Laura Craik on London's jogging crowds

Sorry. Those were some of the thoughts streaming through my head during my last jog. I say ‘sorry’ a lot these days. Sorry for accidentally jogging too close to the family with the buggy. Sorry for breathing too heavily. Sorry for being here at all. Actually, do you want my daily exercise allocation? Take it. I try to be a polite, socially responsible jogger, but after seeing a bloke spit into a bin on Primrose Hill, it’s clear some etiquette rules are needed before we all contract the very thing we’re so stringently trying to avoid.

1) Don’t spit in bins, 2) Don’t spit at all, 3) Don’t aggressively slalom in between all the casual walkers: you’re not training for the Olympics, and anyway, they’ve been cancelled, 4) Don’t ostentatiously wipe your revolting, fetid sweat from your brow and splash it on to some innocent kid on a scooter, 5) Don’t grunt, 6) Don’t shout ‘OUT OF MY WAY’ like it’s 2019. Most of all, don’t strap on your trainers, dig out your leggings, grab any T-shirt with a Nike logo and head to the nearest shop because you’ve run out of strawberry compote. We see you, fake joggers. We see you and we urge you to remember the two-metre rule. Because the longer you don’t, the longer we’ll all be in here, yearning for that same freedom you exploit.

Memes to an end

You know things are getting desperate when even the memes start running out. The woman in the shiny turquoise leotard singing updated, corona-adapted lyrics to ‘I Will Survive’ was funny the first time round: by the fifth time, not so much. Note to all the naked men making memes where they ‘hilariously’ swing their dicks behind a pendulum: try tidying a drawer or something. Maybe your wife needs help with the dishwasher. You’re single? Surely not. I can cope with my bog roll being rationed, but are we also suffering from a national meme shortage? Over to you, Fat Tony.

We’re all zoomed

Houseparty or Zoom? Both are glitchy thanks to everyone still lucky enough to have functioning wi-fi downloading them on the double. All over the city, people are having virtual drinks and pub quizzes with their friends — slippers on, wine out, in some pitiful semblance of normality. Okay, so it’s only a swift session — video conferencing on Zoom is only free for up to 40 minutes, after which you get charged — but it’s still a lifeline. Although not for the faint-hearted. Those pining for their next root touch-up, eyelash extension or Botox injection may baulk a little at the reality of seeing their tired, haggard faces on a grid, but there’s a cure for that. The more you drink, the less you care.