Two-metre rule suits this curmudgeon fine

IKNOW there are lots of people out there who are not coping well with the lack of social contact. I heard a woman on the radio the other day saying she was going to go out on the street soon and start hugging everyone. She must know she’d be arrested.

When I was young, heaving crowds were the order of the day. Unless a pub was absolutely jointed, myself and my friends would leave. Our chances of meeting interesting guys may have been compromised unless it was wall-towall. I became adept at passing drinks over people’s heads without spilling a drop, while at the same time engaging in conversation with everyone in the queue. Now I sigh when I have to go to the counter. I’m at an age where I actually want a quiet corner and table service. I hated restaurants where tables were on top of one another and the people at the table next to you could eavesdrop on every juicy bit of gossip. I was in a restaurant one night where the tables were so jammed together that a couple — whom we didn’t know from Adam — at the adjoining table involved themselves in our gossip because they knew the people. Dangerous, to say the least.

And I was never one for hugging all and sundry. That’s a relatively new thing. I like to be a tad discerning about whom I wrap myself around.

There are those who would refute that when copious libations were involved. But in sobriety, I’m not a huge hugger. So now I don’t have to hug anymore and that’s fine. I really am now an established curmudgeon. And another great thing is that nobody is calling to the door without warning and catching me in all my unwashed and undressed glory. So all in all, even though I hate to admit it, this two-metre thing is suiting me just fine.