The lockdown in England has finally lifted, and two weeks down the line, we are adjusting back to the realities of socialising in real-life. What was the first thing you did on April 12? Was it a mad dash to the pub? Meeting parents and grandparents in the garden? Running straight into the gym or into the barber’s chair? Or, did you hit the shops to make up for lost time? 

There might be things we will miss about lockdown, but the last few weeks have been a testament to the British spirit and a welcome reminder of life as it should be (with exception to outdoor-only dining, of course).

Here are some of the Reaction team’s highlights from lockdown lifiting.…

The pub

Maggie Pagano

We didn’t go to the pub just once when lockdown lifted but four times in two days. Quite a record, even for those of us who live in this gorgeous village known as the Village of the Lost Weekend. It helps that the pub – The Bell in Wendens Ambo – is at the back of our garden, so we can nip through the fence. The first time was for pizza lunch on Friday, then a drink in the evening. Then it was back for pizza on Saturday (they have a wood-fired pizza oven outside) and back again in the evening for homemade burgers and the biggest chips you have ever seen. (No wonder the country has saved £150 billion over the last year).

It wasn’t only the joy of having someone else cook that drew us back but the delight of seeing friends and acquaintances again after brushing down our lockdown cobwebs on such a beautiful day. Locals were shouting out their greetings to each other across tables. Even strangers joined in with the banter. Funny though, how quickly we forgot what life used to be like.

Not washing up

Alice Crossley

There are many brilliant things about going out for dinner; the delicious food, the friendly company, the candlelight tables and the buzzing atmosphere. But there is no perk to eating out quite like returning home to a tidy house, knowing there is no washing up. Living in a flat with two housemates and no dishwasher means the last few months have felt like an endless cycle of tea towels and soapsuds. In our eco-conscious world, even takeaways require rigorous rinsing of packaging for recycling. But no matter where you go, at a restaurant, there is no afterthought to a delicious meal or interruption to after-dinner conversation. It seems mundane, but I am thankful for the humble pot wash (I have been one too, it isn’t much fun!). For now, however, I will be avoiding the fairy liquid for as long as my bank account (and waistband) holds out.

Bookshops

Saffron Swire

Never again will I take the unadulterated joy of a bookshop for granted. As soon as the shop windows dusted off their cobwebs and flung open their doors on April 12th, I leapt to Foyles faster than you can say Jack Robinson. To me, Foyles is to bibliophiles, what Hamleys is to arctophiles – a haven of wonder. The five-floored behemoth of a bookshop is a wondrous library full of salacious biographies, gripping crime, poignant poetry and unputdownable fiction.

Like a kid in a candy store, it wasn’t long before I pancake-stacked enough books to tuck under my chin. These days, one-click, and you can have any book delivered seamlessly and right to your doorstep. But, how I had missed the ritualism of a bookshop visit: the browsing, the people-watching, the booksellers (and book smellers) and the beautiful sanctity of such a contemplative space. You can let your imagination run riot in a bookshop; each shelf is a first-class ticket to a tale unbeknownst. You can stumble across a life of a frustrated poet, a foolhardy president or a daredevil spy, all within moments. So, seeing as international holidays may be off-the-cards for the foreseeable, how about venturing to your nearest bookshop? You’ll not only be able to travel around the world in eighty pages but also across space and time. No PCR tests nor queuing required.

People watching

Eleanor Longman-Rood

As a child, I was often told I was too curious for my own good. It’s a trait that my long-suffering housemate is all too aware of. In lockdown, when we put on a film I rattled off question after question as the plot unfolded, only for her to utter the same response: “I don’t know, I haven’t seen it before either.” This explains why people watching was a secret hobby of mine, be it while sitting outside a cafe or walking along a busy street, I’d always wonder where one lady was heading or why that man was in such a rush? Lockdown wasn’t really compatible with this.

But last weekend, my housemate and I had supper on a small table outside a restaurant on the pavement, and the questions could once again fill my head. I pondered what message one woman could’ve gotten that made her look down at her phone and laugh and why another kept checking her watch as they both walked by. The cold of al fresco dining does not make me flinch, it offers the prime location to watch the world go by. The simple pleasure of seeing life resume once again, and being able to watch it, is unmatchable.

Playing perudo in a pub garden

Harry Cluff 

In the pre-pandemic world, I was not a great frequenter of pubs, but since the easing of restrictions, I have enjoyed every beer-fuelled minute. The chattering chorus of fellow drinkers has had an enlivening effect on my mood and I now can’t wait for the working day to end so that I can amble over to a pub where friends I’ve missed for many months are gathering. Since the first day, I’ve been out pretty much every night, save Sundays. The highlights have been sitting in pub and club gardens accompanied by new colleagues and old chums. In those moments, I usually try to persuade my pals to play a few rounds of the game of perudo. It was invented for convivial occasions and never ceases to stimulate (especially when there is a modest financial incentive piled up in the middle of the table). Far from dulling my wits, I have discovered that Guinness has a clarifying and improving impact on my perudo performance. The luck streaks those regular swigs ensure has happily covered the cost of the guinnesses as well as having provided me with a few cab fares home. I highly recommend everyone getting a set of perudo and venturing to a pub with some pals.

Going out for lunch

Olivia Gavoyannis

My first post-lockdown outing was a gloriously sunny lunch with my Mum. I booked a café overlooking Brighton’s West Pier, and we were rewarded with a seafront seat for arriving just before midday. It was the cafe’s first day open, and the waiters were even more excited to be there than we were. The whole experience felt like we were on holiday – we watched families and friends descend on to the beach with picnics and listened to a jazz musician playing under the arches. Even the windy weather could not dampen our mood; we spent a few wonderful hours sipping Aperol Spritz and watching our side salads fly off into the wind.

The school run

Caitlin Allen

During lockdown, I learned that I like the school run. I’m neither a pupil, parent, teacher nor a nanny. But I do happen to live on the same street as a French school. And, for some (inexplicable) reason, I’ve missed my daily alarm bell of screeching children. Quiet roads carry a premium but, having grown up in the depths of the countryside, I’ve always enjoyed hearing the noise and bustle of the city from my bedroom. As of late, there had been no chatter outside my window, no sounds of school bells, no laughter and bouncing of balls from the playground, and scarce opportunities to eavesdrop on parents gathering at the gates (and see how many words I still retain from my French GCSE). Watching the street come alive again every morning at 8 o’clock has been oddly comforting.

Hair cuts

Oliver Rhodes

I don’t suit floppy, itchy hair. So when hairdressers re-opened, I took the first opportunity to shave my rat’s tail clean off. Shaved, of course, because I went to one of those ‘barbers’ where scissors are banished until the final minutes – by which point the act has been fatally completed. Oh well – short-back-and-sides always suited me at school.