WHEN the nation first retreated indoors to ride out this global pandemic, I remember hearing people boasting about putting the time to use by honing new skills.

Learn a language, they said. Presumably, they meant Spanish or Mandarin, rather than the lingo of lockdown, a burgeoning lexicon that many of us now speak fluently.

From lamenting the emotional tumult of the "coronacoaster" (the ups and downs of our moods) to eyes being rolled in exasperation at the reckless behaviour of "covidiots" and "lockclowns" (those blatantly ignoring public health advice), it's fascinating how our use of words is evolving.

Humour, of course, is a big part of it. How else to navigate the so-called "new normal"? It's either that or dissolving into a tear-stained mess whenever the black cloud of existential dread descends which, as fellow coronacoaster riders can attest, is fairly often.

If there was a soundtrack to lockdown it would be Blinding Lights by The Weeknd, a song used incessantly in TikTok videos and whose opening bars now trigger the same involuntary shudder as hearing Baby Shark or Gangnam Style (sorry, Mr The Weeknd – sick beat, though).

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Our spirit animal is a big cat thanks to the bonkers Netflix series Tiger King. Could we see a baby boom of "coronials" – children conceived during lockdown – named Carole after its unlikely breakout star, Carole Baskin, a woman who has sparked countless unflattering memes?

Or a flurry of Joes inspired by Tiger King's anti-hero Joe Exotic? Joe is probably a good shout given our other man of the moment Joe Wicks, a fitness guru and the country's self-anointed PE teacher, who has won a legion of fans with his Poldark-in-gym-shorts vibe during daily workouts on YouTube.

Speaking of which, I should probably start tuning in to those a bit more frequently given I'm fast reaching the halfway mark of what's been dubbed "Covid-10" – a creeping 10lbs in extra weight gained through heavy-duty comfort eating.

This tends to go hand-in-hand with "goutbreak", a nickname for overdoing rich foods, such as cheese and wine, which results in veering perilously towards Henry VIII territory (the bloated, gluttony part as opposed to the disposing of unwanted wives).

READ MORE: Susan Swarbrick: My comfort food cravings are stuck in the 1980s

Then there's those taking the edge off things by whipping up a "quarantini" cocktail. It's apparently a foolproof recipe. Simply open the drinks cabinet, throw together whatever dribs and drabs come to hand, then chug it back like a teenager getting pie-eyed at a school disco.

If you've overdone the Advocaat, add a splash of Cinzano Bianco to even it out. A little dribble of Malibu. Maybe some Pernod … Screen fades to black.

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