I've had quite an interesting week getting used to the latest rules around what we now commonly call "social distancing".
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I have to say while I think the powers that be have done a good job keeping things under control, I'm still a little confused with some of these rules.
Is it two metres or one metre when you are out walking the dog where there's a gathering of 10 people (or is it 50) on a footpath waiting for takeaway coffee?
Now the last thing I want to do is cause widespread confusion and have Jacinda and/or Dr Ashley ring me up to complain - unless it's when my jaw needs a break from battling its way through one of the Boomerang Child's latest all organic, cardboard-tasting imitation cake creations.
You know the ones I mean I'm sure. But what do you do? They are your kids. You are going to say it's the greatest thing you've ever tasted, aren't you?
Anyway. Back to the confusion. Basically I've just decided I'm going to stick with the two-metre rule.
But I've discovered not everyone is doing the same.
To be honest I think we still have to be a bit careful in alert level 2. If we run too quickly into the warm embrace of our fellow man we may find ourselves in trouble once again.
Naturally, there is dispensation for such actions inside the confines of your own home.
I have to admit many times during lockdown I pursued Mrs P around the house, arms outstretched seeking just that warm embrace, usually with the plea: "Jacinda says we have to be kind to each other".
Hair today gone tomorrow, budget trims ahead
I'm sure you can imagine the rebuffs from my beloved. For example: "Put your shirt on, you silly sod".
So, as I say, I'm sticking to two metres.
The other day I've ventured out into the brave new world and headed for a rather large store in town. Outside is a queue with people spaced the required two metres apart.
I can't see the point in joining the queue straight away so I sit in the car opposite waiting for it to shorten.
I'm sure I've written about this before but queue-watching is a real study in human behaviour. This one is no different.
There is the obligatory woman with bored child; bloke of my vintage looking thoroughly miserable. Note to readers: We're not all like that. It's the skin on our faces. It droops as we age and we look like a permanent rainy day. Underneath we are smiling all the time.
And smartly dressed lady, presumably in from the countryside for the day.
What makes this queue a little more interesting is the late teens guy behind them wearing a singlet.
Surprisingly he's not on his phone but he may be wearing some of those tiny earphone things and getting instructions on what to do in this unexpected period of waiting.
I say that because he is practising some form of kung fu.
And I'm not just talking the odd little hand chop. This bloke is lost in his own little world doing jumps, high kicks and whirling around at speed. He's definitely making full use of the two metres around him.
But, as you'd expect, with every successful whirl and high kick he's gaining in confidence. Getting a bit cocky even.
Now I'm watching all this from my car across the parking lot and, sure enough, the inevitable happens. Think toppling dominoes here.
He loses his balance on landing and falls forward into the miserable old bloke who in turn staggers into the back of the lady up from the country.
Thankfully, this didn't all start with a kick to the back of the head of the old bloke but the flow-on effect has continued all the way down to the woman with the bored child. Luckily the mum has turned on hearing the commotion behind them, just in time to grab the country lady and stop her falling.
So now we've got four people, six if you add the security guard who has come out and the child who is now more astonished than bored, standing there shoulder to shoulder "discussing" what just happened. Social distancing has gone out the window.
And, in the comfort and safety of my own vehicular bubble, I can hear the words of Mrs P in my mind as I think of the drama this young, singlet-clad kung fu "expert" has just caused.
"Put your shirt on, you silly sod".
• Kevin Page is a teller of tall tales with a firm belief too much serious news gives you frown lines. Feel free to share stories to email@example.com .