Into the wide blue yonder

I never thought I’d ever say I was thrilled, yes thrilled to buy a beer in Ganni’s Bar round the corner from my house. But last Friday I did just that and yes it did feel thrilling… kind of.

Ten weeks of being cooped up at home make even simple pleasures mega-important events. And before you ask, it was a Farson’s Blue label and very pleasant it was too. I drank it, beneath an umbrella, sitting outside at one of the tables Cikku, the bar owner, disports outside his boozer. Obviously there are merely half the number of tables that he usually manages to cram into an area the size of your average Valletta balcony.

Social distancing rules being what they are, this is entirely understandable and sensible. It’s when you get inside the bar that things get a bit up-close and sweaty. In order to purchase my bottle of beer I had to run the gauntlet of about 12 punters plus Cikku and his very large missis.

I declined the offer of a second beer from one of my neighbours, who had obviously got the same idea as I had, to break our boozer-fast. But I noticed several more people piling into the bar as we sat sipping our beers. God knows how these new punters squeezed in, since I didn’t see anyone leave while I was sitting outside and the interior of the bar is about as spacious as a medium-sized wardrobe.

So welcome back Ganni’s Bar. I was less interested in the fact that gyms are back in business from last Friday. The last time I visited one of these establishments was by mistake. I was looking for the meetings room. These days the only iron I pump is the stuff in the pills I’m obliged to consume for a slight anaemic condition.

Actually I am somewhat ambivalent about gyms in general. Some years ago I dated a lovely girl who certainly didn’t need any curve therapy. She was gorgeous in all departments… until, that is, she got it into her head that she could improve upon nature by frequenting a gym. The one she chose was inhabited mainly by a group of male bodybuilders. Now maybe it’s just me but I find female bodybuilders a massive turn-off and that is precisely what she became.

They say familiarity breeds contempt and I witnessed a glaring example of just that this week. Back at the end of March, when lockdown heralded a number of other restrictions on the general populace, Gracie and Ray, who run the nearest grocers’ shop to me, were super sterile in everything they did. Both wore masks, there was the obligatory clear plastic shield in front of the counter, the number of people allowed into their premises at any one time was closely and rigorously monitored. A bottle of hand sanitiser was taped to the shop doorway – everything was very sanitary. Yesterday when I wandered in for a carton of milk, the hand sanitiser was gone, the shop was full and I was the only person wearing a mask… I felt a bit like a bank robber. As Del Boy Trotter might have said: “Ploo sar change.”