LOCKDOWN is predicted to end sometime towards the end of the century. But at least that means there’s a summer off doing all this:
Last year’s swimwear was awful so you have to buy new, except three weeks of binge-drinking, eating and watching has taken a toll. Imagine after three months, after the novelty of exercising from home wears off once you realise nobody can see you. Not even tummy-control bikini bottoms will save us this year.
Being trapped inside gifts us all a year off ice-packs and after-sun. Even the garden’s in shadow from the neighbours’ bloody leylandii. Sunburn will only be available to those who pass out on the front lawn, which will be 20 per cent of us by June.
The sun forces the best of us into headwear we would never normally be dickheaded enough even to consider. But no panamas, trucker hats or straw boaters this year. Sit indoors and ram ice-cream into your face hatless and unashamed.
Men can grow the Rasputin beard of their hipster dreams. Women can skip shearing day altogether, and walk round the house as goat-legged as the god Pan.
Loading the car boot
No holidays mean no games of bag Tetris in your car boot. So enjoy the break from sweating your way down the M5 with no rear view and a beach umbrella pointing intimidatingly towards your left eye.