I have Covid rule fatigue — there is no logic to the latest restrictions on household mixing

My trusty workman Ludo has just spent this weekend repainting our front door and external window sills. This is legal under Tier 2 rules, although there was an awkward moment when he needed to plug his sanding machine into the electric socket in the hallway. Was I going to let him in, or insist that he pass me the extension lead plug at a socially distanced two metres from the threshold? And if he needed to use the lavatory, what then? It was only later that someone told me it would have been perfectly fine for him to come in as workmen are allowed. Meanwhile, I’m off to my open-plan office later today to mingle with up to two dozen colleagues.

The night before the rules came into force, a friend came to supper. I told her how thrilled I was that we had managed to get our evening in just under the wire. Being a bolshie libertarian who thinks the Government has made a complete cock-up of everything, she on the other hand was furious and would much rather have waited until the rules had come in, and then come over.

She may be the exception among my friends, in that she gets a kick from making “up yours” gestures to the Government. Nonetheless even my most moderate, mask-wearing, hand-sanitizing, socially distancing, law-abiding pals are finding this particular rule is sticking in their craw, and I suspect they’re not the only ones.

One told me that her daughter, a film producer, has just been on a week-long shoot with more than a dozen people she doesn’t know, using several indoor locations across the capital. They have been working hugger-mugger, even sharing taxis. That’s legal, she says, but visiting her 60-year-old mother who lives five streets away is not.

A neighbour who works in social care says of course he’s seeing his elderly parents. They came for supper last night. They live in the country and have suffered serious mental health issues from being so isolated over the past few months.

It’s a ridiculous, irrational rule. Another neighbour suggests a drink soon, and a few hours later, a friend who lives on the other side of London texts to ask if I’m going to be around next weekend. Is she observing the new rules, I text back. No, definitely given up on all that, comes her reply. Apparently there’s a kind of protocol, says yet another friend. You only admit that you’re meeting up with friends when you’re confident the other person is doing the same. No one wants to admit it first.

And as we head into a wet, windy winter, how are we expected to meet up outdoors? Who’s got a spare £300 plus to splash out on an outdoor patio heater, which are all the rage according to the latest opportunistic lifestyle features; how many Londoners have even got patios?

When Covid first arrived and we went into full lockdown, most of us, my friends at any rate, were willing to comply with the rules and put our trust in government guidelines. We didn’t know what would come next, but the rules were clear and there was the hope that it might end soon.

Now, as we head into the second wave, these same people see no logic in this particular rule and yes, they are flouting it. As my friend’s daughter says, why should she be allowed to get in a car for work with four strangers, who for all she knows have just been to a massive illegal rave, but she can’t see her mum.