Last modified on Fri 16 Apr 2021 05.06 EDT In the happy run-up to last Monday’s grand reopening of restaurants and pubs, a fleck of disquiet seeped into the shallower end of my brain. I have craved many things over these recent months of confinement – printed menus, petits fours, the chance to wear smoky eye kohl – but one thing I’d not missed was Fomo (that’s “fear of missing out”, should you not be up on modern acronyms). Fomo is the pernicious, all-consuming suspicion that other people elsewhere are having fun or, in my case as a restaurant critic, eating at better, more exclusive restaurants on nicer tables, which they booked ages ago. If I were to put a face on this hypothetical person, he would be a tall man with shaggy brown hair who plays jazz piano. Let’s call him Jay Rayner. OK, it is Jay Rayner, but, sometimes, it is other people.