The bins are emptying too, as the bars and restaurants reopen. There were times at the Shore when not even a chip-laden seagull could squeeze in between the drinkers sitting dangerously close to the edge.
Why no-one wound up in the water was a mystery to me. I did wonder at one point if we would have to set up some sort of Baywatch-style rescue service in case a drunken drinker dunked.
I thought about pulling on my old moth-eaten red swimsuit and running about the Shore in slow motion. I didn’t think I’d have to rescue anyone. The sight of my cellulite wobbling past would have terrified the al fresco boozers away from the water.
Once our picnickers finished their carry-outs, the bins were packed to the gunnels. Leith squirrels, known for their rapacious bin looting, became quite the little connoisseurs of beers and wine. They’ll miss their fix now. Leith could be the only place in the world with a branch of the AA dedicated solely to squirrels.
Will we cast off our masks? Now that we’re used to them, perhaps wearing them if you have a cold or a touch of the flu will seem polite, just as it is in Japan. And let's be honest, they do come in handy if you spot someone you’d rather not talk to in the supermarket. Great disguise.
It would be a shame to lose hand-sanitizer in the shops. It’s been a delight to play sanitizer roulette. Will you get any? Will you get drenched in the stuff? Does it spit out gunk, missing your hand completely, but ensuring your shoes are Covid-compliant? Is it a sanitizer sniper, where you have to aim with the level eye of a Highland ghillie taking down a stag?
Or will it be a favourite of mine – great big bottles of green gunk in a dispenser encrusted with gritty grime you can feel on your hand hours afterwards?