VARIETY is the spice of life. That’s what people are always telling me as I stick to my rigid schedule.

My tried and tested triad of work, eat and sleep has served me well for many years now – broken up, of course, by a mid-week tipple and an occasional game of five-a-side.

But being stuck inside for 23 and a half hours each day has finally left me craving that diversity which people have been advocating for so long.

Yet, variety isn’t easy to come by when you can’t leave your house.

So I got to thinking, if I can’t rely on variety to spice up my life, how else can I add some flavour to my days?

I tried baking banana bread as that seems to be the nation’s go-to hobby during these testing times.

But I was never truly engaged with the activity and ate five bananas as Mrs PubSpy talked me through the process.

By the end, my spirits had risen even less than my pathetic banana bread.

Then it hit me, if variety can’t spice up my life then there is one thing that certainly can. Spice.

I quickly picked up the phone and contacted the kind people of Curry Leaf Cafe, who dropped a large brown paper bag full of food on my doorstep the following evening as part of the restaurant’s new home delivery service.

It held within it a couple of immaculately packed mutter paneer meals with biryani rice, naan bread and a selection of street food bites such as pakoras and bhajis – all costing £20.

A piece of paper stapled to the bag had a list of fool-proof instructions for re-heating the pre-cooked meals.

In spite of my culinary incompetence, even I was able to have a piping hot meal in front of me within ten minutes, accompanied by a couple of obligatory bottles of Sharp’s Doombar picked up during an essential trip to a nearby off licence.

Mrs PubSpy and I settled down to our meals and, scooping a couple of hefty forkfuls into our mouths, let out a synchronised groan of pleasure – one I had never heard her make before.

I stared sadly down into my curry for a moment, feeling like somewhat of a failure in past partner-pleasing exercises, but my spirits were quickly picked up by a lightly spiced pakora.

This was the best thing either of us had eaten for quite some time, at least since the start of this lockdown.

For comparison, that morning I had polished off a bag of salted peanuts for breakfast and lunch had consisted of a tin of beans on toast.

The toast was burned.

Rumour has it the dish is called mutter paneer because it has the power to make you mutter sweet nothings under your breath as you eat it.

The paneer part is due to the fact it contains paneer.

Either way, I certainly murmured some very complimentary things into my bowl.

The street food, complete with mango chutney and another mystery sauce, was also a delightful addition.

As previously documented the Doombar is a personal favourite and, given my limited access to shops, I figured it was best to stick with something I knew and loved.

As always, the Cornish amber ale did not let me down, with the tangy hops tickling my tastebuds and the smooth texture sliding seamlessly down my gullet.

Good food, good drink; this evening almost had all the components of a great night at the pub.

I was just missing good company.

Now, this is not a slur against Mrs PubSpy at all.

My partner in crime has been an almost infinite ball of energy and enthusiasm in the last three weeks as she tries to keep my mood from descending into a swirling, surly sulk.

But people make a pub what it is. That irresistible hum of background noise, a patchwork of four-pints-deep raconteurs and undiscovered stand-up comedians which feels like a distant memory at this stage.

Fortunately, Mrs PubSpy again had the answer.

As I ferried our speedily emptied plates back out to the kitchen, she flipped open a laptop to be met with a collage of our friends’ faces from their respective living rooms across the UK.

They had organised a pub quiz on Zoom – a video chat service which is beyond my understanding but, fortunately, within the remits of my partner’s technological capabilities.

Now we had everything a good pub could offer – almost.

Later that evening I slipped upstairs and smuggled a Sharpie into the bathroom while Mrs PubSpy was otherwise occupied.

With a childish giggle I quickly scribbled my phone number and an unsavoury message on the back of the toilet door.

There, now we have everything.

Curry Leaf Cafe/our house

Kemp Town/the middle of our street

Brighton

Décor

Four stars

I have a certain fondness for my living room

Food and drink

Five stars

The best I have eaten for a long time

Price

Four stars

A two-course meal for a couple at £20

Atmosphere

Five stars

Oh how I have missed company

Staff

Four stars

Doorstep delivery was prompt as can be