculously busy it gets in town.

This is probably nothing new to those of you who live in busy, bustling cities around the globe. But for me it’s quite surprising. Southampton never felt like a particularly big deal, and Going Out used to be something you could do on a whim. It was often quite enjoyable to do so — friends and I would often take impromptu trips to local watering holes like Lennons and Kaos, and we’d always be able to get in and have a good time.

Not any more. Going Out appears to have become something that needs to be planned well in advance, that involves lots of standing around waiting, and that, frankly, just isn’t particularly fun any more.

Perhaps it’s my age. Perhaps it’s the fact I’ve practically been a hikikomori for the past few years (and am largely comfortable with this). Or perhaps it’s the pitiful organisation of this place that saw us waiting for more than two hours to sit down, let alone eat. Whatever it is, I don’t count on myself doing it much more in the future, unless the occasion is very special indeed.

On the plus side, however, between writing the last paragraph and this one I’ve eaten a plateful of whitebait for the first time in about 20 years, and it was every bit as delicious as I remember. So at least the food is good. Worth the wait? Questionable, but at least the tedious and rubbish part of the evening is over.