It’s chucking-out time
AS soon as the starter pistol banged, I threw the fishing kit into the car and went to see ‘someone who isn’t a direct member of your household’. Partly it was to chuck a fly, partly to savour the sheer joy of escaping the family. Much as one loves one’s kith, familial familiarity does pall.
My friend hadn’t seen anyone from ‘outside’ for seven weeks and there was a moment when I thought he’d break social distancing and hug me in a rather un-English manner, forgivable, almost, in someone of Norman descent carrying Continental blood. Happily,
