As the lockdown begins, the pubs, restaurants, cafes and gyms and anywhere remotely fun are now closed.
And so inevitably, predictably, Britain rushed out to stockpile booze. If you can’t get pissed out, you’ll have to get pissed at home.
Perhaps it’s drinking to escape, perhaps it’s comfort drinking, perhaps it’s drinking for fun or perhaps I’m overthinking it and people just like drinking. I suspect it may be the latter.
We have been self-medicating in moderation as a) stocks won’t last and b) actually I don’t have a b.
Rather than stockpiling, we took Agnes for a walk and somehow ended up at a wine warehouse where we casually selected a few bottles of wine for delivery and walked home again.
There was no panic involved, nobody got punched and I would question if twenty bottles could possibly be considered stockpiling?!