As from 17th May we in England will be once again allowed to hug each other……. Well, unless it’s an unconsenting clinch which could end up with a restraining order; or sore testicles…… Unless, you’re a woman, where the latter won’t apply…… Unless, of course, you’re a woman with testicles!
Anyhow, moving on swiftly, it’s nice to know that Lord Bozington of Johnson has decreed from next week we English’ll be able to cuddle to our hearts content. A fillip for a populace who’ve lived through the difficult circumstances of been unable to embrace loved ones for over a year….. Well, those adhering to COVID edicts, anyway.
After a thirty year marriage where lack of tactility was, unbeknown to me at the start, part of my matrimonial contract’s small print, I know how that particularly scenario screws with your cognitive wherewithal.
Hearing Bozza’s Orwellian-esque permission to entwine with other parties, evoking memories of contrary orders emblazoned upon childhood swimming bath signs. Posters urging patrons to avoid indulgence in heavy petting whilst pool in situ. A term which, as I’d never witnessed any pets (either heavy or light) enter the water, utterly baffled this naive young boy.
Who’d have believed two years ago we’d ever exist in an existential storyline where we’d require governmental permission to embrace people not in our ‘bubble’. Our masters also imploring us to wash our grubby, potentially pathogen ridden, hands more often; along with avoidance of using the word flange.
How will this dispensation to hug again effect our lives? And more importantly, will the relaxing of social distancing re-ignite the floundering pickpocketing industry, which’s suffered brutally since coronavirus came calling?
I’ve no idea where the conundrum’s answer lays, I’m merely raising the question to open up debate on tangible lifestyle changes afforded by this new legislation.
What I do know, though, is should my good watch be pilfered while strolling a bustling Leeds city centre I’ll be straight on the phone to Boris, demanding social distancing protocols are re-instated pronto.
Yesterday, while undertaking the remnants of timber staining in the back garden under the greyest of West Yorkshire skies, The Beatles song ‘Here Comes The Sun’ played upon my Amazon Music playlist. George Harrison clearly not experience the same meteorological conditions, as the upcoming rainstorm I was about to endure, when penning the refrain.
Whether George’s inspiration was arrival of warmer/drier change in meteorological conditions, or a metaphor for his life circumstances improving after experiencing less serendipitous times, I’ve no idea. Sure, I could google it, but I like to maintain a little mystery within my prose…… “Yes, the main one being “What the bloody hell are you rabbiting on about, Gary?” I hear you cry.
Anyhow, whatever drove the youngest Beatles notions within the lyric, upon hearing his 1969 song from the Abbey Road album, I concluded this refrain maybe a good anthem to reflect prevailing positivity in the wake of lockdown easing…… Well until the fourth lockdown in October, when Ann Peebles ‘I Can Hear The Rain Against The Window’ once again retakes the baton of social landscape metaphor.
