Last week I spoke about how we can try to forget about the pandemic by making your private house into a public house.

Now, this week, I have been wondering about other things that are missing from our lives thanks to this pesky virus.

The first thing that came to mind was the gym, which I then quickly remembered has been missing from my life for nearly three decades.

Plus, to be completely honest, I’m quite happy to know that all the tattooed, tight t-shirt wearing gym hounds are confined to their own living rooms. If anything, their mirrors must be pleased with the increase in attention.

I then wondered about the lack of cinema trips, but then quickly remembered that Netflix has already sentenced cinemas to an early retirement.

Regardless, it’s an easy fix, get yourself a big enough telly or a projector, some one pound bags of popcorn from your local Tesco’s and ask your son or daughter to look glum and chew gum whilst handing over a paper ticket and you’re basically there. With regards to the lack of live theatre, despite my great desire for it to return, there lies an easy solution.

It is time to take advantage of the lockdown induced, petty domestic arguments that occur over the smallest things (i.e. the thinning of bandwidth due to overusing the wifi, finishing the weekly shop mid-week, etc.). My advice would be the next time you see a flare-up of sibling rivalry or a gladiatorial, parental domestic, to immediately set up Facebook Live or a Zoom party and charge your friends to watch (perhaps even placing bets on a potential winner?).

Despite all these necessary parts of our lives that have been paused by the pandemic, I decided that the sorest spot that’s been pressed is the sports shape hole left in our lives.

Yes, of course, we’ve still got the telly to watch it on, but nothing will replicate the atmosphere of a live stadium, the smell of pies drifting over the pews and the anticipatory amble up towards the home ground. So what is the solution? I hear you chant.

Well, it is simple; firstly adorn your living room with scarves (whether it’s Claret, Rovers, Stanley or appropriate glory supported teams), get your pies in the oven (for the smell and consumption) and start singing your favourite chants at the top of your lungs (AKA a neighbour friendly volume). To spice things up even more, get your nana up on Zoom, if anything, just to watch her unknowingly sing “He’s coming for you, he’s coming for you, Harry Potter, he’s coming for you” when Newcastle baldie Jonjo Shelvey appears on the telly.