The country opens to the sounds of wailing and gnashing of teeth

    This weekend saw lots of places reopening for the first time after the lockdown. Pubs were, of course, top of the list for many people. 

I'll be honest, I'm really missing a pint of overpriced, cold, fizzy lager, poured by someone with a bad attitude and the social skills of a badger, but that being said, I chose not to venture to the pubs just yet, opting instead to wait and see how it went for others.

I know a few people that did go out on Saturday and it seems, on the whole, to have been a positive experience. My boss went to a place in Chester with some friends and said it was a bit clinical and a strange set up but he's glad he did it. He told me there was a one way system in the pub, which judging by the shops that are open was to be expected, but rather unexpected was the fact there were so very few tables and their nearest one was apparently more than ten metres away. Drinks had to be ordered via an app, then brought to the table by someone wearing a visor. Even going to the loo was monitored by a member of staff with only one person at a time allowed to use them.

Other friends were on Canal Street in central Manchester and reported that it was a nice atmosphere. They sat outside, under parasols, again being served by staff at their tables - staff who were pleased to be back at work no doubt. One even reported the journey home being civilised with people observing social distancing rules, a far cry from the usual last train to Stockport

There have been reports of people flouting the rules and overcrowding streets but people have flouted the rules throughout in one way or another and the papers have got to get their story. Judging by the media it seems the worst area for this was Soho in London but what did anyone expect? It's arguably the busiest night time area in the West End of the biggest city in Europe. Besides, it's not like the people there don't know what's been going on for the last three months - surely it's time to let them choose their own level of risk now the general risk is so low. It seems the venues are mostly doing the right thing, of all the venues in Manchester only two were closed down on Saturday for not adhering to guidelines.

Few and far between were the stories about how great it was to support the hospitality industry as it tried to pull itself back up from on its knees after a crippling three months brought about by a global health crisis.

    After much wailing and gnashing of teeth on social media, the Prime Minister has announced a large funding package for the arts in excess of £1.5 billion. This comes at the end of the week where the Royal Exchange Theatre announced that up to 65% of their roles were to be made redundant, a flurry of images appeared across Facebook of people working in the arts to remind everyone of its importance, and the actor Paul Clayton referred to the PM in an astonishingly shrill tweet as a 'fucksplat'.

I get that the arts in the UK is an almost entirely politically left-wing affair, but the vitriol I've heard from those that work within the industry, directed towards the Government and particularly Mr Johnson of late has been astounding. One might presume from listening to it that he is single handedly responsible for the collapse of the theatres, festivals, live music and the death of all its darlings. I have visions of Ken Loach and Maxine Peake fearing for their very lives as Boris Johnson stalks them down the South Bank of the Thames with a blunderbuss in one hand and a Union flag in the other. 

    Hairdressers, barbers and beauty parlours have also opened their doors again and people are being restored to their pre-lockdown appearances in their droves. The wild man of Borneo look is gradually being replaced with the less unruly, short back and sides; appointments are gleefully being announced as we say goodbye to three inch stripes down the partings of people I always assumed were natural blondes; and we bid adieu to laughter lines, furrowed brows and thin, spiteful lips as the botox & fillers clinics fling open their expressionless doors once more.

    Sadly dentists are not yet fully operational. I called mine this morning to ask about having my temporary crown replaced with the permanent one which they've been holding to ransom since early March, only to be told that they're waiting for PPE, an acronym few people understood in February but that is now part of the lexicon. They can't even give me an idea when they'll be open again so for now the only thing they're doing is pulling folks' teeth out in a dental emergency.

    While all this goes on, or doesn't as the case may be, there's a constant, squawking murmur in the background. As persistent as it is irritating, a whinging chorus of voices claiming to be confused as to what they should do at every turn. Is it two metres or one? Can I go to work or not? The Government should do this, the Secretary should say that. How will I possibly live my life if I'm not instructed precisely how to undertake every single task that involves human interaction or leaving the house?

