The doors are open. The gabble of chatter can be heard from the street. The sky is an undisturbed blue. The anticipation has been building for hours as the seats are taken, the orders received and the first glass is placed on the table. The moment is finally here. At least, that is the romanticised version of events that had played in my head for the months leading to this time. Pubs have reopened – or their gardens have anyway. It was a decision that went mostly unchallenged by a weary populace, devoid of any desire to criticise futilely any further. Even in the Greater Manchester region, where restrictions have been tight since August, the last pub visits still allowed people to enter the actual building. Households were not to mix and everybody was masked up nearly the whole time but we were still in the pub. They key component of a pub visit still existed. We’ve successfully been worn down and therefore as many custodians as possible transformed car park