If you’ve spent weeks in tracksuits and trainers, a knitted two-piece is a whole lot smarter
Back at the beginning, I pictured The End Of All This as one big afterparty, with sequins and party shoes and champagne toasts and perfume-scented hugs. I know, right? Either the line between being an eternal optimist and a total moron is a fine one, or – well, I’m sticking with the fine line thing.
Anyway. Here we are, and the neat denouement doesn’t look to be the way this thing is headed. Instead of flinging our tracksuits into the laundry and shimmying into our best frocks, it feels, at the time of writing, more likely that we will edge out of lockdown wan and wary, blinking in the sun.
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