Bryce Avenue...

I went out. Not out out though. Just out for my walk round the block. You know, local to where I actually live. I didn’t walk to Cramond or cycle to Fife. I didn’t drive to Manchester to collect a puppy. Or get on public transport. I didn’t sod off to my holiday home in the highlands or invite a random round for a quickie. Go me... I didn’t even need someone to tell me not to do all of the above cause I was born with common sense.

I also stayed alert. Only while I was out though. Seems totally pointless to stay alert at home when there are naps to be had.

What exactly does that mean though? Perhaps I’m expected to duck behind a tree when I *see* the invisible virus coming round the corner or whether a string of garlic round my neck might be sufficient. Frankly, I’m hoping that not touching another human for 51 days (and counting) and going nowhere other than the supermarket is enough.

Although it must be said, I can’t help but wonder how long it will take for the second wave to wash over us given the magnitude of ongoing stupidity that appears to be more visible than the virus.

This is my new favourite street. I’d like to live in number 10. If anyone can sort that out for me that’d be grand.

Stay in. You can be less alert from the comfort of your own home. It’s a piece of piss.