So today in England we've had the Great Release. Shops, gyms and swimming pools reopened. Pub gardens heaving. Massive queues from 7 AM outside Primark (for Christ's sake). Shopping centres are absolutely stuffed with people. Traffic jams on the M5 coming down to Cornwall. My town, Bude, almost gridlocked with holidaymakers. We have vox pops on the telly bleating about how much we all need all this, and now. Need to get in your bloody motor home and come to Bude. Can't live another day unless you can come to your chalet in a holiday park in Newquay (which has hundreds of other chalets, all identical with yours), or queue outside Primark because you can't wait one more day to replace your Bangladeshi slave-labour knickers. Celebratory clips of people having their hair cut or their faux-blondness renewed at long last. I don't get that. I look like the wild man of Borneo right now and I'm sporting the look as a badge of honour. We've had a national orgasm today, and it's worrying.

There should never have been this lockdown. The government should have put all its energy into creating a national ethos of responsibility, by giving information, advice and by constant urging. Instead, the country thinks today that the thing is all over. That we're in the sunlit uplands.

Well we are not. The vaccine has not yet been rolled out to under-50s. In countries still struggling with the virus, it's the under-50s who are now being hard hit. But we've leaned hard compressing the spring but have suddenly let it go. We are in for another wave. Doomed. Watch this space...