EATING OUT CAN BE A RATHER LONELY AFFAIR

I’VE recently broken out of the coronavirus chains and dipped a cautious toe in the pool of pre-Covid reality.

In both cases I’ve ventured out to eat at a restaurant, observing all the pandemic regulations.

The two outings were totally different.

In both cases I arrived masked and was properly sanitised and temperature-tested.

The first visit was to a large, mainly seafood, restaurant capable of seating at least 200 diners.

The car park was almost empty and we were observed by a pair of solemn penguins who stood by the side of the path and watched us arrive.

There were only two other couples in the eatery and we were seated far apart. I could see one occupied table at the far corner of the room and I believe there was another couple sitting around a corner and out of sight.

Physical distancing is all very well but this was way beyond social.

It was downright lonely.

The food was excellent and the service was good, but it felt a little strange to be so isolated. The term “self-quarantined” sprung to mind.

The second outing was to a small coffee shop probably capable of seating about 30 people at full stretch.

Again, there were only six customers in the place, but we were seated about 2m apart and well within earshot of the other diners.

The food was okay and the service was reasonable, but the experience was far more satisfying than the first outing.

It made all the difference to be able to see other people enjoying their food and hear the gentle murmur of voices.

I suspect part of the joy of dining out may be the pleasure of being surrounded by other people who are also enjoying themselves. I heard of one restaurateur who solved this isolation problem by borrowing mannequins from a clothing store and seating them at tables dotted across the human diners. Physically distanced, of course. I don’t think this would work for me. The thought of being surrounded by silent people staring glassily ahead and ignoring their plates of plastic food doesn’t make for a particularly merry evening.

I have no problem with wearing my mask in public, and I am happy to be sanitised at every doorway and have an electronic thermometer pointed at my temple. I am happy to wash my hands a dozen times a day.

What I do miss during this sad pandemic is the human contact.

Life is poorer without the hellos, hugs and handshakes.

Last Laugh:

Harry bought a lunch box with a see-through lid.

Somebody asked why he used it and he said: “Simple, when I am on the train I just have to glance at my lunch box and I can tell immediately whether I’m on my way to work or heading home.”