Swathes of society seem to have relinquished the ability to think for themselves and use common sense. The pedants are out in force - he said, she said, that means, etc - and are desperate to make the most minor things more complicated than we could ever have imagined. Often this is done on behalf of others who they neatly categorised as 'the vulnerable.' Call my a cynic but I suspect they are in fact looking for problems in order to criticise the powers that be. It's really tiresome and my snooze button has been out in force on Facebook again.

The vulnerable people I know haven't once complained that the information is confusing. My housebound dad and Chris's elderly parents have trooped on as usual, taking onboard the precautions they're advised to take and using their nouse to decide when something is right or wrong for them.

    So as the country begins to creak back to life I'm looking forward to going out for a nice meal in a local restaurant some time this week. Croma, our usual pizza place, isn't opening up again for the time being so I think we'll pop down to Saray instead for some Turkish tucker and show our support for the family that own it. Hopefully there'll be a local pub open too, somewhere I can sit in a booth and drink over priced, cold, fizzy lager poured by someone with a bad attitude and the social skills of a badger.

Pubs

I have spent many an hour of my life in a pub, a bar or a club. Indeed Buckley and I met in a club - the Hacienda if you will. I would like to write about some of memories of pubs - or more importantly things that happened in pubs. Lets begin at the beginning:

• The Shack in Oldham - I met Alison in The Shack. A pivotal point. A few weeks later I found a hole in the crotch of her tights in front of the fire in The Shack. Elvis ripped up my job application for a job at the Queen Elizabeth Hall close to that same fire.

• Via Fossa in Manchester - I worked at Via Fossa on Canal Street for about a year and a half. I stole tips from drunken drinkers, I got drunk whilst working, a man pretended to be having an epileptic seizure on my first day then laughed at me when I got him a cloth to clear the drool off his chin and I first told Chris that I loved him in Via Fossa.

• The Kings Arms at Grains Bar on the edge of Saddleworth - this was the first pub that I ever worked at. There were frogs in the cellar. I saw the assistant manager - Phillip Schofield - drop a tub of mayonnaise on the floor of the kitchen and then scoop it back into the tub and serve it. I worked with the cousin of Orieta Lorenzini but I can't remember her name...

• 10 Commonhall in Chester - when we moved from London to Chester I didn't have a job. I went for a hair cut at Toni & Guy and asked the hairdresser where the coolest bar was. She told me about Commonhall. I went down there and asked about a job and Michael took me on straight away. I learnt how to mix cocktails and also who to buy drugs from. It all got very messy for a couple of months. I'm still in tough with Michael and his fiance Jo.

• 19-20 in Clerkenwell, London - this was around the corner from work when I was with MTS. I got drunk here so many times - after and during work. I spent a lot of time here with Rosemary and Chris both of which have left us now. This is also where I made friends with Jane.

• City Bar in Chester - Janet and I had our thrones in front of the fish tank. We held the short lived cinema night in the basement here and put on our VERY successful Stick It On nights here. I think we did three of them... Lots of moustaches, some spiders and some terrible music - I really miss City Bar.

• The Friendly Society. Soho London - giant goldfish wall paper in the loos, barbie dolls EVERYWHERE, a cave surrounded by fur and a brilliant DJ on a Tuesday night - she played Michael Jackson for me. One of my favourite bars in London for years.

• Cyberia in Manchester - not there anymore but this was the first bar that I ever had absinthe - with Steve as an accomplice.

• Politic in Chester - private members club with beautiful furniture and the best Old Fashioneds in the world.

• Velvet, Manchester - Velvet is a bit of an old timer in Manchester now. The bar upstairs is relatively new compared to the original downstairs venue. Many many many many evenings eating and drinking with the gays here...

• The Beer Emporium in Oldham - it's been knocked down now but this is the place that I saw graffiti that read - Kurt is dead - never mind

• The Hare & Hounds - I worked here for a about a year. This is where I met Norman. This is also where I discovered a turd in a pint glass on the back the cistern in the gents.

I can't possibly mention all of them as it's getting late. Maybe I'll continue at a later date...