Nostalgic for the good old days of full lockdown

As I walk my eighth circuit of Mote Park, prodding toddlers who get too close to me with my two-metre social distancing branch and ignoring their outraged parents, I think about how I’d quite like lockdown to continue forever.

Whether it’s an apocalyptic Piers

Morgan lockdown, an Isle of Wight-style appbased lockdown or a Daily Mail lockdown – where your level of exposure to the virus depends on your job and how much your union has played up in the past three weeks – there are now more varieties than Nando’s sauce.

And I think that’s what I love so much about it – the unpredictability.

In the absence of sport the next big Prime Ministerial statement takes on a deeper kind of significance.

What will Boris

Johnson say? What did he say? Who told him to say that? Can I go to the pub?

You huddle around your TV but just when your team needed a Pep

Guardiola-esque half time speech, instead you’re presented with

1990s Diego Maradona and now even a trip to the garden centre is baffling the best of us.

I yearn for the good old days of full lockdown when we all knew where we stood and that government adviser Professor Neil

Ferguson was not allowed to meet up with his lover.

Now I’m none the wiser. Is he allowed to?

Maybe but definitely only outdoors and from two metres away – which may prove difficult. Regardless, I doubt he’ll be coming to me for advice.

How am I meant to judge all my neighbours on how well they’re following the rules if I don’t even know what they are any more. Madness.

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