201. The part time virus

Oh, how relieved I felt the day I learnt that coronavirus is a part time virus. It turns out that a curfew, at a certain time in the evening, say 9.00, or 10.00 pm, depending on whether you live in France or UK, protects citizens from infection. Go to a pub, bar or restaurant by all means, so long as you leave by that time, no harm will befall you. Unlikely as it may seem, coronavirus is not that different in custom, even if it is in size, to other legendary foes of humanity, the vampire, the werewolf, or the immigrant shift worker. Like them, it cowers in daylight, leaving the run of the streets to us, humans, only coming out, with devilish intent, to hunt the foolhardy as the sun sets and the shadows conquer our cities. Then, rush home, lock your doors and windows, follow the advice of Bram Stoker, of Clemence Housman, of Nigel Farage. Let the monster, which not yet has its bard, roam the dark streets in vain so that, having failed to find its prey, it dwindles, slowly, into oblivion 

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