GROUP GET-TOGETHERS

In this new era, sharing is not caring. Do not be surprised if some people take this more seriously than others. Reactions to the words, “Would you like some hummus?” could range from: “Oh… um… Is that allowed? Should I just open my own pot? Or leave it 72 hours?” to: “If you so much as come within five metres of me with your infected chickpea mush, I swear this will be the last time you ever see my children again, Belinda.”

Due to the above, expect (and feel free to bring) some truly peculiar offerings at picnics and barbecues, as people no longer have to appease the whole group. “Argh, so gutting you can’t share this Chateaubriand! But you know, I would hate to expose you if we had any

Covid on us. Do enjoy your carrot sticks, though.”

The new acceptable drinking hours start at 10.30am at weekends. I’m sorry, but those are the rules. And if you turn down a drink, you evidently want your local pub/deli/ bar/off licence to close. And haven’t they suffered enough?

The only five opening gambits to small talk left: 1) “How has lockdown been for you?”

2) “This is all a bit weird, isn’t it?” 3) “Do you too wonder if Matt Hancock is an elaborate piece of performance art?” 4) “Move away, please.” 5) “Have you seen the clip of that sports commentator and his dogs? Oh, you have.”

Expect a visit to a friend or family’s garden to be a cross between visit to Ikea and a trip to the theatre: arrows on the floor determining a strict one-way system through the hall and out the French doors, absurd queues for the loo, that particularly British form of quietly seething smile when one person has to squeeze past another, and a sense, when you finally get home, that all that trouble wasn’t really worth it.