Out for a late night walk last night, getting some exercise, fresh air, and clearing my mind.

Out for an hour, and only saw one other person - it was after 11pm; just me, the wind in the trees, and a couple of urban foxes.

Passing our local park on the way home, I spied the swings, and for one brief second thought about having a go - working up a pech, stretching my arms and legs to urge the swing higher and higher, the chains straining and squeaking above me.

As a wee boy, I lost count of the number of dings, bashes, scuffs, skint knees and elbows, and, on one occasion, a bloody nose, that I got from being gallus on swings.

Did I care? Not a jot - that feeling of freedom, of defying gravity, of the wind in my hair and face was unbeatable.

One thing's for sure; once this is all over, I'm fighting the weans for a shot on the swings.

Knowing my luck, I'll survive the virus only to end up in a stookie...