YOU can learn a lot about a person by observing their method of social distancing.

Thankfully, while out for our daily dose of fresh air, most of us are following the official rule of staying two metres away from anybody we don't live with.

While we all have the same goal of defeating COVID-19 by staying home for most of the time, it's fascinating to indulge in a bit of people watching during our excursions outdoors.

The most widespread tactic is worthy of a mention in Very British Problems, a hilarious tome dedicated to the awkwardness generally displayed by us Brits.

The VBP subject will walk towards you, head down as if they haven't seen you, but eyes looking slyly at your feet to check you're far enough away.

They won't look at you as you pass by, embarrassed that they may be perceived as being rude by keeping their distance.

Don't they realise it's not rude? But it would be if they encroached inside the two-metre box.

Then there's the precision expert, determined to stay exactly two metres away from you.

You can be sure they've taught themselves to calculate two metres - not a millimetre more, not a millimetre less - during military-style practice sessions with the family using a tape measure.

You'll be given a look of thunder if you encroach within their precious space, while you will be regarded with disdain if you're careless enough to widen the gap to more than two metres.

The antithesis of this creature is the 'better to be safe than sorry' person who thinks two metres means twice that.

The example I saw - the expression 'bumped into' would be inappropriate - nearly took out a hedge during what they believed to be a close encounter (i.e. 3.90 metres) near French Weir recreation ground in Taunton.

Then there's the early bird who signals their intent from 20 metres away, just to let you know that there's this thing called social distancing which we all have to do. We have been watching the news, you know.

My favourite is the smiler who bounds towards you, hops onto one foot and jumps clear of any oncoming people with a polite, 'thank you'. Surely it should be me showing gratitude for their diversion.

On the other hand, I won't be buying a drink for any striders once the pubs re-open.

They bounce aggressively towards you, almost sprinting with 'Out of my way' written clearly in their expression.

These are no times for an Alpha male challenge, so your only sane option is to step aside - and the strider knows that full well.

The cheeky swerver leaves things to the last possible second. With a spring in their step, they delay a decision whether to move to the right or left of you until absolutely necessary.

The danger with such a tactic is if they are confronted by a fellow swerver - and one decides to move to the left, while the other goes to the right and they come face to face a metre apart.

The final category is the scurrier, a mouse of a person attempting to get their exercise routine out of the way as quickly as possible.

It's as though they feel guilty at being outside.

They'd really like everyone to know that this is their first trip out of the house all day and they promise to limit it to as short a time as possible.

Of course there is merit in most of the styles we adopt for social distancing.

The important message is to make sure you are at least two metres away from anyone not in your household.

That way you will be helping in the effort to save lives.

One person I would like to pat on the back - metaphorically of course - is the man who organised the crossing of a narrow bridge leading over the weir in French Weir towards Tangier.

There were people crossing over on the bridge who could not avoid being less than two metres due to the width of the bridge.

He lined us up two metres apart at our end of the bridge, signalled people on the other side to cross at a distance from each other.

When it was the turn of the people on our side to cross, he led the way.

Some bright spark on the other side felt it was a good idea to cross at the same time.

"Get back now," screamed our self-appointed but much appreciated leader, drowning out the sound of water gushing over the weir beneath.