ALEXANDRA SHULMAN says her household is beginning to suffer severe home-cooking fatigue

I am as fond of animals as the next person (well, nearly). But really Boris, zoos? Is reopening them a top priority in turbocharging our economy and giving us back our lives? 

I don’t think so, especially if you still can’t visit the reptile house which, as everyone knows, is the most exciting place in a zoo. No, it’s restaurants we need back. And quick.

Although I have always enjoyed restaurants, it has taken coronavirus to make me realise quite how much I love them. 

Restaurants are one of life’s great pleasures for so many reasons, possibly the least of which is actually the food.

Our household is beginning to suffer severe home-cooking fatigue. Or to be more accurate, I am, since 99 per cent of the cooking is done by me. 

In usual times, I reckon on producing dinner about four nights a week, while the others will be taken up eating in other people’s homes or going to restaurants. 

We’re not a TV-dinner-on-a-tray household and always sit down around the table to eat. And I enjoy the process. But this current situation is making demands way beyond my pay grade. 

My repertoire is exhausted and my enthusiasm for working out a new way with a can of chickpeas is diminishing by the day.

Yes, of course we indulge in the occasional takeaway, but we share the view that they usually deliver more disappointment than satisfaction. 

The pizza is lukewarm and the base has gone soggy, the noodles are overly clammy, and the Middle Eastern meze tastes nothing like it does at our local Persian.

How I crave that sense of occasion that eating out brings. The delightful feeling of walking into a warm, bustling spot knowing they will take care of us. Which is what the best restaurants do. 

And by ‘best’, I mean the ones you return to again and again. They don’t have to be expensive, just welcoming.

Our favourites are where we are known to the team and where the owner drops by to have a quick chat. Where we can eyeball other people and make up stories about who they are and what they’re talking about. 

Where we can idly ponder the menu and debate whether it’s one course or two. And, of course, where someone else is doing the cooking and clearing up.

Most restaurants work on small margins and need 70 per cent occupancy to break even. That’s impossible with the current social-distancing and indoor restrictions.

While summer is with us, the Government should allow restaurants not only to open immediately but spread out on to pavements, and maybe close some streets to traffic so that they can take maximum advantage of the open air while the weather (with the aid of a substantial army of waterproof parasols) permits. That would be a real boost not just to the endangered restaurant community but to our quality of life.

Potter stars have lost their magic

How dare Daniel Radcliffe and Emma Watson line up to criticise J. K. Rowling’s views on the transgender debate. Radcliffe and Watson owe their entire careers to Rowling’s Harry Potter, which made them global stars. 

To read their creepy statements disassociating themselves from her makes me mightily depressed.

Judging by the 3,600-word essay she published online last week, Rowling has clearly put considerable time and research into forming her views. And of course, the actors should be able to disagree.

They could give her a call to discuss it. I’m sure they have her number. But no. They have to post their opinions publicly so – and this is what the whole thing is about – they can be seen to be showing support for a cause. 

One that I very much doubt they’ve spent as much time as Rowling has investigating.

And in denouncing her, they are demonstrating zero loyalty to the woman who gave them the platforms they can now spout from. 

At a time when you might have hoped that the pandemic would make the world more empathetic and joined-up, it’s a nightmare to see how many people are even more intolerant than ever of individual viewpoints.

We must fight for the right to laugh

Farewell Little Britain. One of the country’s most brilliant comedy series has been removed from BBC iPlayer for racially offensive depictions. An episode of Fawlty Towers has vanished from catch-up TV, and now Gavin And Stacey is under threat – incidentally the most-watched TV show last Christmas.

What next? Steptoe & Son, Dad’s Army, Mrs Brown? Save our sense of humour. That’s what those actors should be protesting about.

Heaven is a ride on the road to nowhere

You’ve got to make your own fun these days. I’ve discovered that my favourite treat is to drive a short distance from the house, buy an excellent takeaway cappuccino and sit there watching the world go by, making telephone calls to friends or listening to the radio.

The car has become my refuge. My own private sealed world where face coverings are unnecessary and no one can enter uninvited. Why this has become so appealing I can’t work out, but this brief journey has become a daily ritual I look forward to.

Certainly it has nothing to do with the destination. When I started dating the American who was to become my husband, I remember him suggesting that we take a drive. Drive where? I asked. ‘Just drive,’ was the reply. ‘That’s what Americans do. We don’t need to be going somewhere.’ I found that a peculiar notion at the time. All these years later, I understand it.

The wrong plate? What an outrage!

THE editor of American food magazine Bon Appetit has ‘resigned’. Among his flaws was apparently allowing the dubious presentation of culturally appropriated food. Tableware is now fraught with hazards. Beware serving up that Indian curry in a Wedgwood bowl. Not even Ikea is safe, thanks to Sweden’s colonial past.

Bring me some wine – and a thermal vest

It’s no longer bring a bottle but bring a blanket. As we look towards any kind of social life being held outdoors, it’s all about how to keep warm as the barbecue fires up and the rosé cracks open. I have two words to suggest: thermal and vest. Nobody need ever know.