I read a piece recently by Jenny Lawson - AKA The Bloggess - in which she said that when she was anxious she read more voraciously but that when she was in the midst of deep depression she didn’t read at all. Reading for me, like for Lawson, like for many other people, is an escape and a distraction when most needed.

Okay first off, if you're reading this it means I've committed to going with the title 'plandemic' for this blog post which seems like a poor choice on my part.

Uh, so yeah, it's actually happened. Pubs, bars, cafés, restaurants…they've all opened up, albeit outside only. The family WhatsApp with the in-laws is peppered with photos of long awaited nights out: dinners at 4pm (because you gotta be quick if you want a reservation at a normal hour), after work pints and trips to countryside cottages.

Isn’t it strange how much we talk about the future? About how things might look in the future. Whether it’s The Jetsons’ suggestion that we’ll all be travelling around in flying cars in 2026 or how often someone might say, “Well, obviously house ownership/petrol cars/the job market won’t be like this for our kids.”