Confession time: I have broken one of the government guidelines relating to lockdown. And did you spot how I slyly used the word “guideline” instead of “rule” or “law” — implying that it is merely advisory rather than mandatory?

I am a very law-abiding person. In more than 30 years of driving, I have had just four parking tickets and one three-point penalty for speeding —and, guv, it really wasn’t my fault! (The speed limit dropped from 40 to 30, then a camera sited immediately after the 30mph sign was flashing at every driver like a paparazzo at the Oscars.)

I think if you believe in the principle of having laws for the benefit of individuals and society, then you should follow those laws, including those you might personally regard as stupid or unnecessary — it’s not up to the individual to take a pick ’n’ mix approach.

One of the few things I remember from Judaism classes is dina d’malchuta dina — the law of the land is the law — the principle that diaspora Jews should follow the laws of our adopted country, even if in some circumstances they conflict with Jewish law.

Like many people, I have been very concerned to read reports of Charedi Jews congregating in large gatherings. Why aren’t they following the rules to protect the more vulnerable members of their own community? Why are they ignoring the concept of dina d’malchuta dina, in fact?

I also feel embarrassed. They are — always — the ones non-Jews “count” as Jewish as opposed to the invisible ones like us (Reform Jews often look almost like normal people!).

My friend Hannah calls to tell me about a resident’s post on her online community forum: a neighbour has had guests over for drinks in the back garden. Should she report her to the police?

It’s not fair that she’s sticking to the rules when her neighbour isn’t. Hannah urges her not to report it; she thinks it’s only a few short steps from that to being over-helpful to the authorities in dark times: “Oh, which of my neighbours are Jewish? Sure — they’re at numbers 13, 19, 21 and 28.”

But then I am presented with my own dilemma...

When the rules were changed to allow us to meet one other person from another household as long as it’s outside and at 2m distance, my son was overjoyed. At 16, being cooped up except for walks has been really tough on him (I don’t have much of a social life anyway, so I’ve barely noticed the difference…)

On the first possible day, he goes to meet one of his best friends on the heath. Like our son, Adam is bright, original and funny, and, unusually, talks to me almost as if I’m a real person as opposed to just a parent, source of food, money and a lift home. After a couple of hours, my son returns and asks if Adam — who is standing on the pavement outside the front gate — can use the loo, as he’s desperate?

Now, technically, according to the guidelines, he can’t. He’s just going to have to wet himself on the street or wee in my front garden. But he’s 16, not three — I’m not asking him to expose himself on a suburban street. Would you?

So, of course, I invite him to come in and use the loo. Leo then reveals Adam hasn’t eaten. It’s 2.30pm and I’m only now making my own lunch (I eat late when I have a Zoom Pilates class at lunchtime — you’ll know why if you’ve ever tried to do curl-ups when you’ve just consumed a jacket potato). The boys are hoping to find a café open on the high street to buy a take-away sandwich but I’m fairly sure they’re all shut, so they’d have to join the distanced queue for M&S to get a sandwich there, which could be a long wait. And here am I — a hostess, a Jewish mother and about to eat lunch myself. Am I really going to let a guest go hungry?

So I decide to split my lunch (let’s face it, I was going to eat too big a portion anyway because I’m having leftovers and can’t bear to waste anything). It’s chicken schnitzel from last night and, if I put half in a hot pitta with salad, it might be enough for a teenage boy.Adam is delighted and they sit talking and eating in the back garden (another rule broken — it should be the front but then they’d bake to death in the sun as there’s zero shade there).

While I’m eating, Hannah calls me back to tell me there’s been a response from the “guilty party” about the resident’s complaint. The neighbour in question turns out to be a critical care nurse from the nearby hospital. She had colleagues over for a barbecue as a respite from weeks of unbelievable stress. They all work very closely together anyway and, frankly, needed a break.

I look out the window to watch the boys and it is just so, so lovely to see them laughing and talking animatedly in the garden, looking happy and relaxed and engaged after weeks and weeks of my son staring at his phone and watching the entire offering of Netflix that, even though I know I have done the wrong thing, it unquestionably feels right.

Claire Calman’s new novel, Growing Up for Beginners, will be published on June 4. Available to pre-order from hive.co.uk, Amazon and other outlets