As lockdown loomed, a message went round: let’s all rewatch Buffy, together.
And so, every Thursday night, our Scooby gang would stop learning the jargon of this then-new pandemic, pause from terrorising ourselves with ‘r’ numbers and hospitalisation figures and death tolls, congregate on WhatsApp and thrill ourselves with two episodes of near-perfect television.
Soon after our routine began, another Thursday night ritual developed – and so we moved Buffy back half an hour, so we could take to our doorsteps and applaud the NHS. But that, as it turned out, was a relatively brief moment. Buffy night became a tradition.
