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Super Saturday proves to be more like a damp squib

Eager drinkers wait for the Regal in Gloucester to open at 8am on Saturday
Eager drinkers wait for the Regal in Gloucester to open at 8am on Saturday

It was hyperbolically billed as Super Saturday. The day when lockdown would relax and England would have so many of its precious freedoms restored. The pubs would reopen and cinema projectors roll, the Prime Minister declared.

Hairdressers would restore the nation’s crowning glories, bored zoo animals would again find an admiring audience. But could we be trusted with such liberty? Apparently not.

Accident and Emergencies braced themselves for a New Year-scale influx of the drunk, the damaged and incapable.

Police were on high alert for that point when hot weather high jinx would invariably tip over into violence. Our politicians warned us to behave.

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Even as gung-ho Chancellor Rishi Sunak begged us to eat out to help out, show up and drink up, spending time and money reviving the economy, Health Secretary Matt Hancock preemptively scolded us like children for going loco when the pubs shutters went up - because they could all come down again, you know.

But after record-breaking sunshine in May and a mixed meteorological bag in June, Independence Day dawned to a backdrop of leaden skies, intermittent downpours and exasperating humidity. And with that, Super Saturday turned into the dreariest of damp squibs.

Maybe it was down to West Midlands police and crime commissioner David Jamieson? He had publicly announced his hopes the day would go off with a whimper rather than a bang. “It is the case that when the weather is inclement, the problems we have are somewhat reduced,” he told the BBC. “So we are praying for rain this Saturday.”

His plea was answered. And then some. Which was a shame as the day had begun so promisingly. Just moments after midnight a wedding took place in Runcorn. By half past, hair salons from Harrogate to Portsmouth were busy trimming and strimming and colouring.

Would any pubs actually open on the dot of 6am? It seemed to be the stuff of urban myth but by 8am Wetherspoons' punters were tucking into a cooked breakfast and a restorative snifter. “It’s like winning the league!” declared one parched drinker on tasting his first since forever. Or what felt like it.

Mid-morning saw masked adrenaline-junkies riding The Smiler rollercoaster at Alton Towers. Restaurants cleaned tables for lunchtime bookings, hotel receptions, lay hushed and expectant as the empty stages in our still-deserted theatres.

People queue for Alton Towers on Saturday
People queue for Alton Towers on Saturday

And as bobbies patrolled the locked-down beats of Leicester, elsewhere, in private countless families were reunited with tears and hugs of relief after weeks of worry and anguish. At Legoland punters queued up in anoraks. Campsites reopened in the drizzle, reminding us that staycations don’t come with guarantees.

After staring at the same four walls since 23 March, the misty views across Derwentwater or the rain-glossy ancient oaks of the New Forest were balm for the soul. Although everyone agreed that a touch of sun would be nice. On reflection (if Boris ever engages in such a thing) calling it Super Saturday was a bit, American.

A Happy Monday would have sounded a lot more British; not so boozy, more business as usual. As it was, the downbeat day was a far cry from the dire warnings and contradictory advice that preceded it.

We were sternly told that rules had evolved into guidance; we would all be drawing on the national reserves of common sense, assuming there was any left and infractions would be punished.

Chief medical officer Chris Whitty had addressed us the night before, his expression reassuringly strained. Reassuring, because perversely, every time the Prime Minister ramps up the rhetoric and starts waving his arms in an effort to convey can-do optimism, we look to human waxwork Professor Whitty for an unsmiling reality check.

The only man in the land we truly trust to know what’s going on gave us pause when he pointed out that our newly restored freedoms of fine dining and theme park visits “came with a risk”. We nodded in grave agreement. But who could have guessed that risk might be rain? At least there was the chance of a decent drink to drown our sorrows.

Early on, the cheery hashtag #WelcomeBackPubs started trending on Twitter, despite the fact our new socially distanced pubs bear little resemblance to the boozers of old. No slumping at the bar of The Rovers Return or up-close-and-personal argy bargy in the Queen Vic. Instead there was table service, drinks were ordered via apps and there was no mixing of groups.

Tom Hall and Heather McLaren got married at St George's Church in Leeds on Saturday 
Tom Hall and Heather McLaren got married at St George's Church in Leeds on Saturday

Meanwhile marriages finally took place again, with no more than 30 guests, bottles of hand sanitiser outnumbering the flower girls. No congratulatory kisses from wellwishers allowed.

Churches could conduct services, albeit without the uplifting hymns due to the higher risk of Covid-19 transmission during singing. On the plus-side, the trendy insistence “Peace be with you” handshakes was suspended, to the great relief of the masses at Masses.

Libraries threw open their doors and community centres – the hub of many a village - were once again back in operation - if they wanted to.

But like many cafes and bars, a great many chose to hold back and opt for gentle wait-and-see roll-outs rather than en masse reopenings - such was the fear and dread that Super Saturday instilled. The relaxation of lockdown was a test. We passed.

Was it the weather or was it simply the case that we are not quite the reckless louts our politicians believe us to be?

Either way the blustery showers served as a salutary reminder that after the extraordinary blazing sunshine of lockdown, the New Normal will be just as rainy as the old one.

The virus is a long way from gone, Professor Whitty told us. Let us hope the same cannot be said of the summer.