Three Blind Mice

Come on, come on
Hurry up Harry come on.
Come on, come on
Hurry up Harry come on.
We're going down the pub (repeat)

And so it came to pass. MrW had booked a table for that old tradition - the sneaky Friday teatime pint - at Summerhall, in their shady courtyard. And there we did gather, folding bikes and sunglasses, blinking into the daylight. The survivors. We’ve made it through! The beastly virus just a footnote in history. Through you still had to stand 2m apart from anyone else (obvs) when you went to the bar to get your round in. And walk the long way round their one way system once served, policed by be-masked laddies and lassies who may well have wished they were elsewhere. I tell you though, it was quite a shocker to the system. How quickly we were back to old ways. What nonsense we started talking. MrT even started saying old Trump wasn’t so bad, or I may be misquoting him. Maybe it was me. Luckily, no one remembers.