As restaurants reopen we must get used to dining with friends at a distance
On Saturday, restaurants in England will reopen and I will celebrate my birthday. What brilliant timing. When I found out, in the moments after this became official, that my friend D had already booked a table for eight people at my favourite place, happiness rose inside me like mercury in a thermometer. But then I got to reading the new rules. The huge, retro pink napkins I often long to pinch will not, it seems, be on the table when we arrive, nor any of its hefty cutlery; these things will be delivered to us only once we’ve ordered from our disposable menus. Mustard will come in a sachet, not a silver-plate bowl. There will be no piano, nor any smoky-voiced singer.
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