Later today we are going on holiday. It’s a short break, a staycation, a trip to the countryside, away from people and viruses. I’m neither excited nor unenthused. It is something to do, at a time when the number of things to do is once more on the decline.

We’re getting away just in time – I’m continually pressing refresh on the newsfeed this morning in anticipation of the latest set of restrictions. Pub closures are rumoured. DOOM! Socialising in our region could be made illegal, as it has been in many other parts of the country. Stop to chat with a friend in the street and you could be fined. Even if you’re two metres away, wearing masks and washing your hands continuously as you converse. Because that’s what things have come to.

I was sat in a pub earlier this week with a work colleague. We were working and chatting, just like old times. While two households are not allowed to meet indoors in Manchester, work meetings are still permitted. I suspect quite a few households will start collaborating on some unlikely joint ventures in the coming weeks. Other households will, for a nominal fee, start employing outside family members as cleaners, tradespeople, gardeners – anything that enables them to go on seeing their loved ones without fear of police intervention.

All the while, Mr Johnson keeps urging everyone to use their common sense. It is of course far easier to define what common sense means if one of the available options suddenly becomes a criminal act. I’m more inclined to take the advice of The Edge on the U2 song ‘Numb’, off the criminally underrated ‘Zooropa’ album:

Don’t check
Just balance on the fence
Don’t answer
Don’t ask
Don’t try and make sense

Once we accept that nobody has a clue, it’s a little easier to stomach the prevailing insanity.