The practice nurse told me to turn up and get a jab, and I trust her implicitly. If she had advanced towards me with a vial of glowing blue gunk and said, roll up that sleeve, Morrison, this jab is untested, but will prevent lapses of taste such as your unfortunate Barry Manilow habit, I'd say, carry on, nurse.
Do I want a vaccine passport? You bet. Actually, I want a shiny medal. To be fair, I'd probably settle for a sticker. OK, a lemon sherbet and a pat on the head.
My cat used to have a vaccine passport, for heaven's sake, and you should have seen the carnage Sully carved out when he got his shots. Once, on the way to the vet, he vented his fury so loudly that a bunch of concerned builders actually climbed off scaffolding to find out what I "was doing with that wee cat".
On another occasion, he created chaos when he got loose and clawed his way to the top of a deworming company pop-up banner.
Did I howl like a banshee? Did I knock over displays? No, I did not, and I'd like that grace under pressure acknowledged.
I'd like to feel safe swaggering into bars, restaurants and comedy clubs and flash my badge of courage, knowing that other people around me have done their bit to zap the bug too.
Of course, there are folks who can't get vaccinated. Here's hoping we beat the beast back so they can come and join us soon.
And of course, there are those who won't get vaccinated. Fine. Don't. Perhaps bars, restaurants, theatres and concert venues could sort out non-vaccine sections, or entire evenings for the vaccine-wary.
Naturally, there would be costs involved for cleaning, ventilation and PPE for staff, so I reckon it would only be fair to slap an additional Covid fee onto the price - £25.00 sound reasonable?