Open up those pubs and restaurants but not the theatres.

Open up those pubs, restaurants but not the theatres.

Today the blond one from Uxbridge and the academically brilliant one from Eton school will stand up in the House of Comedy and announce yet another package of mind- boggling measures designed to lift the nation out of its private anguish, thus eliminating that bodily discomfort and removing that gut wrenching malaise that seems to have hovered over Britain and the rest of the world for over three months.

With his hair in some rabid state of revolt and insurrection, Boris Johnson will tell everybody whom it may concern that part, if not all of its catering and hospitality section, can get cracking on the cooking, juggling those pots and pans, checking the ovens thoroughly for rust and dirt while acutely aware that even if they do light the cooker they may find that those good, old habits may not be quite up to the usual high standards.

Wherever they look the nation is bombarded by that seemingly endless overload of TV cookery programmes and everything is quite literally organised chaos and pandemonium. Chefs with boundless enthusiasm and phenomenal reserves of energy rush around kitchens that may or may not bear any resemblance to ours. They dart and dash across pristine kitchen floors, frying pans and pots crackling with the most oleaginous oil, before sprinting across a studio floor in the hope that nothing untoward happens to them.

And so it is that the pub, cafe and restaurant kitchens of Great Britain have been given permission to re-open again on American Independence Day. July 4 is the day set aside for eager customers to gently feel their way into one of the most sociable environments outside our homes. Now we all know that the last couple of months have been fraught with difficulty which may be an understatement anyway but you get the gist of the point.

Anyway the fact is that life without that delectable pint of lager, cider, beer, Coca Cola, orange juice, sambuca, Prosecco and any other choice of alcohol has been distinctly lacking in friendly banter with your family and friends. We've missed the good humoured gossip, the topical references and gags, the in jokes and that collective levity, the carefree aura, that moment to just be with your kith and kin, your mates, your acquaintances, your colleagues at lunchtime for a quick half pint.

If all goes according to plan then entire families, uncles, cousins, dads and mums, brothers and sisters, brothers and sisters in laws, aunties and nieces and that bloke who you also play snooker with, will now be awaiting that longed- for day when we can all join forces once again for perhaps the most emotional reunion. We'll all converge on the bar, prop it up for a while because we just want to savour that indefinable feeling we once got when things were normal. And then we'll get gloriously drunk, drunk on the champagne of life. Hey, come on everybody let's celebrate this much deserved moment of release.

But yes, it's true. You can stroll down to your local watering hole- cum boozer without feeling like an alien impostor. You can shake the hands of the people you might have thought had vanished off the face of the Earth and you can be a social animal again. There is a sense here that this may take some time getting used to again since adjustments will still have to be made to our lives on an unprecedented scale. Now there's another airing for the word 'unprecedented' which you've only heard about a million times in the last three months.

Still, we've made it until now so this may be the time to take advantage of one of Britain's favourite pastimes, its way of unwinding from the stresses and travails of the day, its major source of relaxation, its focal point when things go haywire perhaps and a haven of enjoyment when things aren't going your way at work.

The reality is though that even though we think we're on the verge of some decisive breakthrough in this whole medical breakdown the truth is that we're only halfway there, that in- between period where, having just about overcome every obstacle known to humankind, we still find ourselves weighing up the pros and cons which is hard to take. Still, patience is a virtue as they say.

And yet by this time on July 4 we'll all be bellowing out the orders in the King George, the Red Lion, the Prince of Wales and every other drinking hostelry imaginable across England's fair acres. We'll be balancing fifteen pints of best bitter and Foster's with all the dexterity of a high wire trapeze act in a circus carrying nothing but a pole in their hands. It'll come quite naturally to them for since time immemorial the English pub drinker does like their creature comforts.

Sadly though those very pubs still look ever so miserable and crestfallen, small wooden stools turned upside down on well worn tables and a snug looking sofa that looks slightly sorry for itself. Then there is the small matter of those pumps and optics, the central feature of any pub but now almost lost in deep thought. It is hard to believe that back in March these impressive pieces of architecture were full to the brim with drinkers, jokers, gamblers on those fruit machines and just devoted revellers there simply to have a good night out with those you've always enjoyed the company of.

It must seem an age ago since most pubs played host to those timeless favourites of dominoes, shove ha'penny and bar billiards. But the eternally popular snooker continues to dominate the interior of most pubs these days. Presumably there are those who simply spend their evening studying the Sun and the Financial Times papers while racking their brains over the crossword. Now though we may only have to wait a fortnight before indulging those simple pleasures.

Meanwhile the restaurants of Britain will also be swinging open its doors to the hungry hordes. The West End of London without its Aberdeen Steak House, its Pizza Hut and Express, innumerable Italian, Spanish, Greek, Brazilian, French and Vietnamese eateries have been rather like any location without its human patronage. China Town must have been like a desert in recent months and all of those moreish KFC chicken shacks must have been desperately hoping that one day this would all seem like some nasty illness which indeed it was. Mcdonalds, you suspect, were probably sulking in the corner or just besides themselves with self pity.

But this is where we find ourselves even more puzzled. Rumour has it that the West End theatre community with all of those dazzling, foot tapping and feelgood  musicals may remain in the dark until well into 2021. Leading impresario Sir Cameron Mackintosh may well have broken the hearts of every musical enthusiast when he declared that he didn't think any of the great plays, comedies and dramatic productions would now be performed. He told that us the footlights would not be switched on and the orchestra, such an integral part of the evening out, would just have to stay at home and communicate with their contemporaries via social media and Zoom.

Still here we are once again into whatever week we're in of the lockdown and nobody has found any cutters for those chains. It would be easy to dismiss the whole of 2020 as a complete write- off and you'd probably be right to assume this to be the case. The longer this goes on the more likely it is that most of us will just pretend that it didn't happen. Indeed it has though and you weren't hallucinating. This is no Hollywood movie set and Walt Disney hasn't come back to life so hold on to the bar of  this roller coaster because there are still six months left of the year and for those who believe that an alien invasion may not be far off, be careful what you wish for. Or maybe not.