I peer in the window as the flat earth society commences their first lockdown meeting.
A guy, balding, white goatee, probably late sixties wears his Covid tan well as he promenades with his jovial wife along Europarc Way.
‘Shit’ passes by. He wears the face of the 1980’s bloodhound or Cocker Spaniel.
A dog forgets the social distancing regulations temporarily as it wraps itself around its owner performing an ad-hoc Maypole routine.
Meanwhile, on Pegasus Way: ‘Alright Miss Challenor, your medication. Have a nice day. Thank you.’ Says the bandana doffing bearded pill courier.