Opening time for pubs will see caution thrown to the wind

All the public will have heard was: “Oi oi, the pubs are opening!” Let’s get this straight. Two metres is out. One metre-plus is in. Given that two metres has shrunk from its factory settings to two feet in real life, a metre roughly approximates to six inches.

We’re coming out of hibernation, says the Prime Minister, which can’t be right as we’re all still fat.

But frost might return, which is why cricket is still banned; despite being our most socially isolated, emotionally distant sport as leather balls are “natural vectors of disease” as well as national humiliation. Football is fine, though.

Whether it was intended or not, the first casualty of today’s announcement was nuance. Boris Johnson may have been visibly relishing his cluster-busting Covidsecure oratory, but all the rest of us heard was that the pubs are opening.

Short back and sides all round! Especially for Boris. Everyone can see that his thatch is thinning faster than the public purse.

Fine dining is on the horizon, arcades will fling open their slots, social clubs, outdoor gyms and all those other totemic institutions that have made Britain great will be back in business.

Dinner parties are set to recommence, too. Even those of us who hate them are delighted, after three months of enforced confinement with our nearest and not-quite-as-dear-in-june-as-theywere-in-march.

Best of all, we can have a sleepover afterwards.

What’s that? The PM said that guests could only come from a single snoring, boring household?

That’s not a proper dinner party (unless the De Medicis are free?) so we can expect that edict to be disregarded en masse along with every other pertinent detail.

Boris may have ushered in a golden age of New But Cautious Optimism.

However, in the Klondike rush for liberty and a proper pint, I fear all caution will be thrown to the wind.

Given that two metres has shrunk to two feet in real life, a metre approximates to roughly six inches