Learning new manners
Pavement etiquette has been forced upon us… but I’m enjoying it so much I’ve written down the guidelines
Observing these strict new rules makes me feel like a well-bred young nobleman in a BBC costume drama
This may sound odd, but I really enjoy social distancing. When out on my daily walk, observing these strict new rules somehow makes me feel chivalrous and gallant – as if I’m some immaculately well-bred young nobleman in a BBC costume drama. Perhaps I should write a guide to pavement etiquette.
“Upon perceiving the approach by foot of a lady, a gentleman will dismount the pavement forthwith and descend to the thoroughfare, irrespective of any risk to his person from oncoming stagecoaches.
“The lady will acknowledge his sacrifice with a modest inclination of her head.
The gentleman, having responded in kind, will after a suitable interval remount the pavement, before proceeding upon his journey.
“At all times it is essential to remember the rule that a gentleman never infects a lady with a deadly pathogen. As set out in Debrett’s, the wanton spread of an acute respiratory disease from the Orient is considered deeply vulgar in polite circles.”
Personally, I love it. I’m thinking of ordering a top hat, just so I can tip it as I pass.
Could this be the breakthrough we’ve all been longing for? I wouldn’t want to speak too soon. But it does seem remarkable. A leading science correspondent has published an article about how the virus spreads. And in passing, he reveals the most extraordinary fact. Newspaper ink, he says, “kills the virus”.
What a sensational claim. If true, it could utterly transform our fortunes. Because the lesson is clear.
If you don’t already have a print subscription to The Telegraph, then, for the sake of your health, be sure to take one out today.
Just as importantly, urge each of your friends, family and neighbours to take out a Telegraph subscription, too. Explain to them that buying The Telegraph is now no less than their patriotic duty. If they seem at all hesitant, reassure them that there is no obligation to read any of it. All they have to do, each morning, is to rub the front page against their hands and face, until their skin is safely coated in a protective layer of ink.
Together, we can beat this thing. One page at a time.
Curious item in the post. A new novelty gift company called My Sainted Aunt is selling personalised prayer candles, and, to promote them, they’ve sent me one. The side of my candle is decorated with the image of a great holy figure. He has ancient robes, a halo… and, thanks to the miracle of digital editing, my face.
Admittedly, it does feel a tiny bit odd, worshipping myself, offering myself thanks and begging myself to forgive my own sins. Still, in these dark times, I suppose we need all the spiritual solace we can get.
I shall remember you all in my prayers to myself tonight.