NOSTALGIA is not what it used to be. Once it was fond memories of Chopper bicycles and Evel Knievel wind-up toys. For older people, it might have been the Beatles or perhaps rationing. That warm blanket of nostalgia where there's no nasty surprises lurking in the darkness.

But now, less than four weeks since the coronavirus lockdown squeezed the colour out of life, nostalgia is the simple things that happened last month, like going to work. In my case, in an actual office, not hunched over the dining room table surrounded by the detritus of breakfast.

I miss, incredible as it seems, the office. I miss the people. I miss nipping to the shops and not having to allow 20 minutes to stand in the queue outside. I miss the pubs. Ah, pubs. I blame Rab McNeil, our Saturday and Sunday columnist. As we were talking on the telephone (he eschews video calls from Zoom, Teams, or Skype along with most other modern inventions) he mentioned a visit to the Aird a' Bhasair – formerly and slightly less romantically known as the Ardvasar Hotel, near his Skye bungalow.

This, I should point out in case the coronavirus cops get over-excited, was BC (before coronavirus). As he talked, I was transported to the Misty Isle, raising a drink to my lips, the kiss of a fine whisky slooshing round my gob. I could almost taste it. Then I thought of a recent visit to The Gate in Glasgow's gritty Gallowgate, a night of beers and drams with my oldest friend, days before the pubs shut.

They were pleasant reveries but more than that they reminded me that so many folk rely on the demon drink for jobs. From bar staff, to draymen, to those in distilleries and bottling plants, the food and drink industry supports 120,000 jobs, according to the Scottish Government.

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You don't need me to tell you that pubs have an important place in our culture. They are, perhaps, the one place where we are all equal. Even Boris Johnson talked of the lockdown "taking away the ancient, inalienable right of free-born people to go to the pub".

Growing up in rural Scotland in the 1980s, the pub was still king. It was a community hub before people started talking about community. I remember bumping into my dad in a lochside pub. It was a bit tricky, as I was only 16 or 17, but he bought me a pint of 70 shilling, and we had a chat. He's in hospital now, a shadow of himself. I can't visit but if he ever gets out, I'll take him back to that pub. I think I owe him a pint.

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