Are you happy hugs are back?

NO As restrictions lift on Monday, a social minefield awaits , so...

‘ Rigid as a hatstand, I pray for it over’ to be

PERSonALLy, I hate hugs. Can’t stand them. Even the thought of one makes me physically recoil and twist in my seat. I find them intrusive, weird, awkward and physically unpleasant. I dislike the feel of someone else’s unfamiliar body contours, the strange washing powder scent, the softness of the flesh and the suggestion of hair.

It’s not a question of someone being attractive or not, it’s just the fact of their body being crushed up against mine. It could be Brad Pitt or Brad Pitt’s extremely ugly cousin. no thanks, to either.

of course, I hug my children (I’m not totally strange), but never my sisters. I think my poor husband suspects I insisted on getting two cats so he can get some of the many cuddles he requires hourly from them and not me.

I didn’t get the appeal when I was younger — I never hugged my friends in that squealy way teen girls often do — and I still don’t get it now.

I watched the adaptation of The Pursuit of Love, starring Lily James and Emily Beecham, and grimaced at how much their characters Linda and Fanny drape themselves over each other. why can’t they keep their hands to themselves? Barf. Here are my strategies for avoiding embraces: 1) Shout ‘Hello!’ across the room, wave with both hands and hope the potential hugger gets the message; 2) Very suddenly need to attend to a child or a drink or anything else when a hug might be looming; 3) In an emergency, I will shriek ‘I don’t do hugs!’

I am not exaggerating, I dislike them that much. All of my friends know this and don’t come near me, for which I’m so grateful.

The chink of light coming through the heavy, grey, cloudy sky of the past year has been the no-hugs diktat. I bumped elbows joyfully! I waved with unbridled enthusiasm!

I was delighted to have this social nicety (read: nuisance), which I must constantly negotiate, removed from my life. Because not being a hugger is really awkward.

People either take offence and think it’s something to do with them (It’s not — it’s me!) or think you are completely weird. Most usually, both. The last year has meant I have neither given offence nor been thought of as a cold-hearted freak.

So it’s with a heavy heart that I see Britain going back to the hug danger zone, where every partygoer is either a threat I need to neutralise or submit to with good grace, standing there, rigid as a hatstand, waiting for it to be over.

As it happens, cinemas open up on the same day as hugs are allowed. Coincidence? I think not.

you’ll find me and all the other hug refuseniks hiding there — not hugging, but waving.