It’s 8pm Thursday. Time to clap for the NHS. Thing is ours is a street of terraced houses on one side facing a primary school on the other, not tower blocks with packed balconies. So clapping doesn’t quite do it on its own.
Saucepan lids help of course. But this Thursday I remembered one of our souvenirs from 20 years in Cape Town: the vuvuzela:
Parents publicising their offspring on social media
Sprawling groundfloor cosmetics departments with no obvious way out
Interviewers grilling EU politicians in general as if it’s their fault
Interviewers grilling Irish politicians in particular as if it’s their fault